It is well-worn wisdom that the second work in a trilogy, whether film or novel, often allows for some of the most beautiful moments, but also is rarely satisfying on its own, having to carry the plot from the first work while setting up the foundations for the last. There is, as far as I know, no such wisdom regarding the fourth work in a series of twelve, and so I find myself having to make assessments for myself. How thoroughly tiring! And while I settled on four stars, it's a fairly low four stars. As I've said before, Powell's magnum opus is clearly a "great work", but the whole is (by design) greater than the sum of its parts.

We're now in the mid-1930s. Nick Jenkins and his school chums must be around 30. Their lives have diverged almost completely: marriages, divorces, career changes, social circles, attitudes political and philosophical. Friends have become enemies, enemies friends. The Jenkins of [b:A Question of Upbringing|1846926|A Question of Upbringing (A Dance to the Music of Time #1)|Anthony Powell|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320389089l/1846926._SY75_.jpg|1847340] would no doubt be astonished by which friends he hasn't seen in years (Stringham) and which recur at parties and dinners (Widmerpool). His affair with Jean, hiding in the margins throughout much of [b:The Acceptance World: A Novel|2467028|The Acceptance World A Novel|Anthony Powell|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1394324435l/2467028._SY75_.jpg|1366685], is over, and maturity is setting in.

Powell continues his mosaic-like structure, as Jenkins - reduced here to being a cipher again, after some development in the previous book - journeys through the world of the upper-middle and lower-upper classes. Where it's all going is somehow less important than the experience of taking the tour at all. As is his wont, Powell divides the book into chapters of various social engagements: an overnight stay with a rather bolshie aristocrat, a sort of drop-in dinner hosted by the gregarious Lady Molly, and returns to old haunts.

(Tangent: these Flamingo paperback editions, from the early 1980s, are gorgeous, aren't they? The artwork has been returned to by more recent editions, which I'm grateful of. So often classic editions are phased out in favour of more "artistic" renderings, as if literature now can't have an amusing side to it. I'm so glad to have obtained them.)

In truth, Powell's Dance is little more than cultural history, at this point. Much as I doubt that many people outside of Japan have an obsessive love of Noh theatre, I suspect not many people outside of the Anglo diaspora will gain much from this book - and even then! The social cues and miscues that drive the comedic sections of the novel require a fair bit of intuiting (or maybe it's just me: you might know a lot of people who regularly have to be reminded that their brother is no longer known by his old aristocratic-title-that-isn't-his-christian-name, and now goes by that more senior title he inherited). I could figure out that being "in the City" was a good thing, because that meant one worked in banking. But it took me longer to realise that being "in Mincing Lane" wasn't a snide euphemism for being queer, but rather an indication one worked in global trade. The dramatic sections of the novel, largely restricted to Jenkins' growing realisation of how much is lost as we age and change, are more resonant, as those things perhaps are more universal.

As I've commented before, it's unfair of people to call Powell "the English Proust". The two novelists could not be more different, even though they are the two most notable writers of multi-book literary series in which a young man blossoms artistically and personal amid a satirical class-structured social world. For one thing, Proust's greatest work must surely be the first volume of the Search whereas Powell's work only grows in stature as it moves forward. More importantly, though, attempts to adapt Proust rarely fail, precisely because the only character we can truly know in the French work is the unnamed narrator (not Marcel, as I highlight in my reviews, but that's a matter of opinion). The hundreds of Proustian characters are really only perceptions of personhood, attempts by the young man to understand others that inevitably fail because of the gulf between ourselves and those around us. Powell, although he causes plenty of challenges for those who would seek to adapt his works, gives us an everyman narrator who is primarily important as an entrée into the world of these other characters. They may evolve and change over the books, but when we see them, we are given a much more unvarnished, much less ethereal viewpoint.

So, At Lady Molly's. It's probably my favourite of the series thus far. I remain a little perplexed by the heavy focus on Widmerpool; an amusing character, but to me not as interesting as Peter, Charles, or Jean. He's that slightly silly type of priggish schoolboy whose morbidly funny attempts to understand the world make for good reading, but who nevertheless surprises as a centrepiece. Nevertheless, the combination of Powell's maturation as a writer and the fleshing-out of the characters after four novels, make this a welcome read. I would like to continue at a rate of one book a year, because the experience of only partially remembering a character is actually an asset here, replicating as it does Jenkins' own experience! But I feel that my patience may be wearing away with my desire to see things through.

(Tangent #2: As well as reading the novels, I have subsequently been listening to two separate recordings that have helped cement the narrative in my brain. First, Simon Vance's fantastic complete recording for Audible - what an achievement! And second, a now-obscure BBC radio adaptation from 1979-82, which I managed to find in occasionally patchy condition. Both worth seeking out!)

What lies ahead? The War, evidently. Characters here discuss their views on Nazism and imperialism in ways that feel thoroughly natural, reminding us of the multiplicity of views (and the limited capability of mass media) in the 1930s that allowed evil to progress so far on the continent. It appears marriage and perhaps children will be weighing more heavily in upcoming volumes. And, I hope, a little more on art and culture - subjects pivotal to the first three novels but which were sidelined here to allow for the near-complete focus on social interaction.

But I suppose that's how life works, right? People, hobbies, locations, attitudes, even our lives themselves - they exist at the whim of society and time, and that, I think, is Powell's message. ( )

I really enjoyed this one. I found it quite funny and there are plenty of well-drawn characters. The characteristic blend of humour and poignancy is still there. ( )

Beautiful prose, unexpected plot twists, dry dry wit, all our favorite characters…just wonderful. ( )

paperback

In this, the fourth volume of [A Dance to the Music of Time], Powell comes close to his most magnificent best!

Taken at the most basic level the novel really only recounts three or four set piece occasions (drinks at an aristocratic house in Kensington, a weekend spent in a country cottage within a landed estate, a Sunday lunch in a gentlemen's club and a drinks party to celebrate an engagement), but from such relatively modest material Powell weaves a glorious tapestry of social observation, wry humour and political commentary.

I have lost count of the number of times that I have read this novel (and, indeed, the whole sequence) yet still I found new facets to wonder at. As ever, though, one learns next to nothing about the detail of the narrator's life: at one point, Jenkins remarks, "I was then at that stage of life when one has published a couple of novels ..." The last that we had heard of this aspect of his life was in the preceding volume [The Acceptance World] when he professed himself keen to try his hand at writing, but unsure of the best material with which to work.

Jenkins's bête-noire, the loathsome yet beguiling Kenneth Widmerpool, is absent for the greater part of this novel but he does eventually make his customary mark, bursting upon the haut monde scene with the announcement of his engagement to fast-living socialite, the Honourable Mildred Blaides. New territory for our Kenneth, and the reader is intrigued to know how he will take to the domestic lifestyle. Meanwhile Nick Jenkins has his own amatory thunderbolt moment.

While I have always enjoyed the earlier books, I recall that on my first reading of the sequence as a whole, it was with this volume that it all suddenly came alive for me. Jenkins’s observations of the world seem particularly wry, and other characters have suddenly started taking more notice of him.

Read it and enjoy! ( )