Her book is herself. It is, of course, about dancing. About loving to dance as a small child in Shanghai. About ballet classes and ballet teachers, about practice and rehearsal. About making her debut--as a Snowflake, at fifteen--with the emerging Sadler's Wells Company, under the demanding rule of the brilliant and volatile Ninette de Valois. About her almost magical early success (at seventeen dancing Giselle ; at eighteen, Swan Lake ; at nineteen, Sleeping Beauty ) and the effects on a young girl of sudden stardom. About the hard work of overcoming her limitations ("a face like a pudding," she says) and her weaknesses....

And it is about the great triumphs in London, New York, Paris. About the great choreographers and dancers who worked with her and helped Frederick Ashton (he choreographed by flinging himself into swoops and twists that seemed to flow spontaneously from the music, suddenly saying, "What did I do? Now you do it"); the magnetic and sophisticated Robert Helpmann, of whom she was more than a little frightened "until the harmony of dancing with him began taking hold"; the handsome Michael Somes ("platoons of corps de ballet girls lost their hearts to him"). About Nureyev, who, when Fonteyn was already in her forties, galvanized her energies and talents and swept her into a new career. About her feeling for her great Russian counterpart, Ulanova. About getting older and never ceasing to dance; now, at fifty-seven, still dancing around the world.

But even more, this is a book about the woman herself, who sees dancing as only a part of her life and perhaps not the most vital part--the Fonteyn who could not find love until in her thirties she suddenly met again (a visiting card brought to her dressing room; one hundred red roses) the man she had been in love with in her teens, the Panamanian diplomat Roberto Arias. And here is the infinitely moving story of their marriage, her shy assumption of her new role as ambassadress at the Court of St. James--and then, the near-fatal shooting in Panama that crippled her husband, and the drama and heroism of their life together since then.

Throughout, with the freshest imaginable gift for anecdote, Margot Fonteyn takes us into her many worlds--the vicissitudes of backstage life on six continents, the tumult of Panamanian politics and revolution, the social pleasures (and embarrassments) of international fame.

Above all, her autobiography is a revelation of a direct, warm-hearted person who believes that artists must take their art altogether seriously--and themselves not seriously at all; who finds her own fame difficult to grasp; who is worthy of what her audiences feel for her. Fonteyn is not only admired but loved. Her book--in its decency, its generosity, its sense of fun--makes clear why.