Having finished the third novel of Anthony Powell’s 12-volume A Dance to the Music of Time, I am trying to have some feeling for the series and where Powell is going with it. These are books which, like the great Victorian novels and like Proust’s meditations on time, don’t want to get there too fast. Middle-class Victorians were literate and had servants to give them some free time, but had no radio or television or Internet or 24-hour shopping malls. They wanted mileage from a book, for those long evenings when someone read aloud. Like them, Powell wants to slow us down. He seems to be saying that as we move through time we cannot really know what we have experienced until time has moved us along, past the experience.
And we cannot experience as other than we are. Mrs. Erdleigh, the fortune teller, explains this to Jenkins.
‘You expect too much, and yet you are also too resigned. You must try to understand life.’
Somewhat awed by this searching, even severe analysis, I promised I would do better in future.
‘People can only be themselves,’ she said. ‘If they possessed the qualities you desire in them, they would be different people.’
‘That is what I should like them to be.’
Jenkins tries, he does try to understand but cannot rise above his distaste for the ambitious Widmerpools of this world. His failure to understand is part of the story. Proust — and here too I have not moved beyond the first quarter or so of his oeuvre — who also seeks to understand people seems rather broader in his range. Proust is more of a sensualist. Jenkins eats and drinks but we have little sense of the experience itself, only of the effects. One may be drunk, but what did it taste like? With Proust you know; Powell does not ask the question.
Posted by SilverSeason 

