Review by New York Times Review
"THE ART OF GRACE" ... "The Art of Grace." It is concerning when the title of a book has a wannabe whiff. Or is it just graceless me that smells it? But the alternative, in this case, is worse, and it is as precious and highfalutin as it sounds given that the author is not Thomas Aquinas or John Ruskin. It is a phrase that promotes its author as an arbiter of grace, a lofty perch indeed from which to view us mere clumsy mortals. And so, Sarah L. Kaufman, in her first book, sets the stakes perilously high, particularly since her subject is not exactly origami but grace, that fragile, exquisite, transient entity of unparalleled depth, breadth, complexity and profundity. She has taken on, perhaps to her credit, the Sisyphean task of persuading us to choose grace over ego and so revisits that epic battle where grace loses every time - though ego never wins. Such ambition! But why not? We are in can-do America, and the author, dance critic for The Washington Post for almost 20 years, has a Pulitzer Prize in her pocket. But before we get to the text, let's talk about me and my need for a pre-emptive mea culpa: I have spent many an hour trying to write a graceful review of this book about grace, but as you see, it is not to be - things might even get a bit ugly - as I feel the author's gaze of self-appointed authority upon me. And if you read this book, you too might feel this piercing sensibility, this refined eye, upon your every gawky, speedy, device-centric move of body, mind and soul. And a tsunami of shame will wash over you - but if you persist (or gracelessly skip) to the closing two-page, 10-point list of grace dos to rectify your by now well-delineated deformations of body and spirit, you will be advised on how to improve your slovenly, slothful, selfish self to ameliorate what Kaufman calls "the grace gap" in our "culture of coarseness," where "our cult of casualness" reigns free, and we have cravenly "given in to gravity." The list includes useful tips like "Slow down and plan," "Practice tolerance," "Be easily pleased," "Be generous" and, last, "Enjoy." Get ready, get set, get graceful. Throughout Kaufman offers other essential reminders: When one is walking, "the arms shouldn't draw attention to themselves," and "it's worth paying attention to crosswalks," presuming, of course, one has arrived there predominantly armlessly. In her posture tutorial she even goes so far as to suggest centering "your weight right over your feet." Right over? I have long preferred the challenge of being, for the most part, behind my own feet. Are we really now this dumbed down? Yup. And now by the well-credentialed elite, what's more. The publisher has, helpfully, categorized this book under "self-improvement" in the time-honored American "self-help" tradition. These books, as Dr. Phil knows best, endlessly sell because they never work... but maybe the sequel will. There is, I surmise, a kind of insidious intimacy in these books, as on Freud's couch, between author and reader, an unspoken collusion in knowing much will be said but nothing will be done. "Grace for Dummies" might have been a better title for the book, but then self-deprecation and humor would have been required, and make no mistake, this is one serious book that aims to get you out of your "skinny jeans and bandage dresses" and high heels. "Grace will not happen if you are tottering about on stilettos," Kaufman opines awkwardly. "To enhance your grace," she suggests, "toss aside those body-hugging knits," and furthermore, you will find that "in A-line skirts, fluid trousers and shirtdresses, a skillful mix of air and fabric can create rhythmic play with every step." Maybe a pink chiffon muumuu circa 1950 with some vintage Nike Airs? Personally, I refuse to redress my wardrobe and insist on my "bandages" and stilletos: They have a purpose clearly not on Kaufman's agenda. This hilarious clothing advice is indicative of the author's having a dire case of that seductive disease called nostalgia - let's go back to a kinder, gentler (and less slutty) time - that pervades this book, and I am reminded of a warning from Lincoln Kirstein to a young dancer I once knew: "Nostalgia is pure vanity." Kaufman's references derive from 1558, 1640,1774,1922,1935, and come to a grinding halt a decade later, where she tracks down "the demise of grace" to post-World War II American suburbs - and she has harsh words for the "nicks and cuts" of Dr. Spock. But it is a very tall order to ask us to retreat, relearn and thus redeem ourselves, when life is so frequently lived in forward motion, reckless as this may be. Kaufman, punctilious to the core, commends such virtues as "being inconspicuous" - take that, you Popular Culture, you - and extols a few pearls of wisdom from a 1938 booklet titled "Charm." "Restraint, restraint," she counsels, "even to the point of leaving your perfume at home when traveling," though it remains questionable whether this is considerate to one's fellow travelers in the back of the Buick. My favorite bon mot: "Read French just before going out, to wake up your brain." Wakey-wakey. Kaufman's pedantic book is her cri de coeur for the good ol' days, and she desperately wants to bring back all that lost grace to us texting, heathen, hashtagging reprobates. She