For some reason I didn't read this book when it was new, and then I consciously put off reading it. Surely no book could live up to the reputation it'd acquired? But "Dancer from the Dance" is everything it's been said to be, unashamedly romantic, poetic, lyrical, elegiac, a hymn to beauty saturated with religious imagery, Christian and Pagan. In it, we meet the beautiful, elusive Anthony Malone, young man of good family, ex-lawyer, now a "professional faggot" living for love, music and the dance in 1970s New York, aka Suck City. We also meet his mentor, Andrew Sutherland, gay leper (he has a small penis) and the queen to end all queens; an updated Lord Henry Wootton to Malone's Dorian Grey. We follow them and their companions on the circuit as they pursue a strangely monastic life, a life stripped down to one thing - love - servants of Priapus seeking the Beatific Vision. And if all this sounds over the top, it is. If you have a romantic heart, the book draws you into its overheated, hedonistic world.
In my view the recent critics of "Dancer from the Dance" have got it wrong. Accept the book on its own terms and immerse yourself in its celebratory vision of love, beauty and sex.