The Diary of Vaslav Nijinsky

1. "God said to me, 'Go home and tell your wife that you are mad'."Even if we are not ready to accept this assertion as a proof of Nijinsky's genius (i.e. him edging on God-Consciousness on his way to full enlightenment), we should at least be able to recognise that the author obviously did not view himself as insane, but, in his own eyes, consciously pretended to be such as the only means at hand to escape the harsh chilliness and cruelty of an insensitive world, handing over all responsibilities of the non-esoteric sides of life to those who feel they know such things better. 2. Neither the conclusion should be that the great Master of Choreography ended his life in a miserable demise, unworthy of a great genius and a potential role-model for generations to come. On the last pages, as if to conclude the diary, Nijinsky speaks of a wonderful vision of his three years old daughter as she smiles at him: "I see what she is trying to tell me: it is not all about sadness and miserliness - there's also joy in life". Thus reminding of Tolstoy's famous formula "if you want to be joyful and happy, then just be that!". The author's life has clearly been that of struggle and constant contemplations over the world's stubbornness in its reiterated refusal to accept the artist's message of love, despite its pure simplicity. And yet now on the verge of the sunset of life it all suddenly seems to have been nothing but a temporary, though little longer than usual, unpleasant dream, the remaining fogs of which are dispersed through a simple rearrangement of attention leading one to a life in a closer company with one's God. A life the fuller utilisation of the pleasures of which are not bound by the limits of life and death. 3. As for Nijinsky's main message, as it is contained in the diary itself, I think it is found in the place where the artist speaks of his discovery of the true nature of the phenomena of art criticism: the self-appointed critics of art are nothing but egotists who have never created anything themselves. They pinpoint and nit-pick on any flaws and draw conclusions where such cannot be drawn, causing the hearts of the sincere artists to bleed. It implies that it is more than fair to observe that when it comes to art in general no judgements can be made whatsoever. An inspiration behind any artistic expression always comes from beyond oneself, out of a sincere desire to convey something to others. The only thing that is really alright to criticise is if the artist's motive is in question, that is if the original purpose is purely commercial and, thus, a con in its essence. Similarly judging is not the same as describing, just as to describe is not the same as to judge. Interestingly, few other books and films have received as much subtle thrashing (along with appraisals) as Nijinsky's diary and Paul Cox' recent poetic documentary based on it. The point is that a truly worthless piece of literature, or other, never does. There simply seems to be

Nijinsky's unexpurgated diary is an important document both for dance history and for psychiatry. This edition has an excellent, insightful introduction and very thorough translator's notes. I found out fascinating details, such as the fact that Nijinsky began the diary the day he gave a deranged performance at a hotel, and probably meant it as proof that he was not as crazy as he seemed. (Sadly, it proved exactly the opposite.) A beautiful job has been done in presenting and contexting this difficult material. Anyone with an interest in dance and/or mental illness should read it.

this book is highly through in it's full translation of Nijinsky's diary, but best part of this book are the inclusion of the never before published "fourth book" which included poems and letters written by Nijinsky as well as an introduction which helps to clarify not only the historical background but also delves into the mental state Nijinsky was in as he wrote his diary.

I was a great fan and was in awe of Vaslav ever since I first saw a photo of him playing the Harlequin in a book called The Great Male Dancers. Then I did not know of the tragedy of his existance, but I had a good inkling of its greatness. I finally got a hold of and read this book. It scared me with its sombre wonderfulness. There is no way to describe it except as the first scandelous dance autobiography. Dancers must read this. Biography fans must also. It is different. It is a window to madness. It is strange to us and therefore wonderful.

Nijinski's dancing words are lucid and on the verge of rational disaster. It is obviously not for the not reasonable reader but it will delight acustomed diary reader and humanity lovers. Nijinski creates a logic of his own and you have got to follow it.