A driven perfectionist, choreographer-director Jerome Robbins was startlingly prolific. But in pushing at the creative boundaries of ballet and Broadway, he was also maddeningly cruel a maestro of insult and innuendo. Complex and colorful, he snares the biographical spotlight in Dance with Demons. Written by Greg Lawrence, who knows his way around the dance floor (he teamed with ballerina Gelsey Kirkland for her memoir Dancing on My Grave), this is the first account of his professional triumphs and off-stage travails. Robbins, who died in 1998 at age 79, grew up loving dance, taking lessons as a child (to the irritation of his father). As a teenager, he was influenced by the pioneering modern dance artists of the 1930s, who explored political and social themes. Then came a project under choreographer Antony Tudor, whose ballet rehearsals resembled psychodramas, complete with Stanislavski acting techniques and Freudian insight. Robbins’ own ballets would reverberate with Tudor’s influence. One of Robbins’ most famous works, West Side Story, was also one of his most audacious. He once talked of doing a Jewish-Catholic take on Romeo and Juliet, but after reading headlines about juvenile delinquency, Robbins turned West Side Storyinto the saga of the Sharks and the Jets, and Tony and Maria. From the night of its 1957 premiere, West Side Story was a monster hit. Thanks to his troublesome behavior during the making of the West Side Story movie, Hollywood eluded the man whose work on Gypsy, Fiddler on the Roof and The King and I garnered him five Tonys and two Academy Awards. Robbins was further hampered by his personal relationships. In an era in which homosexuality was taboo, he was involved with men as well as women. Dance with Demons is full of fascinating quotes from Robbins’ associates and wonderful minutiae about the ballet world. Hundreds of the choreographer’s colleagues spoke with Greg Lawrence for this book, and the interviews help flesh out his lively portrait of Robbins. An engaging biography of a complex man, Dance with Demons brings Jerome Robbins center stage right where he belongs.

Pat Broeske writes from California.

orce of Hobbit The upcoming release of the first feature film in the Lord of the Rings trilogy has sparked new interest in all things Tolkien. The Fellowship of the Ring doesn’t hit theaters until December 19, but anticipation is already building for the $270 million three-movie series starring Elijah Wood, Cate Blanchett and Sir Ian McKellan.

All three films (including the sequels The Two Towers and The Return of the King) were shot over the course of roughly one year in New Zealand, making it the first time an entire feature film trilogy was filmed concurrently with the same director and cast. Before you check out director Peter Jackson’s hobbits on the big screen, enter the Middle-earth as Tolkien envisioned it.

Houghton Mifflin, Tolkien’s U.S. publisher for more than 60 years, has produced a one-volume movie tie-in edition of The Lord of the Rings that packs all three books into a fat paperback. The inexpensive edition revisits the John Ronald Reuel Tolkien classic that has been heralded as the greatest book of the 20th century and credited with launching the fantasy genre.

A professor of languages at Oxford University, Tolkien often created stories to soothe his young son, Michael, who had nightmares. Always fascinated by legends and fairytales, one day while grading exam papers, Tolkien scribbled the line, "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." From there came The Hobbit and the best-selling trilogy that followed. The writer who possessed a childlike sense of humor never thought his inventive creations would find their way into print; he was 62 when they were published.

Since the release of The Hobbit in 1938, eager readers have purchased more than 50 million copies of Tolkien’s books. Author Tom Shippey, who taught at Oxford with Tolkien, takes a critical look at the author’s continuing appeal in the just released biography, J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century. Far from being accidental, Shippey attributes Tolkien’s success to his expertise as a linguist and his experiences as a combat veteran.

Whatever the reason for his popularity, readers are sure to line up for the first live-action take on The Lord of the Rings. With second and third sequels waiting in the wings for Holiday 2002 and 2003, it looks like a merry Christmas for fantasy and science fiction fans.

They don’t make ’em like they used to. That feeling reverberates while reading the new biography of a screen iconoclast. Author Lee Server has written Robert Mitchum: Baby, I Don’t Care in the hip, loose style of Mitchum’s decidedly debauched life and career, and if the result sometimes feels a bit hammy (after all, no one can outcool Mitchum), this is a comprehensive and satisfying look at Hollywood’s baddest bad boy.

