Briefly Noted

Providence and Power:
Ten Portraits in Jewish Statesmanship
by meir y. soloveichik
encounter, 232 pages, $29.99

If Famous Jewish Sports Legends is the leaflet in the punchline of a joke about “light reading” in the movie Airplane!, and Jewish Nobel Prize Winners would be a tome, Rabbi Meir Y. Soloveichik’s Providence and Power: Ten Portraits in Jewish Statesmanship is the golden mean. Soloveichik does not stretch the meaning of statesmanship so thin as to elevate minor league players to Hall of Fame status, but his examples of Jewish statesmen from biblical times to the twentieth century need—and receive—some justification.

The case studies are seemingly meant to speak primarily to contemporary Jews, and to provide in-depth models of leadership, with insights into becoming, for example, the next righteously wily Queen Esther, who saved the Jews from annihilation at the hands of a Persian official. Queen Esther’s careful deployment of her cousin and mentor Mordecai’s ideological purism provides a compelling example of statesmanship as something distinct from leadership, piety, or any number of other virtues. Her success has clear resonances for Jews in the West who have amassed power and influence and yet seem confused about how to wield it to the benefit of their own people without being seen as disloyal to their host nations. Soloveichik’s great strength is drawing out such resonances with passion and clarity.

But these portraits are perhaps more interesting for what they say about contemporary Jews’ self-conception. What is Jewish statesmanship to Jews today? Rabbi Soloveichik—part of the foremost rabbinic dynasty of the last century, which is known for its dialectical analyses—identifies the synthesis at the heart of this question: Leaders of the covenantal nation make choices in this world in partnership with the divine. As warrior-psalmist King David exemplified, to be a Jew is both to trust in the Almighty and, per the Talmud, “not [to] rely on miracles.” As people of all faiths confront modernity’s epistemic and theological challenges, this peculiar synthetic character of leadership is worth contemplating.

—Tal Fortgang

Mr. B:
George Balanchine’s 20th Century
by jennifer homans
random house, 784 pages, $40

George Balanchine (1904–1983), a founder of the New York City Ballet and choreographer of some of the most heavenly yet intensely complex works in dance, is the subject of this engrossing biography by the historian and former professional dancer Jennifer Homans.

Peppered with snippets from diaries, letters, notebooks, and conversations, Mr. B: George Balanchine’s 20th Century often reads like a sweeping novel. It covers Balanchine’s early years training in St. Petersburg, his time touring Europe with the Ballets Russes, and his life as an expat in New York, where he choreographed the bulk of his 465 ballets, some seventy of which are still performed regularly.

Homans not only situates Balanchine’s story against a backdrop of war and revolution, but also takes us inside the studio as he creates his most iconic works, including Serenade, Concerto Barocco, and Agon. These spare, mysterious, abstract ballets—analyzed by Homans with the sensitivity of a literary critic—were more akin to poetry or figurative Renaissance paintings than the old-fashioned courtly spectacles then favored in Soviet Russia. In some of the most intriguing chapters, Homans delves into the secretive way Balanchine would “compose” steps that interlocked with the layered lines of classical music.

Much of the book centers on Balanchine’s spirituality. Though he rarely attended formal services, he professed a belief in God and a loyalty to the Russian Orthodox Church of his youth. As an artist, he had little desire for self-expression, preferring his dancers to reach beyond themselves toward a “fourth dimension” that transcended material reality. He called himself a mere “cloud in trousers” whose ballets were a divine offering, not unlike the music of Bach, whom he revered.

Of course, when human muscles are the artistic medium, personal drama abounds. Balanchine’s life was plagued by a series of tragedies, some self-inflicted: starvation, poverty, displacement, near-fatal tuberculosis, four failed marriages, whispers of miscarriages and abortions. This god of dance was all too human, though in conveying the heights and depths of Balanchine’s life without judgment, Homans succeeds in painting a vivid, inspiring portrait of a true genius.

