Who would know better than Fred Astaire? Get acquainted with some books on dance in the collection featuring people whose movements engage our attention.
Hoop dancing, one of the most familiar forms of Native American dance, is now showcased in annual competitions such as the one at the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Arizona, featuring some 80 contestants. 
The solo performer needs great skill to stamp time to the drum beat while twirling, throwing, and spinning hoops around the body. Its origins cannot be precisely pinpointed, but hoops were used in many Native American tribal healing rituals to restore cosmic balance. “Cangleska wakan”–Lakota for sacred circle—symbolizes the Sioux concept of the universal interrelation of all created things as they grow and develop in the past, present and future.
Jacqueline Left Hand Bull’s picture book Lakota Hoop Dancer (1999) introduced children to Kevin Locke (1954-2022), also a master of the Native American indigenous flute. Descended from a distinguished Sioux family, Locke was widely honored for his work as an educator who passed on traditions through the performance of indigenous song and dance.
Lakota Hoop Dancer. New York: Dutton Children’s Books, c1999. (Cotsen 91771)
Locke learned the hoop dance from Arlo Good Bear, a Manan Hidatsa Indian, at a point when its survival was at risk. Suzanne Haldane’s photography captures his easy demeanor which belies the athleticism necessary to execute the dance’s complicated moves. Performing against a backdrop covered by a patchwork quilt, Locke forms shapes with a handful of hoops to represent creatures in the story he is telling simultaneously. Informally dressed in red, the color of the sun, and blue, that of the moon, his regalia is worn from the waist down. In the second dance Haldane recorded, Locke’s splendid regalia almost overshadows the deft manipulation of more hoops into wonderfully complex forms. To better appreciate this dance form, watch this video of Locke at the 2016 Smithsonian Folklife Festival, where he demonstrates “the hard part” and places the performance of the hoop dance in the context of his culture and its relevance to the lives of non-indigenous people.
The leap from dance as an expression of the sacred to a reflection of contemporary mores here is a breath taking shift in tone. This post was inspired by the discovery of an image of social dancing, which was removed from a 1930s reissue of satirical 
lithographs mercilessly sending up the fashionable folies of the “right sort” in the famous periodical Le bon genre. The impeccably dressed dancing master plays the kit violin on tiny beautifully shod feet while his pupils in sheer white Empire gowns work without partners to master new steps. One works on leg lifts to strengthen her quadriceps and another practices what 
she hopes will be irresistible airs in front of a mirror.
When British satirists saw Le bon genre, they immediately grasped its potential for mischief across the Channel. Gillray found it unnecessary to add much in the way of damning details in the French artist’s depiction of two couples waltzing. Far less dainty than the previous print, the spectator’s eye is drawn not to the grace of the handsome, fashionably young couples twirling in the closed position as much as their obvious physicality. Sexual desire and the heat of exertion seems to rise from the bodies of the pair to the right; the man’s fleshy thighs and his partner’s exaggerated shoulder blades so noticeable in the other pair are slightly repellent. It is a good explanation as any of why the waltz’s introduction caused a scandal in 1813.
Mourka: the Autobiography of a Cat. New York: Stein & Day, 1964. (Cotsen 67863)
The energy of dancers is channeled through the execution of patterns or choreography; bears, dogs and some other animals can be trained to do this. Before concluding that pigs will fly sooner than cats pirouette, look at Mourka: The Autobiography of a Cat (1964) whose subject was George Balanchine’s pet. It is probably best categorized as a children’s book for adults illustrated with shots of cats in motion by the great photographer of dancers, Martha Swope. Suspended in midair, Mourka and partner look as if they were destined for the stage of the New York City Ballet.
The delightful book has a heartbreaking backstory. The text was written by Tanaquil Le Clerq, the fourth Mrs. Balanchine and one of his muses. Recognized as perhaps the most promising dancers of her generation, choreographers of the stature of Jerome Robbins and Merce Cunningham created roles for Le Clerq. Her career was cut cruelly short when she caught polio during the company’s European tour in 1956. At age 27, she was paralyzed from the waist down, eventually recovering the use of her torso and legs. During the 1960s, she spent a great deal of time in the couple’s apartment, with only the cat for company when Balanchine could not be with her. While she avoided speaking about ballet, it was inescapable because of her husband’s running the company. 
Perhaps watching Mourka’s balletic leaps became a kind of therapy which reignited her need for self-expression through movement—first by writing this book, then by coaching others in her famous roles, and finally by teaching at the Dance Theatre of Harlem. Her students report how inspiring they found her eloquent demonstrations with arms and body.
None of these dancers are remotely alike, and yet they make Astaire’s observation about the power of authentic movement fresh again.
