"We live in a world in which much remains - and must remain - unrevealed."

I'm really rather thrown by this book.

I firmly believe that it is not a reviewer's task to dispute what the artist has tried to do; it is instead their lot to determine whether the artist has succeeded at their stated intention. So I will try not to be dismayed that, by killing off or retiring nearly every character in the series, and rendering Nick and Isobel Jenkins mere ciphers (a deliberate choice that has previously yielded much fruit), Powell was left with only two choices: to turn the final volume in the series over entirely to the remaining character of note, Lord Kenneth Widmerpool or, alternatively, to focus on new characters and situations altogether. I will also try not to be bemused that he chose the latter. Still, suppressing as I am any alleged dismay or bemusement, I can't help feeling that Hearing Secret Harmonies is almost entirely a failure, casting quite a pall over the not insignificant achievement of the Dance as a whole. (Perhaps, I might add as a caveat, the book will read stronger to me on future visits; being half the age of the characters and, for the matter, the novelist, may set me at something of a disadvantage - although personally I think that's the lazy philosopher's argument.)

It has been 10 years since we last saw Jenkins and his crew, and almost 50 since we first met him as a teenage boy. England has been through a Depression, a War, a complete cultural shift, and an artistic revolution. Now, a semi-retired author, Nick finds himself failing to understand the young, cherishing memories that have become ancient history to those younger than he, and viewing from a distance the grotesque downfall of a man he once knew.

There are some strong individual moments contained herein, although moments are all the novel has to offer. The mythic quality that certain things have taken on, from the Edgar Deacon painting Boyhood of Cyrus to the towering walls of Stourwater. Strength is gained primarily through a sense that the once joyous-seeming dance of the eponymous Poussin painting - first referenced by Nicholas in the opening of the first volume, A Question of Upbringing, and resurrected in his mind early in this one - has now becoming something more nightmarish, a danse macabre perhaps. A delayed final meeting with a character from long ago is (deliberately) almost devoid of feeling, echoing with the pain of having known someone so well half a lifetime ago. Some beautiful, sensitive landscape passages earn the novel a star, although Powell was always effortlessly good at same. And Flavia Wisebite - whose decision to have children caused so much angst in the long-run - wins the coveted Most Poignant Moment trophy when, at a wedding, she expresses her desire that the newlyweds will be happy, noting "I never was, but I hope they will be". We barely know the woman, but in that moment she is all of us.

Yet though some abides, much is taken, to paraphrase the great poet. For some reason Jenkins feels a constant need to sum things up in his narration, an urge he has very rarely felt before, as if Powell suspected he would somehow gain a vast new tranche of readers for the final volume. More to the point, the decision to keep Widmerpool out of focus (even when he does appear, it is usually across a crowded room) lends even more confusion to the sad tale of his final years. Even the reveal in the last chapter feels dreary. Not predictable as such, but - even for a case that ended up involving necrophilia, voyeurism, and state secrets - underwhelming. Perhaps it is in part because the aging novelist seems so blatantly uncomfortable with his subject matter. One might feel repelled by Jenkins' seeming dismissal of every woman under 30 for having obviously had multiple lovers (something he can tell just by looking at them, apparently) if it weren't for the fact that everything novel in the novel feels caricatured. I think "crazy cult in which fully-grown adults can't speak unless their leader wishes it" felt more believable in 1975, but from this vantage point it certainly does not. (I'm reminded of the failings in the final works of another once-great author, [a:Lawrence Durrell|8166|Lawrence Durrell|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1463722118p2/8166.jpg]'s [b:Quinx|1246100|Quinx|Lawrence Durrell|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1394427750l/1246100._SY75_.jpg|1234828] - see my reviews of that series for more.)

Perhaps the simple answer is that Powell was never quite able to conjure up for his later creations the same affections in the reader that we felt for the series' early characters - Stringham and Templer, of course, but also Le Bas, Uncle Giles, Audrey, Lady Molly, and so on. (Bithel, the Welsh soldier from the War Trilogy, reappears as an old drunk, and is one of the few highlights.) Perhaps, for all his love of unexpected and sometimes unintentionally comical coincidences, Powell seemed to have taken that criticism to heart, and so chose not to ply us with such in the final volume, instead unwisely focusing on the cult of Scorpio Murtlock. (I enjoyed the author's harmonies when they weren't so secret; changing a winning formula at the final gatepost seems unwise.) Perhaps the great joys and sorrows of his early years - which had furnished the material for so much of what made the Dance exhilarating - were replaced later in Powell's life by his obscenely comfortable and cosseted existence, and he simply could not fathom what stories were left to tell.

