A few years ago, I gave my wife A Dance to the Music of Time and she liked it. She detests my politics but reads my novels!
I'm not, therefore a disinterested party. I had read it myself in the 70s after reading Evelyn Waugh's war trilogy. Waugh's books were strong drink - a Marine Corps lieutenant colonel told me how much he cried at the end of this trilogy. This brought a tear to my own eye. Blast sentimentality.
Powell's series was less striking, in terms of that sentimental chord, less cartoonish as well, and given the length, the civility, the resonance, you had the feeling this can go on forever. When it ends, you are at a loss and the loss has a tinge of surprise. It's good to remember Powell, and better to remember him at length. There is such a thing as the conservative novel.
