Anthony Powell may have been a celebrated author, but to Georgia Powell he was simply the man who enlivened her childhood
My earliest recollections of my grandparents are inseparable from what seemed to be the ever-present knowledge that Grandfather was a writer, possibly a ‘famous’ writer, although I have never been sure that famous was quite the right word – even when he returns to the spotlight, as he has with a new biography by Hilary Spurling. Many people these days, particularly of my generation (I’m 48) and younger, seem not to have heard of Anthony Powell (1905–2000) or his twelve-novel sequence, A Dance to the Music of Time. But there have been occasions in my life when the mere mention of his name has drawn such an ecstatic reaction that I have been almost embarrassed by how casually I appear to be wearing my connection to ‘A P’. As young children my brother, Archie, and I based our impressions of his celebrity on occasional brushes with fans who...
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