It was a sad and deeply nostalgic first few volumes, even when there wasn't any actual recapitulations going on. It's the nature of a wake, or a waking from a dream. It was the letdown, the reminiscence, the transition that made these so powerful. 
 Death is not the end, and indeed, it is not the end at all, but the waking from the dream. 
 Pure poetry. 
 Of course the remaining volumes do much the same, especially the last with our very own Shakespeare, with Prospero breaking his staff. Ah yes, the strings become clear now, don't they? 
 Excellent and beautiful writing, all of it.