Alma Guillermoprieto’s “Dancing in the City”

From The New Yorker's archive: A journalist remembers her early life as a dancer in New York, under Martha Graham, Merce Cunningham, and Twyla Tharp.  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   View in browser | Update your preferences     Personal History Dancing in the City A journalist remembers her early life as a dancer in New York, under Martha Graham, Merce Cunningham, and Twyla Tharp. By Alma Guillermoprieto In a 2001 review of a book by Alma Guillermoprieto, a Times critic wrote that the journalist "gets at the truth the way a psychological novelist might." Since 1989, Guillermoprieto has contributed more than forty pieces to The New Yorker. She has written about a variety of subjects, including the complex life of Eva Perón, the Presidential campaign of the novelist Mario Vargas Llosa, the drug dealer Pablo Escobar and the cocaine trade in Medellín, and the mystery behind more than a hundred murders of women in northern Mexico. She has also published nine books, including "The Heart That Bleeds" and "Dancing with Cuba." Guillermoprieto is known for her searing reports on Latin-American politics and society, but one of her most moving pieces is a Personal History, published in 2003, about the years she spent as a young woman studying modern dance in New York City. In "Dancing in the City," Guillermoprieto writes about her experiences under the tutelage of Merce Cunningham and Twyla Tharp, among others. Her descriptions of the Manhattan dance world in the late sixties are vivid and intricate, and, as the piece progresses, she ruminates on the sense of freedom that dancing gives her. "At eight o'clock on a balmy summer morning, a breath of mist rises from the grass of Central Park's Great Lawn and drifts above it," she writes. "It's only the evaporation of the previous night's dew, a flimsy, transparent veil that vanishes in the first breeze, but if you are fortunate enough to be dancing on that meadow at that hour, it serves to reinforce the feeling that you are floating." Guillermoprieto's languid prose mimics the style of dance that she's describing. As she studies the steps of a particular work, she is also learning about herself and the kind of life that she ultimately wants to lead. The life she dreams of isn't accidental or spontaneous, she notes, but one forged gradually and with great effort, like the dances she seeks to perfect. Guillermoprieto's movements may be languid or lightning quick, depending on the dance, but, as her writing shows, there's a sense of purpose and precision that accompanies each compelling gesture.   —Erin Overbey, archive editor More from the Archive     Letter from Mexico A Hundred Women Why has a decade-long string of murders gone unsolved? By Alma Guillermoprieto     Journals A Diamond to Cut New York "I am still so amazed at the brazenness of people who only remember you when you've gone into your fourth printing." By Dawn Powell This e-mail was sent to you by The New Yorker. To ensure delivery, we recommend adding newyorker@newsletters.newyorker.com to your contacts, while noting that it is a no-reply address. Please send all newsletter feedback to tnyinbox@newyorker.com.    For more from The New Yorker, sign up for our newsletters, shop the store, and sign in to newyorker.com, where subscribers always have unlimited access. Contact us with questions.   View our Privacy Policy. Unsubscribe.   Copyright © Condé Nast 2020. One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. All rights reserved.