Based on dozens of interviews mostly of professional colleagues as well as extensive print sources, this book underscores the Mitchum enigma. He went through women like booze, but enjoyed an enduring marriage. He delighted in his two-fisted image, but was also a closet intellectual who grew up writing sonnets and short stories. On the set he could be rude, insolent and downright vulgar (in language and behavior). Yet opposite fragile leading ladies like Marilyn Monroe and Rita Hayworth, he was kindly, even protective. Mitchum got his start in Hopalong Cassidy programs, went on to etch memorable portraits in movies ranging from World War II sagas (notably, The Story of G.I. Joe) to thrillers. In several titles made at RKO under Howard Hughes’ reign he romanced Jane Russell; in Night of the Hunter (1955) he terrorized children; in Cape Fear (1962) he was a sadistic rapist and killer. He made 120 movies some of them just to get out of the house. Though he never won an Oscar, he was capable of Oscar-caliber work, beginning with an arena for which he was eerily suited. As Server notes, Mitchum’s "brooding bemusement and simmering violence" made him the perfect fit for the genre "of shadows and cynicism" that came to be known as film noir. Fittingly, the book derives its title from the 1947 noir classic, Out of the Past, in which wealthy criminal Kirk Douglas hires detective Mitchum to track down the no-good Jane Greer. After finding her, Mitchum falls for her. Ever cunning, she insists to him that she’s an innocent. Mitchum’s retort: "Baby, I don’t care." Pat H. Broeske interviewed Robert Mitchum over lunch in 1996. She still has the swizzle sticks.

Moss Hart loved the theater from the day he was whisked away from his grade school studies by a demented aunt to attend a production at the Bronx Opera House. In the shows he would later write and direct, he never strayed far from the theater for his subject matter. Born into an impoverished and largely dysfunctional family in 1904, Hart dropped out of school just before his 15th birthday. By the time he was 20, he had co-written and acted in his first professional production.

In his fascinating new biography Dazzler, Steven Bach, author of Marlene Dietrich: Life and Legend takes the reader on a virtual week-by-week journey through Hart’s busy and glamorous life. In the process, he adds details, corrects errors and provides alternative interpretations to the events Hart described in his best-selling 1959 autobiography, Act One. Without drawing more sweeping conclusions than he can document, Bach points out what he sees as Hart’s conflicting sexual urges, a matter that appears to have been resolved when, at the age of 41, he married actress Kitty Carlisle. Bach also sheds light on the writer/director’s bouts with depression, which, while severe, never seemed to sideline him for long. Throughout his adult life, Hart sought the counsel of psychotherapists, a habit Bach meticulously chronicles.

Although Dazzler covers every known play and screenplay Hart wrote or directed, the book is especially valuable for its descriptions of the often arduous creation of such cultural gems as The Man Who Came to Dinner, which Hart wrote with George S. Kaufman, and the stage versions of My Fair Lady and Camelot, both of which Hart directed. In constructing these tales, Bach draws amusing sketches of dozens of famous folk, among them Cole Porter, Rex Harrison, George M. Cohan, Irving Berlin and Julie Andrews.

"Your last play shows up in your next electrocardiogram," Hart once said in a moment of grim whimsy. In December 1961, just a few months after he had finally whipped Camelot into champion shape, he suffered his third heart attack and died.

Hart’s widow declined to be interviewed for this book, and many of his closest friends and collaborators were dead by the time Bach began his project. Yet his book is thorough, and what he does exceedingly well is bring to life Broadway’s Golden Age and many of the giants who made it shine so brightly.

Edward Morris is a Nashville-based writer.

lives have garnered more interest or received more scrutiny than Elvis Presley’s. Over 600,000 tourists visit Graceland each year, and the King continues to be one of RCA’s top record sellers. Elvis’ life and death also contain a great deal of mystery, and perhaps no part remains more mysterious than his relationship with Colonel Tom Parker. Parker managed Presley’s career, handling publicity, cutting deals and receiving commissions of 25 and later 50 percent. Although many argued that his commissions were too high and that he often failed to serve Elvis’ best interest, he remained his manager for 22 years. James L. Dickerson’s Colonel Tom Parker is a journey toward understanding the man who wielded power over Elvis and everyone else who fell into his orbit. Dickerson explores Parker’s mysterious origins and provides telling information about the early relationship between the Colonel and Elvis. Parker believed the singer’s charisma and ambition would take him far, so he slowly worked to usurp the duties of Elvis’ manager Bob Neal by ingratiating himself to Presley and his parents. Yet the Colonel’s shady deals and hard-nosed tactics were evident to many from the very beginning.

