The Sense Of An Ending

After receiving some feedback, I recently did a quick tally to see how many of my posts have featured, not simply mentioned, either a book or author. I was surprised to discover it has been fairly rare. So sitting stunned late last night as I finished "The Sense of an Ending" (2011) by Julian Barnes, I knew today's topic. Not blogging about it wasn't an option; had my ratio felt too out of balance, I might have postponed.

Caveat: If you're around my age and in a vulnerable state, wait to read this until you're feeling a little more grounded.  But whatever your age, put this book on your list. It is brief but exactly as long as it should be. It is wise but not at all heady. Saying what it is "about" could cheapen the experience but here's a short list: Memory, regret, youthful arrogance and impetuousness.

Given my mild obsessive streak, I've purposefully avoided counting how many books I've finished since ceasing full time work in March 2010 - reading, writing and guitar (again) are now my work; it's been liberating. So reading this book reminded me of great days when my full time work mesmerized me. Of the novels I've read these last 2+ years, "The Sense of an Ending" clearly stands in the top rank.