This is a long-overdue blog post. Over a year ago, I promised Glynn Young a sterling review of his latest novel, Dancing Prince , which would serve as the fifth and final novel in Glynn's Dancing Priest series. Those of you who have followed this blog know of my other reviews and may wonder why this one is so long in coming. Simply put, at the time I readied myself to write one, our family went through some very pronounced trials that delayed this project. And yet, I think there was more than that. To write a review on the final book in this series is to admit the end arrived, that it was time to say goodbye to an old and dear friend, to tell Michael Kent--cyclist, priest, hero, and King of Great Britain and Northern Ireland--farewell.
But the time has come to do so, and as I have looked back over the story of Dancing Prince twice more, I find echoes of all that is good, strained through much angst and hardship, whispering through its pages. And this is done in more than one way.
First, much like the biblical book of Ecclesiastes, we find a message that is neither optimistic nor pessimistic, but realistic--the poignant reality of pain can show up the further one moves through life. As readers have grown to know and, yes, love, Michael Kent from his earliest days at the University of Edinburgh in Dancing Prince, through his wedded bliss to Sarah Hughes, their adoption of Jason and Jim, and the expansion of their royal clan via the births of Henry, Sophie, Helen, and (the youngest) Thomas, we have known challenges to befall the family. But outright tragedy has been stiff-armed from much of their existence as if facing the depicted player on the Heisman Trophy. In Dancing Prince, hope is battered, bruised, and disfigured. Without giving away the plot, tragedy strikes from every angle. Sickness and death, relationship spoilage and death, and even the remaining connection between father and son seems to be going through a slow, steady demise. No matter what snippets of goodness and hope arise, for much of the book these fleeting moments seem to be a chasing after the wind (Ecclesiastes 2:17). And yet all this is helpful to the reader. The longer a story goes, just like life, the greater the chances that sadness will weave itself into the fabric of the journey. Glynn Young deserves full credit for not allowing the story to be filtered through rose-colored glasses and where everything is strawberries and cream. To know that Michael Kent and his family share something of our travails is, at its root, encouraging. Our heroes suffer as we do. We are not alone.
Secondly, the bruised relationship between youngest son Thomas and his father, King Michael, will force the reader to adopt new measures. For one, after reading Dancing Prince, we will never experience Michael in the same light through the first four books of the series ever again. In re-reading Dancing Priest, A Light Shining, Dancing King, and Dancing Prophet, we will always brace ourselves for the rough waters we know are coming in Dancing Prince. We will steel ourselves to face the experience of walking alongside a king who spends too much time at work and forgets--however briefly--his family. We will prepare ourselves for the emotional loss and emptiness we will vicariously experience through Michael. And yet, we will also get to see a Michael 2.0 in Thomas, whom Queen Sarah even admits is the most like Michael of all their children. We see him gain lauded experience on the archaeological dig on the Orkney Islands as his father was lauded for sparkling duty and glory in the Olympics. Thomas finds love with a student assigned to the dig, as Michael fell hard and fast for Sarah in his university days. And even early break-ups, a factor for both Thomas and Michael, result in a renewal of hope and a commitment to love. And the throne of Great Britain? To be sure, both men face roundabout, unusual paths to the Crown. While our hearts ache for Michael, we find them restored through the actions of Thomas.
And finally, the good news in Dancing Prince might be in what doesn't happen. In the end, Michael doesn't fail. As Michael's difficulties and estrangement from Thomas keeps mounting, I couldn't help but think, "Oh gosh, no...I feel like I'm in I Kings 11 again!" Solomon, king of Israel, so gifted with wisdom and giftedness that stunned the world, could not remain faithful in middle and old age. His heart is drawn away through distraction and idolatry, his kingdom ripped from him. And yet, in the end, Michael--unlike Solomon--will admit his shortcomings so that he might turn away from disaster. His wisdom, he confesses via his actions, goes only so far, and he realizes the danger of following pride over spiritual insight. It is as if Michael declares, "I will not be a Solomon! I will be one whom God desires me to be!" In his actions, we receive more than a hopeful ending; we are able to see the confession on bended knee we all much make before Christ, to admit our inadequacy in our trials, and to cling to a Strength beyond what we possess. And in the midst of that admission, like Michael, we find restoration. We find cleansing. We find hope.
All great literature brings readers to a place of greater hope than they possessed before they entered the story before them. The saga of the Dancing Priest series means Glynn Young accomplishes this in spades. My only regret is that the series has to come to an end. But even though Michael Kent will not return to any more of stories, the good news is that by the magic of re-reading, we can always return to his.