—Jane Coombs

The Liberating Arts:
Why We Need Liberal Arts Education
edited by jeffrey bilbro, jessica hooten wilson, and david henreckson
plough, 224 pages, $19.95

Sometimes we read this or that book primarily because the subject is compelling to us, sometimes because the author is one we unfailingly follow. I read this collection of essays because many of the contributors are writers I admire (some I’m blessed to count as friends), and I wanted to hear what they have to say, even though their subject wouldn’t normally attract me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m typing on my laptop in a reclining chair surrounded by teetering stacks of books and magazines (many of which are themselves book-centric). My formative years included a lot of time spent in classrooms (mostly as a student, but also as a teacher). I firmly believe in “the enduring relevance of the liberal arts,” invoked by the editors of this volume in the second sentence of their preface. Moreover, it’s obvious to me (as it must be to anyone who cares to notice) that the institutions supposedly devoted to “liberal learning” are in disarray (the first chapter, by one of the volume’s editors, David Henreckson, is titled “Amid the Ruins”). Still, were it not for my admiration for Henreckson, his fellow editors (Jeffrey Bilbro and Jessica Hooten Wilson), and the roster of interesting voices they brought together for this project, I wouldn’t have picked up the book, let alone read it. I have an allergy to the therapeutic mission that seems to be claiming more and more space in our public conversation.

So, yes, I was tempted on a number of occasions to fling this volume across the room (held back only by my reverence for books). See, for example, the two concluding paragraphs of Joseph Clair’s essay “Truth U, Justice U, Jesus U,” which—to me—consist of high-minded platitudes, no doubt entirely sincere. After I read this, my mind, without conscious volition, engaged in parody-generation. If that sounds arrogant to you, intolerably so, I’m sorry! I wish the editors (again, all of whom I treasure) had included at least a couple of twisty contributors (twisty like Dostoevsky or Andrei Sinyavsky) on their roster, and I say that without an ounce of condescension. These are my people, after all! And who knows? Maybe some readers of The Liberating Arts will be prompted to go in that direction themselves. “I am a sick woman, a spiteful woman.” May it be so.

—John Wilson

Who Believes Is Not Alone:
My Life Beside Benedict XVI
by georg gänswein with saverio gaeta
st. augustine’s, 274 pages, $24

Archbishop Georg Gänswein was Benedict XVI’s personal secretary beginning in 2003 and through the eight years of his pontificate and the nine years of his retirement. His account of that uniquely privileged experience was published within days of Benedict’s death—no doubt to the annoyance of Benedict’s successor on the chair of St. Peter. Unclear is the part Saverio Gaeta as secretary to the secretary played in the production of the book. Equally unclear is when their collaboration began, since the manuscript was printer-ready at Benedict’s passing.

The title given this English translation blunts the more provocative Italian original: Nient’altro che la Verità (Nothing but the Truth). The memoir provides a valuable and often moving portrait of Joseph Ratzinger—the man, the pope, the theologian. Gänswein offers insightful quotes that sketch Benedict’s Christocentric theological vision and his discerning critique of a postmodernity bereft of God. The archbishop rightfully singles out for special praise the early classic, Introduction to Christianity, and Benedict’s second encyclical, Spe Salvi. Unfortunately, however, only general indications are given for the source of many other quotes. For better or worse, few footnotes are provided, and there is no index.

The chapter on Benedict’s resignation contains some intimate, behind-the-scenes details, but does not add to our basic knowledge. The pope’s diminishing energy and the daunting prospect of participating in the 2013 World Youth Day in Brazil remain dominant motives.

Readers may understandably rush to the “money” chapter: “The Relationship Between Francis and Benedict.” For those who follow the Vatican up close, nothing new is revealed, only confirmation of prior leaks and suspicions. Indeed, the chapter could be more aptly described as “Georg’s Grievances.”

The account of Benedict’s last days is tender and touching. It reinforces the conviction that the “truth” of the original title lies less in Gänswein’s narrative as in Benedict’s lifelong quest for the Truth against “a dictatorship of relativism.”

—Robert P. Imbelli