particularly has it in for those of us buried in our iPhones and Androids. "Our cellphones are changing our bodies," she explains, "in ungraceful ways. They're killing our posture, flattening the natural curve of the neck." I hardly dare report in my cheeky impudence that even our grace teacher has logged numerous tweets since I began writing this review, but no doubt they were written erect. Kaufman has chapters on various forms of grace: political and athletic, celebrity and pedestrian, culinary and sculptural. So who makes the grade on the gracemeter? Thumbs up to George Washington, down to Abraham Lincoln; up for Audrey Hepburn, down for Katharine (huh?); up for Jean-Paul Belmondo, down for Brando (I am lodging a formal complaint on that one); up for Olga Korbut, down to "muscle on the mat" Mary Lou Retton; up for Michelle Obama, down for Barack (droopy lids, "middle distance" gaze); up for Roger Federer, down for "grinding, ball-crushing" Serena Williams; up for Jackie Gleason, down for "exhausting" Robin Williams. Wow, it's such fun being a critic! But Kaufman's muse, her great love, is Cary Grant, and her book is a touching ode, both personal and perceptive, to the handsome, debonair, charming, witty and oh so truly graceful Grant. Now, while Grant is without doubt the Cristal of Hollywood actors, he remains, alas, a silver screen celebrity, and Kaufman sanctifies him not just as the divine celluloid presence that he was, but also as her exemplar of grace off-screen, in all things, in life. She illustrates Grant's quotidian grace by recounting a thin tale of how he took David Niven's nervous son under his wing at a Reagan White House affair he attended with his fifth wife (following four graceful divorces one assumes), by promptly ordering them "two large vodka martinis." No! Really? She milks this banal story for almost three pages to emphasize this extraordinary moment, where, astonishingly, a bona fide movie star does not ignore the progeny of his movie star friend, as a stel- lar example of Grant's utter supremacy as a gentleman. I think this is called a reach. She unfortunately caps Grant's canonization by reporting, erroneously, that "it's no secret" that Grant was Ian Fleming's model for James Bond. It may not be a secret, but it also isn't true: Fleming claimed to have based Bond on over a dozen real spies, as well as himself and his brother, and never mentioned Cary Grant. But Kaufman tipped her hand from the start with another rather graceless comment, blinded, I assume, by her adoration of Grant, "the man who taught me more about savoring grace than all the ballerinas in all the 'Swan Lake's I've ever seen." Given Kaufman's many years as a dance critic watching hundreds, if not thousands, of world-class ballerinas as Odette/Odile, this is a diss indeed. Kaufman attempts to commodify grace, selling it to us as yet one more thing to master, and thus, ironically, joins the very culture she criticizes. I am, in the end, puzzled by this book, this labor of love by a good journeyman critic, who I have no doubt in the least means well. A for effort, for sure. She most closely touches upon grace herself in her lovely description of Greg Louganis standing at the tip of the diving board: "perfectly poised between the realms of flesh and spirit. ... When he left the edge to fall through the air, his movements escaped the world of the body. He became a magnificent abstraction.... Slipping into the water, he escaped our world entirely, disappearing past sight and sound." But perhaps as a direct result of her dutiful exertion, she has managed to reduce the immeasurable, numinous beauty of true grace into a rather plodding, predictable book; and I would venture, atheist that I am, she has done so by focusing almost exclusively on all the visible, behavioral, teachable graces while skating warily around the heart of her own subject: the spiritual, religious dimension, the most beautiful dimension, and the only place in which deep grace can really exist. There, but for the grace of God. In a late, short and clearly obligatory chapter oozing political correctness, Kaufman interviews religious leaders - a Catholic, a Jesuit, a Lutheran, a Jew, a professor of Hinduism and a Muslim - on their definitions of grace. Thus we get this condescending distillation: "For Christians, it's a gift in the purest sense: a total freebie - God simply pours it into you, from his heart to yours,... a cosmic cha-cha." And so grace-lite lands, unlike Louganis, with a thud. Kaufman avoids and minimizes any discussion of the state of grace that renders us alive, where we proceed and endure, in spite of our mortality. But mercurial grace is, alas, not within Kaufman's purview. Ultimately, grace is an act of reception, not application - a matter, well, of grace. But in case I am wrong, don't forget to read your Racine and Rousseau, in the original French, before that night on the town in your airy, A-line muumuu. Cha-cha and au revoir! Kaufman, punctilious to the core, commends qualities like 'being inconspicuous.' TONI BENTLEY danced with the New York City Ballet under George Balanchine for 10 years and is the author of five books.