Only a few memories in life want to be remembered. And the remaining seeps into our consciousness; partly forgotten and without much effort, they rise to the occasion when we least expect them to. Is that what memories entail? And how do we place them, at the end of the day, behind closed eyes?
The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes feels too close to the heart. A quick read, no doubt, for the most part, this book is a figure of philosophical reverie. A reverie that shies away when we first see it, but it slowly unravels and defines itself. All you have to do is give in. There’s a lot to reminisce in between the small details that the book brings to the surface. It follows the thoughts of a soul whose estimation of the world is personal and sentimental enough to leave behind as a legacy.
Immersed in its time, the book’s sensibility is not hard to grasp. After all, when old age inquires about its youth, wouldn’t we all instantly deepen the pool of our essence with every drop of memory. And cast a net over all our clarifying, saddening, and comforting moments. The Sense of an Ending embodies such an effort; deeply satisfying, resilient, and redemptive.
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