A great deal of disagreement remains over whether Parker mismanaged Elvis’ career, and many are critical of his failure to take a more proactive stance with Presley’s drug use. Colonel Tom Parker doesn’t try to defend the man from these charges. Instead, it explores his carnival background, addiction to gambling and fear of authority, providing information that clarifies why Parker behaved the way he did. Colonel Tom Parker is a brisk, enjoyable read, perfect for Elvis fans, serious or casual. Author of Goin’ Back to Memphis and Dixie Chicks, among other titles, Dickerson pulls the reader into the drama of the story. His insider knowledge of the music industry allows him to present his material in a lucid fashion. While the questions surrounding the perplexing relationship between an ex-carnival barker and a country boy who hit the big time may never be completely answered, Colonel Tom Parker leaves the reader with a provocative story and fresh insights.

Ronnie D. Lankford, Jr., is a writer in Appomattox, Virginia.

We often identify authors by their most famous works and investigate no further. But a writer’s output is, of course, only the tip of the iceberg. Readers interested in delving into the life experiences that shape an author will delight in Jackie Wullschlager’s Hans Christian Andersen: The Life of a Storyteller, a scholarly, detailed biography of one of the world’s most renowned writers. Born in Odense, Denmark, on April 2, 1805, in a small cottage in the poorest part of the village, Andersen spent his life trying to escape his humble origins. He once described his uneducated parents as "full of love" but "ignorant of life and of the world." His rise to fame removed him physically from Odense and placed him in the homes and palaces of the noblemen and royalty with whom he wished to identify, but the psychological scars of his true heritage created an identity crisis that remained throughout his life.

According to Wullschlager, Andersen’s fairy tales equal self-portraits. The triumphant Ugly Duckling, the loyal Little Mermaid, the steadfast Tin Soldier the stories of these characters show Andersen’s own ability to empathize with pain, sorrow and rejection.

Andersen’s life was significantly influenced by his travels, the patronage of royalty and wealthy friends and his association with other 19th century artists. Wullschlager includes fascinating stories, rich with historical detail, of his relationship with such notables as Charles Dickens, William Thackeray, Franz Listz and the Grimm brothers. The first to write fairy tales for adults as well as for children, Andersen composed narratives that compel readers to confront their innermost thoughts and fears. Soul-searching satires of humankind’s foibles and absurdities are woven into the fabric of his tales tales that, according to Wullschlager, reveal Andersen’s own inner conflict: a battle between achieving acceptance and success and rebelling against conventional constraints. Exploring the circumstances that contributed to the literary genius of Hans Christian Andersen and tracing those influences throughout his prolific works, Wullschlager has created a fascinating psychological profile of the legendary author.

Elizabeth Davis is a former marketing director for Turner Broadcasting System.

Sometimes you get more attention by keeping your life and thoughts to yourself. J.D. Salinger managed it for years. In an era admittedly less rife with press and public relations, Johannes Vermeer managed it for a lifetime.

For him, it still works. Recent art exhibitions and authors from Proust onward have played on the few known facts of Vermeer’s life and drawn on the haunting details of his 35 extant recognized paintings. Recent years have seen a vast increase in this attention, with a number of novels and vaguely historic treatments appearing in the last couple of years alone. It’s only a matter of time, it seems, before a movie or TV program mines the same infertile but productive ground. (If Attila the Hun can make the USA channel, why not Vermeer?) The producers could do worse than base it on Anthony Bailey’s Vermeer: A View of Delft, a book that is part history, part travelogue, part critique. Called by its author primarily a biography . . . of an extremely elusive man, it’s an intelligent and engaging look at the world and paintings of Vermeer and at the scant personal fragments that have been gleaned (or assumed) about his personal life. In other words, the artist in his frame.

Because there is no documentary information about Vermeer between the dates of his baptism and his betrothal, and precious little after that, the reader has to put up with a great many speculative qualifications ( may have, perhaps and can’t say for sure ). In spite of all this, the book sustains the reader’s interest and offers further rewards in its coverage of such matters as the Thunderclap (a gunpowder explosion that leveled whole streets of Delft, the artist’s hometown), the camera obscura, the tulip mania of the 1630s, the use of paintings in the Netherlands as legal tender, and the artist’s way with perspective, light, reserve and melancholy.

Author of 21 books and a writer for The New Yorker for a quarter-century, Bailey provides thoughtful and beautifully written appraisals of Vermeer’s work (many of the artist’s paintings are included) and of his continuing contribution to art itself. Time passes, Bailey muses, finally, wheels around on itself, and then keeps moving. It will not be fettered, though we sometimes dream that we can halt it, and Vermeer did as well in that respect as anyone can. Maude McDaniel writes from Cumberland, Maryland.