I only read three books this week, but the best, by far, was Julian Barnes' The Sense of an Ending. This was also the most depressing book I've read in a long time, but, wow. Whatever else this book is about, and it does tell a story, the subtext rises to the fore.
The Sense of an Ending is about the imperfections of recent history and the clarity with which the narrator faces the vagueness of his own memories much more than it is about an old school friend's suicide.
I'll admit that as the winner of the Booker Prize, I was predisposed to dislike this novel based on pretentiousness alone. The fact that the story is not uplifting and I began the book expecting to hate it, make the win even more impressive.
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