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A review by tristansreadingmania
The End of the Affair by Graham Greene
4.0
“Man has places in his heart which do not yet exist, and into them enters suffering, in order that they may have existence.”
-Leon Bloy
In light of their shared experience of a late conversion to Roman Catholicism, it shouldn’t be at all surprising that Greene utilised a quote from brother in spirit Leon Bloy, himself formerly a violent reactionary to the Catholic Church, at the beginning of ‘The End of the Affair’.
As it turns out, this quote also serves as a fitting preamble to the tragic, intimately introspective tale of fierce, all-consuming love that is to follow. For those of us who’ve known and experienced the myriad of challenges inherent to that form of love, this is an eerily familiar, often confronting read.
Suffering, in this book, is very much a condition – and often a concomitant- for contentment, even happiness (however brief) and meaning to be derived from life. In spite of the creeping forces of nihilism, cynicism and relativism that beset the critically inclined, a deeper meaning – be it the unconditional, often trying love for a person or a God – has to be grasped and embraced in order to live fully.
Whatever is mundane, convenient, or comes easy, spells certain (spiritual) death for those – often out of cowardice – consciously choosing it. Experiencing hurt, betrayal or disillusionment (which turns that love into hate) in that pursuit is a given. Yet, it beats the alternative, or so Greene seems to imply. Better to feel vibrantly alive once for a short while, than to feel an aching nothingness for one’s whole stay in this earthly realm.
This makes Greene a perennial writer, in my opinion. Those who attempt to dismiss his Catholic novels wholesale by mocking their religiously inspired situations (which are admittedly reaching at times) and imagery out of some sense of misplaced superiority, to me are missing the point somewhat.
Greene’s economical use of language, pregnant with meaning in what is a deceptively slim book very much made on impression on me. I found myself pensively underlining various passages, aphorisms and witticisms left and right, often with a grimace on my face. This man knows. By its deft employment, Greene brings to life the various complex states of mind of his richly drawn characters, especially the ones that compose the doomed couple entangled in an illicit love affair, Maurice and Sarah.
They are both conflicted, flawed, even at times plainly pathetic individuals, stirring conflicting emotions regarding them in the reader himself. Here is a hate/love dynamic at work on two levels, which in the case of our protagonists inexorably leads to a conclusion suffused with sorrow.
Only at the third part of the novel, do we the voyeurs, peering into their souls, truly understand where they are coming from, observe their frailty and weakness with coolly compassion, and find it in ourselves to forgive them for their trespasses of the heart.
Greene managed to turn us into Catholics after all, if just temporarily. A miracle?
-Leon Bloy
In light of their shared experience of a late conversion to Roman Catholicism, it shouldn’t be at all surprising that Greene utilised a quote from brother in spirit Leon Bloy, himself formerly a violent reactionary to the Catholic Church, at the beginning of ‘The End of the Affair’.
As it turns out, this quote also serves as a fitting preamble to the tragic, intimately introspective tale of fierce, all-consuming love that is to follow. For those of us who’ve known and experienced the myriad of challenges inherent to that form of love, this is an eerily familiar, often confronting read.
Suffering, in this book, is very much a condition – and often a concomitant- for contentment, even happiness (however brief) and meaning to be derived from life. In spite of the creeping forces of nihilism, cynicism and relativism that beset the critically inclined, a deeper meaning – be it the unconditional, often trying love for a person or a God – has to be grasped and embraced in order to live fully.
Whatever is mundane, convenient, or comes easy, spells certain (spiritual) death for those – often out of cowardice – consciously choosing it. Experiencing hurt, betrayal or disillusionment (which turns that love into hate) in that pursuit is a given. Yet, it beats the alternative, or so Greene seems to imply. Better to feel vibrantly alive once for a short while, than to feel an aching nothingness for one’s whole stay in this earthly realm.
This makes Greene a perennial writer, in my opinion. Those who attempt to dismiss his Catholic novels wholesale by mocking their religiously inspired situations (which are admittedly reaching at times) and imagery out of some sense of misplaced superiority, to me are missing the point somewhat.
Greene’s economical use of language, pregnant with meaning in what is a deceptively slim book very much made on impression on me. I found myself pensively underlining various passages, aphorisms and witticisms left and right, often with a grimace on my face. This man knows. By its deft employment, Greene brings to life the various complex states of mind of his richly drawn characters, especially the ones that compose the doomed couple entangled in an illicit love affair, Maurice and Sarah.
They are both conflicted, flawed, even at times plainly pathetic individuals, stirring conflicting emotions regarding them in the reader himself. Here is a hate/love dynamic at work on two levels, which in the case of our protagonists inexorably leads to a conclusion suffused with sorrow.
Only at the third part of the novel, do we the voyeurs, peering into their souls, truly understand where they are coming from, observe their frailty and weakness with coolly compassion, and find it in ourselves to forgive them for their trespasses of the heart.
Greene managed to turn us into Catholics after all, if just temporarily. A miracle?