A review by chiaroscuro
At Lady Molly's by Anthony Powell

3.0

In the fourth installment of a series that feels as if it will never end, Nick's youth is definitely running thin. Frequent assertions that it's about time he got married are the most obvious way this is conveyed, but I suppose where in the earlier books Nick was more often confused, at a loss, bewildered, unclear, in [b: At Lady Molly's|1376768|At Lady Molly's (A Dance to the Music of Time, #4)|Anthony Powell|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1345949635s/1376768.jpg|43273723] Nick has developed a reservoir of a sense of humour, to draw energy from whenever an awkward moment occurs. This is lucky because there are many.

As I was reading this I felt displeased

because Nick gets engaged, for God's sake, yet he and his fiancée barely exchange two words in the whole novel

. Then I remembered the words of my better Year 13 English teacher: "Never judge a work of literature on something it never intended to do." Like all maxims this is best only partly followed, but I want to say that series is unlike anything I've ever read before. Most of what Nick does is have conversations with other people to get through to their temperaments; he relays gossip, turns over observations and gently mocks people who need mocking. What he does not really do is talk about himself. People have called Powell the 'English Proust'; it will come as no surprise to anyone that I have not read Proust. So for me, this series is quite unique in my literary landscape. I read a lot of historical romance which is all about a structured build-up and growth of a relationship, focusing on the inner life of the main characters. Even the literary stuff I read is unlike this; I once compared this to [b: The Great Gatsby|4671|The Great Gatsby|F. Scott Fitzgerald|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1490528560s/4671.jpg|245494] but have since decided that the two are alike only in terms of narrator. The scope and intentions of The Music of Time are decidedly different to Gatsby.

These books make me feel my age, which in the grand scheme of things is really quite young. I don't want to bang on about the metaphor of life as a dance because it doesn't seem original enough to withstand much repeating, but I just mean I have hardly enough experience of life to be able to stand back and see it in metaphor. I'm still at the (latter end of the) [b: A Question of Upbringing|16116|A Question of Upbringing (A Dance to the Music of Time, #1)|Anthony Powell|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1328162630s/16116.jpg|1847340] stage; there hasn't been time for anyone to exit my life and then entered again. Part of me feels as if Widmerpool's strange constancy is the surest fiction of all; the other part is conscious that I am in no way fit to make sweeping judgements about life. Certainly, these feel like books to grow old to, and weirdly I hope I shall. By which I mean I will reread them when I am an old crone.

Also I think the title is just dreadful. There's something so unsophisticated about a preposition and especially as the previous titles have all been rather whimsical and metaphorical, this is a grave disappointment. It's very obvious: much of the story takes place at Lady Molly's weird parties, therefore we'll call the book At Lady Molly's. Neither is Lady Molly a particularly captivating character. I'm not enthusiastic about [b: Casanova's Chinese Restaurant|1052987|Casanova's Chinese Restaurant (A Dance to the Music of Time, #5)|Anthony Powell|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1320389095s/1052987.jpg|2474345] either, which sounds as if Powell threw darts at an edgy bingo card and pieced the results together. Nevertheless I'm sure later it'll make sense why #4 and #5 are such titular departures.

Really though this was very funny and also downright shocking in parts. And of course, beautiful:

I wished we would continue to walk, as we were doing, through glades of oak and chestnut trees in the cool twilight, without ever reaching the house and the grim meal which now seemed to lie ahead of us.

The unlikely and quite comforting thing is that Nick is wrong

because later at the house, he meets his future wife

. If I were sentimental, I'd take this to mean that the end of every moment can yield something even better.