I do not have the answers. I do not seek to dismiss the Dance; indeed, it has rewarded me richly, and I will certainly return when next I hear the distant singer calling the players to order. Still, for all the talk (overstated, as Powell himself knew) linking this author to Proust, I find it a shame that Proust's great novel, although unfinished, leaves me with a much greater sense of revelation and wonder than this, for whose author Fate gifted the required months and years to complete it at leisure.

A puzzlement. ( )

And just like that, 10 months later, done with the series. Figured I would read about a book a month, but ended up being a bit faster. This is maybe my favorite of the 12 books. Loved how things wrapped up, so imaginative how the characters ended up. Waiting for the companion book to show up. Will definitely be reading this whole series again in the future. ( )

I really enjoyed this installment. I found it quite funny, quite poignant and the plot was more compelling than in many of the other books. I'm glad the series finished on a high, because overall I found it a tremendous experience. Scorpio Murtlock is a fun character, although far less subtle than the best earlier characters, and there are lots of entertaining minor characters as well. The decision to bring in hippies was inspired - as a reflection on the breakdown of the class system and a new kind of modernity. I thought the themes of ancient magic, aging and conclusion were very well stitched together. ( )

A dazzling series and a close to perfect ending. ( )

This novel brings Anthony Powell's majestic twelve volume sequence, 'A Dance to the Music of Time' to a triumphant close. The sequence is clearly largely autobiographical, with narrator Nick Jenkins's life closely mirroring much of Powell's own, although, once again, despite the first-person narration, we learn precious little about the writer. His observations of his friends and acquaintances remain as acute and diverting as ever, although Jenkins himself remains an enigma.

We are now in the 1960s, and Jenkins is living in semi-retirement in Somerset, largely disengaged from his former literary endeavours. Kenneth (now Lord) Widmerpool is as odious as ever, although his immersion within a pseudo-religious cult definitely comes as a surprise. His character has come a long way from the opening volume, A Question of Upbringing, in which he seemed a peripheral character, notably principally for his apparent oddness, and inability to conform, despite his own wish not to stand out. Since then he has been, in turns, a solicitor, a competent business fixer, a successful military administrator, a politician, and, latterly, a self-imposed authority, expressing his forthright views through the editorial columns of newspapers of the newly-minted medium of television.

By the time this novel opens, Widmerpool has just returned from a stint in America where he had garnered some prominence as an advocate of the counterculture, and has re-established himself in the public view as ‘Ken’ Widmerpool. Appointed as the Chancellor of one of the newly-chartered universities, he makes regular public appearances espousing his radical views on educational reform.

Meanwhile, a new character emerges at the start of the book. Scorpio ‘Scorp’ Murtlock is a sinister figure with an unbridled capacity to wreak havoc wherever he goes. He has established himself as the leader of a faux religious community, with whom he travels around in a horse-drawn gypsy carriage. As an early advocate of New Age mysticism, they travel around ancient Druidic sites, and participate in arcane rituals. Murtlock is, however, ambitious for power and influence, and is also determined to become acquainted with Widmerpool for his own nefarious purposes.

As with all of its predecessors, there is relatively little action in the novel. Powell treats us to his customary set pieces, including a marvellous depiction of a literary prize dinner, in which a disordered Widmperool inadvertently steals the show. A lot of the surviving old favourites are here: J G Quiggin, Mark Members, Matilda Donners, Norman Chandler and even, fleetingly, Bithel, who had featured so humorously in "The Valley of Bones".

I think it would be fair to say that this is not the strongest novel in the sequence, although that still leaves considerable scope for it to be a fine novel. It must, anyway, be difficult to bring such a magnum opus to a satisfying conclusion. Powell maintains his mastery of the plot, effortlessly tying up a huge selection of long-running loose ends. I enjoyed re-reading this novel, and indeed the whole sequence, for the umpteenth time, though, as always, I felt saddened to have completed it. ( )