If you were at the School (School of American Ballet, that is) in the late eighties and early nineties as I was, there’s a really good chance we have something else in common: an adoration of Peter Boal.
I remember vividly categorizing him in my 13 year-old mind as a “clean and well-rounded dancer” without truly understanding what those adjectives meant at the time (I realized a few years later just how intuitive and spot-on I was!) And I admiringly filed him in my mental folder of inspiration I held close during my training years… and beyond; he stood alongside the likes of Margaret Tracy, Alessandra Ferri, and Fernando Bujones.
Nearly a quarter of a century later, having never communicated with him until now, I sit here knowing more than I ever could have imagined about the human beneath the Apollonian ideal I had so haphazardly sculpted as a child.
Along with the knowledge learnt from reading his first published book I find myself having gained a much more mature respect for the man that I had so appreciated as a dancer.
Illusions of Camelot
Illusions of a Camelot captures the memories of a young Boal, a coming of age story that at first barely touches upon his ballet experiences and, even later, focuses primarily on the life-marking relationships that he developed in the dance world rather than on the professional accomplishments (although, of course, considering his celebrated career, it would have been a challenge to have mentioned none at all).
Albeit distinct from many a dancer memoir in this aspect, the prologue sets the reader up for what’s to come with its narrative voice wise beyond the age it portrays. Think Kevin from The Wonder Years.
Chapter 2 shares the book’s title, a hint that its content is of notable significance. Because although we learn on previous pages about the love Boal feels for his father, it is in “Illusions of Camelot” (the chapter, not the book) where the author first sheds light on the complexity of the relationship.
Bradlee Boal dominates many of the book’s remaining pages.
When you mention in the acknowledgments how “painfully aware of the reopening of wounds this work may cause”, I couldn’t help but wonder how much of this potential hurt is connected to your dad. Is this something you can comment on?Much of what happened around my dad’s alcoholism was not discussed. Some was covered up, some ignored, and some just bottled up inside and never addressed. Many of the incidents chronicled in this book were never shared with my family or friends and the depth of the pain was not known or processed.
For my family, reading this book offered a box full of memories – some joyous and funny, and some far more complex.
I can only imagine the sparkle in Boal’s eyes and the nostalgic tone of his voice when he describes with such fondness the indestructable links he shared with Mrs. Hattie and Mrs. Wilson. The two Black women hired by the Boal family to help with caring for their children and their Bedford, New York house are fondly remembered:
WIth Mrs. Hattie, young Boal’s septuagenarian ally, “It was a bond of love, trust and friendship forged while carefully spelling the colors of crayons and existing side by side every day.”
While with Mrs. Wilson, “she became my friend on day one…The bond was deep.”
He speaks no ill of his mother (Lyndall) or sister (Jenny), but the reader discerns early on that Boal’s most sentimental relationships with women were with the Black help.
Although they were clearly a part of your daily life growing up, not much attention is given in the book about the emotional connections between you and your mom, and you and your sister. At least not in the way that other figures are given the spotlight. Is this an intentional omission or did I totally miss something?
It’s not an intentional omission, and in retrospect, it might have been a stronger work if I had devoted more time and attention to these relationships. In the end, I did appreciate the sparseness of incidents and insights with some individuals, letting readers build and collect information along the way.
I also started out writing short stories and didn’t identify the threads or the tapestry. My primary focus was on community, caregivers and my father.
It is not until chapter 11 that we even see the word “ballet” and it’s not even referencing the author’s personal experiences. Yet the subsequent one finally reveals a photo of a 10-year old Boal posing on the steps of the Prince and Clara’s throne in New York City Ballet’s – and the chapter’s title – The Nutcracker.
From this point on in Illusions of Camelot, we are privy to a non-chronological account of many of Boal’s artistic influences throughout his ballet career.
From stories involving SAB’s Madame Tumkovsky and Madame Dudin, to Krammy and Stanley, and even Mrs. Gleboff, Boal’s descriptions bring the dancer-filled halls and studios of the Juilliard School back to life.
