The Sense of an Ending (Borzoi Books) (original 2011; edition 2011)

I recently finished Barnes’ “A History of the World in 10 ½ Chapters,” and gave it a pretty glowing review. Its combination of clever playfulness and meditations on important questions was one I tend to find less frequently in contemporary fiction, and was therefore a welcome one. Just as in “A History of the World in 10 ½ Chapters,” the themes of memory and our relationship with it loom large, but here they are transmuted into a poignant story of personal revelation, not the latter’s illustration of the vast canvas of humanity. “The Sense of an Ending” retains Barnes’ humorous voice despite its subject, which could have easily let it devolve into a cheap, sentimental pity party.

The novel is told in two parts. The first introduces us to the narrator, Tony Webster, and his small circle of smart-alecky, pretentious friends in their last years before going off to university. They all think pretty highly of themselves (I guess that’s not too atypical of boys this age), but one among them – Adrian – really and truly does stand out. The other friends were too alike and immature to really stick out in my imagination. But Adrian’s interest in ideas, philosophy, and history even has his history teacher offering him his job one day if it wants it, and he wasn’t kidding. Adrian has such heightened moral scruples that he even writes a letter to Tony asking if it’s okay that he dates one of his ex-girlfriends, Veronica. Veronica, despite being a total passive-aggressive bitch who led Tony along on a string, was one of the few oases in an adolescence otherwise wholly unvisited by reciprocated love interests. Tony replies with a very sardonic, sarcastic, cutting letter in reply saying in effect, “Sure, but don’t mind my damaged goods.”

After graduating from school, Adrian is accepted, to no one’s surprise, to Cambridge University. However, Adrian’s precocity turns out to be very much a mixed blessing; during their college years they lose touch, and Tony learns that Adrian has, apparently because of his unshakeable philosophical convictions, committed suicide.

One day, Tony receives a letter from a solicitor informing him that Veronica’s mother has passed away, and that she wants to leave him Adrian’s diary. This re-opens a slew of old memories and associations that Tony may very well have wanted to leave untouched. After repeated attempts, he finally makes contact again with Veronica, who is still as conniving and cold as ever, even though we understand as the story wears on that she might have some small reason to be this way. In most reviews, I wouldn’t hesitate divulging even the most important parts of the book, but the unwinding of Tony’s memories come so quickly and are so important to the unfolding of the book that I would feel something would be lost to people who wanted to read it.

Thankfully, it won’t be divulging too much to say that this novel is about our complicated relationship with the past, how we come to understand and build that past, and how we must reconcile ourselves with it. A few people have noted that Tony seems to be self-pitying and his mistaken analyses of his friends. Of course, that’s Barnes’ point: wisdom and self-knowledge mean nothing, and might not even be possible, until we are blessed with the distinction between the promethean and the epimethean, before foresight and hindsight. The entire novel is about Tony slowly and painfully finding this out for himself. ( )

I didn't get it. I listened to this short book in two stints, but this is a book that doesn't work -- for me -- in audio. In print I flatter myself that I would have stopped here or there to consider and maybe realize Barnes was having me on. All I got was that he was an unreliable narrator; Barnes was obvious enough about that with history being the delusions written by the victors and everything being philosophically self-evident and I did see that his relationship with his daughter isn't as good as he claims. But whatever clues I was supposed to pick up from his initial account of the crucial weekend and then his later added memories, I did not. But I enjoyed the writing throughout, the tone, and how my sympathy for characters flipped and ebbed.

[Nothing Daunted] by [[Dorothy Wickenden]]

[Nothing Daunted] tells the story of two well-to-do Smith graduates who ventured west to rural Colorado in 1916 to teach school. The beginning of the book includes information about their families and their travels and education as girls but the bulk of the book describes their life in the mountains in northwest Colorado where a well-educated young attorney had organized a school district and built a two-room school house to provide "winter school" for the children in Routt County. Although the two were well-educated they had no training or experience as teachers nor had they ever lived in rustic circumstances. They did have cheerful, accepting natures and a thirst for adventure which made them embrace the hardships they would encounter in the coming year. The book is a charming description both of the young women and of life in the early 20th century rural west. ( )

This short but very powerful novel has a casual and easy flow, that is packed with a depth of insight laid out so effortlessly that Barnes gives a sense that he didn't just come to these life-lessons and dwell on them, but rather moved on quickly and without fanfare.

Tony Webster, the protagonist of the story reflects on his life with a sort of dulled sense of connection. That is he is objectively able to be critical about his own behavior, but without the sort of omnipotent understanding that objectivity often brings in novels, which is what I found so rewarding. The discoveries he's made about himself is revealed quickly, and densely scattered throughout the story, some flattering, some critical, but all very nuanced, bearing the weight of maturity and a life-lived imperfectly.

The story, though mostly a character study, has a decent amount momentum to the plot, and enough action that drives it along like a scenic train ride through the alps. A Corvette it is not, nor should it be.

Barnes's language and comfort within his own voice reminds a lot of Nabokov, with some contemporary phrases like "Skype" thrown in to shake you out of your ivory-tower projections, which was a nice surprise. The pace was great, and the subtlety that he conveys is so rich and understated that it makes you at once nod your head and say, "yes, yes," and other times shake your head and say the same. It's definitely a novel that you want to read through in one sitting, and when you're done, read again to catch all the morsels you've dropped the first time. ( )

I don't do this often, but as soon as I finished this s.im volume, I went directly back to the front and reread it in its entirety. All the answers are there, practically from the beginning. And one can see how Tony Webster slowly makes sense of an ending. ( )