What do You think about Hearing Secret Harmonies (1983)?
Powell comes on with full force in 'Hearing Secret Harmonies,' letting the reader run into nearly all the characters from the twelve novels of 'Dance' who are still alive, while introducing strong new ones representing the youth movement of the 70s. The nefarious Scorpio Murtlock, leader of a wiccan and satanic cult stands out. Just as 'A Dance to the Music of Time' opens with the indelible image of Widmerpool, clumsy, overbearing, yet a force of life that can't be stopped, trudging up a road, it ends half a century and twelve books later with a vision of him, literally stripped down to no more than his cumbersome body, trudging up a road: 'I'm running, I'm running, I've got to keep it up.' The fact that he then collapses and dies doesn't diminish the persistence of that life-force, or lessen the absurd comedy of the moment. The reader is also allowed, now that narrator Nick Jenkins's presumed children are presumbably grown, glimpses of his marriage and home, perhaps a last gift in gratitude for the persistence of that reader. 'A Dance to the Music of Time' is a masterpiece of fiction that gives a picture of history more revealing than the history. To quote another unforgettable character, the profligate and Bohemian author X. Trapnel:'People think because a novel is invented, it isn’t true. Exactly the reverse is the case. Because a novel is invented, it is true. Biography and memoirs can never be wholly true, since they can’t include every single circumstance of what happened. The novel can do that. The novelist himself lays it down. His decision is binding. The biographer, even at his best, can be only tentative, empirical. The autobiographer, for his part, is imprisoned by his own egotism. He must always be suspect. In contrast with the other two, the novelist is god, creating his man, making him breathe and walk. The man, created in his own image, provides information about the god. In a sense you know more about Balzac and Dickens from their novels, then Rousseau and Casanova from their Confessions.'Highly recommended.
—Lars Guthrie
This book 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 Powell's own, though, 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, though Jenkins himself remains an enigma.Kenneth (now Lord) Widmerpool is as odious as ever, though his immersion within a pseudo-religious cult definitely comes as a surprise. Newly introduced in this volume is the sinister Scorpio Murtlock who has an unbridled capacity to wreak havoc wherever he goes, and who is determined to become acquainted with Widmerpool for his own nefarious purposes.All the 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". This is not the strongest novel in the sequence, though 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, 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.
—Ian Brydon
Certain books are age specific: not in a "Suitable for ages 7 and up" way; they just have to be read at the right time in life to truly resonate. Catcher in the Rye has, I think, to be read in one's adolesence; any older and the angst would just grate. On the other hand, I would say that Powell's A Dance to the Music of Time can't be read any younger than one's middle years. I don't think the way it captures so perfectly the unexpectedness of life's trajectories would make any sense to anyone younger. I look at where I am now, and where my peers in university are now, and I don't think any of us could have thought that we'd be where we are. I've seen people who were written off as mediocre go on to have exciting careers in New York. The wild child settled down to a very respectable conservative Christian marriage. On the other hand, the star student from a respectable family ended up embezzling money from his clients and after several years on the run is now in jail. A few people came out; childhood sweethearts got divorced; the boy-next-door best-possible catch had an affair and then moved on to sleeping with the interns. It's not as if I even followed any of these people's lives or that they were my closest friends. Some I read about in the papers (the embezzler), others were of the Foot-in-Mouth variety chance meeting (So, how are you and S doing? Oh, right, I'm so sorry to hear about the divorce. Er, so, nice weather we're having.), and others of course were the, OMG, did you hear about D? But that's how life is. We lead our own lives, hang out with our friends, go through our life changes and end up in places we never thought we would, see friends go through their own peculiar journeys, and hear about the many many others we never really kept in touch with. A Dance to the Music of Time captures that ebb and flow perfectly. At 20, you think you got it all worked out. At 40, you realise that nothing is ever truly worked out, and the best you can do is just keep up with the changes. I can't think of a better work to have read at this juncture of my life. I would truly love to have thrust it into my sweaty eager 20-year old hands with the urgent injunction to "Read it, just read it. This is what living is going to be like. Not all of it is going to be fun, and it isn't going to work out the way you think it will, but I promise you, the experience is all worth it." But the truth is, at 20 I wouldn't have got it. Now in my 40's, with some wryness and recognition, I do. I can't wait to see how I'll react when I read it again in my 50's and in my 60's.
—Whitaker
