No Way Home by Carlos Acosta
For all lovers of ballet, Carlos Acosta's name is synonymous with power and flight, enormous strength and a soaring, perfect technique that enables him to produce dance feats of breathtaking ability, but his personal journey was unknown until now.
People who know nothing of dance would bow to his virtuosity. He is a worthy successor to Nureyev and Baryshnikov and rightly deserves his status as a superstar of the dance world. He has now decided to tell the story of how he arrived at his present position, the huge conflicts and struggles he underwent - especially with his father - his personal journey.
How fortunate we are that he decided to share his story with us: Carlos is not a natural writer, but he is a great story-teller, and what a story he has to tell! The only son of a black Cuban truck driver and a 'white' housewife who lived in a poor suburb of Havana, Carlos dreamed until age 9 that he was going to be a soccer player to take the world by storm, the next Pele in fact, and practised assiduously to that end. Unfortunately his ability didn't match his enthusiasm, and to his parents' horror he seemed to spend more and more time playing truant and entering breakdancing competitions in the local parks with all his other little layabout mates than attending to his schoolwork, causing his father (The Old Man, so-called because he was 30 years older than Carlos's mum; they divorced soon after Carlos was born, but stayed together because they couldn't afford to live apart!) to take drastic action, a last-ditch stand to set our little hero on the straight-and-narrow: he enrolled him as a full-time student at the state-run ballet school. There he would 'make something of himself' and get a proper education as well. When The Old Man was young, he sneaked into a theatre during a ballet performance, and was enraptured by the artistry and magic he beheld: dancers pirouetting with parasols, ever after known as the Parasol Ladies, remained indelibly imprinted in his memory, as did his eviction onto the street with the advice that theatres were no place for blacks. Many years later in Castro's Cuba, times had changed in some ways; he was still black and still poor, but his son would not be discriminated against because of his colour; everyone had a free education, free medical care and free access to all state-run schools of the Arts, provided they had the basic ability. The Old Man saw ballet as the only salvation to raise his son out of the gutter, and believed with utter conviction that Carlos would eventually succeed.
Thereafter followed years of titanic battles; Carlos didn't want to be a ballet dancer: he wanted to be Pele! He hated the discipline of ballet and couldn't see the sense of the different positions, barre-work and enchainements - give him a football! He wagged school so often that his teachers one day had to capture him off the street so that the Polka item in one of their school concerts wouldn't be ruined by his absence. He was incorrigible, and finally managed to get himself expelled, earning himself the Mother of all Hidings from The Old Man, who promptly enrolled him as a Boarder at another School of Arts in a distant town. This was a catastrophe. Now Carlos was forcibly separated from his beloved Mami and sisters for two whole years - what was there left in life to enjoy? He had a wretched time at the school, causing disruption and amusing himself by stealing things from his classmates; In spite of his great natural talent, history was bound to repeat itself in the shape of expulsion yet again, until..... an epiphany! In the shape of a provincial tour by the dancers of the Cuban National Ballet, where at the age of 14, Carlos's artistic soul was finally awakened by one of the male stars, whose enormous jump seemed to hang in the air for the longest time. First, wonderment: 'Shiiiiit!! How'd he do that?' Then, desire: 'I want to do that!' Then, certainty: 'I could do that!' Our hero was motivated at last.
The years that follow are fruitful and early promise is wonderfully fulfilled; Carlos eventually devotes to ballet the drive and determination that he wanted to put into football, with wonderful and well-deserved results, but the cost is great. He is now separated from his beloved family (who undergo tragedies of their own) by his world-wide success, and every time he wants to give up and return home he is driven away again by his irascible, implacable father, who is, as always, convinced that he's guiding his son correctly. To his son's anguished 'I'm famous, papito. I've travelled the world. They've made documentaries about me. I've had my photos taken with princes and kings. I hope you're satisfied', The Old Man says: That's the faith of great men, my son. You belong to the world. Your house is your Art, Carlos.' Ah yes, but Carlos does not think it is his home, and it takes many years of heartache and adversity before he realises the truth and logic of the Old Man's words, and gains irrefutable wisdom of his own: 'Perhaps that is why there are no Beethovens and Van Goghs these days, because we live in a world that is relatively easy. Genius needs despair, and despair comes out of cruelty, hunger and pain.' Carlos Acosta was dealt cruelty, hunger and pain in large measures, but has given us all his genius to enjoy and marvel over, and an unforgettable memoir to be hugely enjoyed.
Reviewer: Julia Kuttner
25 June 2008
