Last Things is the last volume in Mr. Snow's circumspect, unimpassioned, self-possessed continuity through which he has managed to ratify most of the concerns of his time--political, scientific, ethical, human. Lewis Eliot is now sixty and since he has reached the age when there's a chill in the air, thoughts of the individual's annihilation, even worse obliteration, overtake him. There's only ""one myth that counted. . . the afterlife"" but of course Eliot cannot countenance it. Expectably characters from the earlier books appear, but the bipartite interest resides first in Lewis' sudden incapacitation (another retinal detachment followed by a cardiac arrest during the surgical procedure for the former) and attendant funk in the dark hours of the night and the soul. He comes out of it however, ready to face the troubles with his son Charles--attached to a girl (recently divorced) he and Margaret mistrust--and also Charles' activities. He's been participating in some of the things students are participating in all over the world with a dangerously subversive undercurrent. . . . At the close Mr. Snow, through Eliot, makes his resume: there can be no abdication before the end--""whether one liked it or not, one was propelled by a process of renewal, or hope, or will, that wasn't in the strictest sense one's own."" Mr. Snow is so eminently sane and reasonable that he cannot but persuade the reader even where he fails to engage him on more personal terms and the audience for these russet-toned reflections is not only certain but further assured by its Book-of-the-Month Club selection, for August.