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [December 6, 2015]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* Cary Grant's eloquent shrugs. Joe DiMaggio's swing. Jennifer Lawrence's Oscar-fall recovery. Nelson Mandela's courage. They're all signs of grace. Pulitzer Prize-winner Kaufman uses her dance critic's eye to discern diverse examples of this essential quality. In earlier times, when grace was touted as a goal for civilization, the Greeks made statues celebrating the Three Graces, and George Washington studied the rules of civility. Kaufman sees grace first as the way someone moves when he or she is comfortable in his or her own skin. She notes that all actors once studied dance along with their lines, and many of the classic stars, such as James Cagney and Christopher Walken, carried this grace on to the screen. Grace is also making others feel comfortable (Eleanor Roosevelt hosting at the White House) and using self-control (Motown singers facing racism on tours). Kaufman mines history, pop culture, sports, and her own neighborhood to share moving moments of grace in beautifully sculpted prose. Grace can be learned by those willing to pay attention. Kaufman reminds us that even in a world where most eyes are locked on smart phones, there are still people who really listen, think before they speak, and move gracefully. It's up to us to notice and emulate their techniques.--Smith, Candace Copyright 2015 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Is it possible to glide through the modern world with ease? Smartphones are destroying our posture, athletes are more muscle-bound than ever, and even ballerinas rely on eye-catching tricks over artistry. In her wide-ranging search for grace, Kaufman (Pulitzer Prize-winning dance critic for The Washington Post) often holds up the polished icons of the past to exemplify "the unexpected glimmering thing that happens, so subtly that no one else might notice." Cary Grant, that "beautiful mover," is her guide: well-dressed, funny, and able to make others feel comfortable. But when Kaufman turns away from the actor-to a dance class for Parkinson's patients, for example-she carves out new ways to look at movement. Her observations of the human body (she eyes everyone from roadies to the Obamas) encourage the reader to tune into the small, everyday moments of alignment. And to pull up YouTube to witness the old-fashioned grace of Olga Korbut, Dr. J and, yes, Cary Grant. (Nov.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Review by Library Journal Review
As an antidote to the ill manners so prevalent in today's society, Pulitzer Prize--winning dance critic Kaufman recalls the reader to grace-that quality that doesn't make a fuss about itself but subtly warms and transforms the atmosphere. Real-life examples, she notes, were Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. Kaufman uses these two actors and lesser-known individuals to instruct and instill a longing for grace. She discusses politeness and toleration as well as the virtues of self-control and nonchalance. An appendix on "Tips for Moving Well Through Life" conclude the book and deliver a compact overview of its content. VERDICT Though a bit lengthy, Kaufman's narrative is timely and sheds light on a long-lost art. © Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Pulitzer Prize-winning Washington Post dance critic Kaufman reflects on the meaning of grace in modern society. Grace is as multidimensional as it is an ancient and inherent part of humanity that stretches beyond the Greeks to our common primordial past. In this delightfully readable book, Kaufman studies the nature of grace and offers both an appreciation of it as well as a gentle exhortation to readers to cultivate it in themselves and the world around them. Her model for human grace is actor Cary Grant, who embodied liquid smoothness not only in his movements, but also in his personal interactions, especially those on screen. Otherssuch as Audrey Hepburn, Jackie Kennedy, and even Johnny Carsonall had, to varying degrees, the kind of self-control and self-deprecating elegance that Grant possessed. But with the rise of consumer culture in the 1950s and '60s and its glorification of technology came the "culture of coarseness." Manners and even physical grace became unnecessary encumbrances that took too much effort to develop and limited (or even prevented) true self-expression. Narcissism and "grabbing and taking" became the credo of a new generation that largely disregarded the concern for others that Kaufman believes is at the heart of grace. While individuals no longer give grace the importance it once had, the author points out that it still continues to exercise a powerful hold on the human imagination. People still marvel at the breathtaking fluidity of athletes like tennis pro Roger Federer, whose movements on the court have been called "artistic" and "miraculous." Human beings, Kaufman argues, are hard-wired to appreciate grace, especially in movement. Fascinating throughout, this book not only serves as a reminder of the crude gracelessness into which modern society has descended. It also offers hope that we can reform our current personal and social habits with an eye toward more civilized, harmonious living. An insightful, intelligent examination of grace, which often "seems to elude fixed meaning." Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
