Dear Sunday NY Times:
I love your work. Really, I do. But please, I'm begging you, try, just try, to get through one edition of a Sunday paper without referring to George Balanchine or Leonard Bernstein. They're dead 26 and 20 years respectively now. I appreciate their brilliance (admittedly because, of course, you've been telling me about their genius, just about weekly, for decades now), but you've got to let it go.
This week was really too much. I simply couldn't fathom why on earth you would devote three full pages (including the cover!) of the Book Review to a book about essays on dance in Russia from 1911-1925. Could you find a book that covered a narrower scope? A one-page review, sure. I get that. But would you publish three pages - about 1/6 of the entire book review! - for essays on sculpture between 1818-1825, a book on spelunking in the 1750s, a history of the professional athletes from Nova Scotia?
But ah, all became clear. The review contains no less than 5 references to Balanchine, and 2 more under his Russian name, Balanchivadze. And the review is by former Balanchine protege Toni Bentley. So we have another excuse to extol his talents. Again.
Sunday NY Times, I think we can compromise. I'll accept your weekly tributes to the B-Boys if you promise to pay greater attention to mysteries and thrillers, currently confined to about a paragraph a piece every few weeks. Besides, reviewer Marilyn Stasio is a fun writer - give her a little room to breathe.
Deal?
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