A Dance to the Music of Time is a twelve-volume cycle of novels by Anthony Powell, inspired by the painting of the same name by Nicolas Poussin. One of the longest works of fiction in literature, it was published between 1951 and 1975 to critical acclaim. The story is an often comic examination of movements and manners, power and passivity in English political, cultural and military life in the mid 20th century.
The sequence is narrated by Nick Jenkins in the form of his reminiscences. At the beginning of the first volume, Nick falls into a reverie while watching snow descending on a coal brazier. This reminds him of "the ancient world – legionaries (...) mountain altars (...) centaurs (....)". These classical projections introduce the account of his schooldays which opens A Question of Upbringing.
Over the course of the following volumes, he recalls the people he met over the previous half a century. Little is told of Jenkins's personal life beyond his encounters with the great and the bad. Events, such as his wife's miscarriage, are only related in conversation with the principal characters.
Time magazine included the novel in its TIME 100 Best English-language Novels from 1923 to 2005. The editors of Modern Library ranked the work as 43rd greatest English-language novel of the twentieth century.
Read more about A Dance To The Music Of Time: Inspiration, Analysis, The Novels, Principal Characters, Adaptations
Famous quotes containing the words dance, music and/or time:
“The only dance masters I could have were Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Walt Whitman and Nietzsche.”
—Isadora Duncan (1878–1927)
“And this shall be for music when no one else is near,
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
That only I remember, that only you admire,
Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.”
—Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894)
“These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God to-day. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)