I’ll say it right away: This review of The Sense of an Ending, by Julian Barnes, was inspired fully – believe it or not – by its… ending. Quite frankly, it’s so atrocious that it should be taught in literature classes as an example of what not to do.
But let’s take a step back.
It all began when, looking for something to read, I noticed this short novel and was encouraged by its blurb that promised an elliptical and ambiguous narrative (more of this in a moment) with clear literary-fiction vibes. I was far less encouraged by the fact that this book in particular and the author in general have received plenty of awards and praise. Quite frankly, I’m thoroughly suspicious of such things.
In any case, I thought to give it a shot, and the result was exceedingly peculiar, as you’ll discover in this review.
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