This is far from a complete or even adequate survey of American-ness in dance — it never once mentions Isadora Duncan, 'West Side Story,' Alvin Ailey’s 'Revelations' or Mikhail Baryshnikov — and yet it’s valuable, original, refreshing, wide-ranging. You can find errors in it; you may howl about its omissions; you should argue with it. But it’s good company: Ms. Pugh’s writing is excellent, and the book is mind opening.
To pull off this performance, Pugh executes some fancy footwork of her own; and like Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson taking flight up a flight of stairs (and back down again), Pugh nimbly keeps step with a chronology that’s given to doubling back abruptly and leaping forward.
This is a reductive take on these careers and a rather fragile characterization of what makes dance American in general, imposed on what are essentially self-standing essays.
