The Diary of Vaslav Nijinsky

Vaslav Nijinsky was not just any dancer; he was the rock star of early 20th-century ballet. His leaps and choreography revolutionized the art form, and his magnetic presence made him a household name among dance lovers. But beneath the spotlight, Nijinsky’s mind was quietly slipping into chaos. “The Diary of Vaslav Nijinsky” captures a six-week window during early 1919 when his schizophrenia was beginning to take hold, and he scribbled down his thoughts in a desperate effort to make sense of his crumbling reality.

This diary isn’t a polished memoir or a neatly packaged artistic manifesto. It’s fragmented, repetitive, and often maddeningly opaque — but that’s exactly why it’s so compelling. Nijinsky’s entries reveal a man caught between divine self-belief and terrifying paranoia. He saw himself as a godlike figure, a chosen messenger of a higher power through dance, but also as a victim of conspiracies and cosmic forces beyond his control. His writing swings wildly from poetic rhapsody to paranoid rambling, giving readers a front-row seat to the breakdown of a brilliant mind.

What stands out most is Nijinsky’s struggle with identity — both as an artist and as a person. He obsessively reflects on his sexuality, his complicated relationship with Serge Diaghilev (the Ballets Russes impresario and his lover), and his interactions with women. These confessions aren’t sanitized or glorified; they’re raw, awkward, and sometimes painfully honest. There’s no attempt to make himself look heroic or tragic in a neat way. Instead, you get the messy reality of a man trying to hold onto his sense of self while everything inside him fractures.

The diary also touches on philosophical and religious themes, though not in a tidy, academic manner. Nijinsky’s thoughts on God, the universe, and his place in it are tangled up with his delusions and hallucinations. He’s trying to find meaning and control in a world that’s slipping through his fingers. It’s a haunting reminder of how mental illness can distort even the most profound questions about existence.

For readers interested in the intersection of creativity and mental health, this diary is a rare primary source. Nijinsky’s firsthand account of schizophrenia’s onset offers insight into how the illness can invade and reshape perception, especially in someone whose art depended on physical precision and emotional expression. But don’t expect a clear narrative or a neat explanation of his choreography. The diary is intensely personal and psychological, not a treatise on ballet.

The 1999 unexpurgated edition restored material that earlier versions left out, including more candid discussions of Nijinsky’s sexuality and his mental state. This fuller version gives a more honest, if sometimes uncomfortable, portrait of the man behind the legend. It’s not an easy read, but it’s invaluable for anyone wanting to understand the complexity of Nijinsky’s life and the human cost of genius.

In short, this diary is less about dance steps and more about the dance inside the mind — a chaotic, heartbreaking choreography of a brilliant artist losing his grip. It challenges readers to confront the uncomfortable reality that genius and madness can be inseparable, and that the stories we tell about great artists often leave out the darker, messier parts.