We also hear about Boal’s rapports with Jerome Robbins and George Balanchine and of the many other teachers, friends, and acquaintances that shaped him during these formative years.
99% of your memoir was news to me which made this such a fascinating read. How much of the material is actually secrets that are now coming out of the darkness, ones that will make Illusions of Camelot a fascinating read to even those who think they know you?
Well, I don’t know how much is known about me beyond the two jobs I have held. Stories from the home, playground, and streets of New York are defining and shaping of who I am, but they are also personal.
I find those pivotal moments in people’s lives fascinating. When we know one another – especially the personal stuff – we start to understand each other – or not – but regardless, we are one degree closer and one degree less separated.
Illusions of Camelot feels like a tell-all, a reveal, a cathartic confession of sorts. As if a contemplative reflection of the author’s past ignited the need to make it heard to everyone and anyone who would listen (or read, in this case). His candidness and rawness discloses so much that I actually found myself concerned at times about how others would react to his words.
Clearly, Boal is braver than I.
It takes a lot of courage to bring into the public eye dimensions of you that are so intimate. Considering the prominent position you still hold in the ballet space [as Artistic Director of Pacific Northwest Ballet], at any point did you hesitate or filter your writing knowing that many of your colleagues and dancers are likely to read your book?
I didn’t want to point fingers at anyone in the ballet world and honestly don’t have a personal reason to do so. I had a charmed career and felt a great deal of support along the way.
The ballet world is coming under scrutiny for many reasons, and I applaud others bringing their truths forward. I will say it feels a little weird, putting so much personal stuff out there, but I guess I should have thought of that before writing the book.
At times Boal’s insertions about his opinion on the state of social affairs – by way of hindsight observation, I imagine – feels unnatural and unnecessary, like the use of multiple exclamation marks at the end of a sentence. It seems as if he hasn’t given himself enough credit as an author, that he isn’t quite sure if he has successfully conveyed to us how he feels.
The thing is, Boal is a fabulous storyteller, his descriptive writing developing an empathetic audience as he shares the details of his childhood and adolescence.
In fact, they are so vivid that I became curious if he had kept a journal while growing up and throughout his adult years, or if the details of his memories were colored in when he actually sat down to write about them.
Occasionally, I did keep a journal, but only a few days here and there.
I did have plenty of press stories, yearbooks, photos, programs, and postcards – even report cards – that helped me rebuild scenes.
I also enjoyed the freedom of creating dialogue that couldn’t possibly be recalled. There were some opportunities to round out fact with fiction in order to tell a story.
Although there are endearing images sprinkled throughout Illusions of Camelot – a photo, a newspaper clipping, a scan of a scrapbook memory – the book is best suited for adult audiences.
Amongst the joys of ice cream, first loves, and professional milestones run many mature themes: social inequality, bullying, sexism, sexuality, mental abuse, theft, death, stalkers, racial and religious discrimination, gun violence, alcoholism…
You name it and the self-proclaimed rebel without a cause - “I had two vices: an old pack of Parliaments and bourbon.” - has witnessed or experienced the challenges firsthand.
About three-quarters of the way into the book – which effectively ends with a nostalgic capture of the night before Christmas in 1981, during which Boal would have recently turned sixteen – a couple of sentences stand out to me, ones that say so much about the author in such few words. I leave them here with you along with the encouragement to delve into all the details.
“On my train rides home with my dad, if I finished my homework, I was rewarded with sections of The New York Times. It was a conscious nod to my impending adulthood, and I savored the privilege.“
Peter Boal's memoir - his debut as a published book author - is a coming of age story of a young boy growing up in a privileged town in Westchester, New York. Boal takes us on his journey as he navigates the trials and tribulations, plus the joys and comforts, that developed throughout the relationships in his early years. We had the opportunity to interview Peter Boal, who is currently the artistic director of Pacific Northwest Ballet, where he shares some of his deepest and rawest feelings.
Featured Photo of Peter Boal. Photo (C) Steven Caras, all rights reserved.
