I was bothered by the fact that the writing in this book was stilted and stuffy, until I realized that it was in translation. And, in actuality, the kind of circles that Russian impresario Serge Diaghilev ran in were, in many respects, nineteenth century creations. I was expecting bold splashes of modernism from a story of the man who brought the world Le Sacre du Printemps, but really, Diaghilev was an artistic gambler who tried to cause sensations and make money, not a committed modernist. Tolstoy was his hero - Picasso was just a collaborator. So, all that aside, once you figure out Diaghilev's modus operandi - get an idea, get a lukewarm endorsement of idea from someone in power, use lukewarm endorsement as a calling card to get money, ask artists to do sets, costumes, music, etc, spend more money than you have, build hype, pray for sensation - you get Diaghilev's story. Still, in his personal quest for renown and money, he did help jumpstart a century's culture.