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A review by gorecki
Elizabeth Finch by Julian Barnes
3.0
At its core, Elizabeth Finch is about a teacher. An inspirational one at that and how some teachers unlock something in us that binds us to them for life. An appreciation we develop for them in our hearts and minds. But it’s also about her students, about teaching by making people read between the lines and figuring things out for themselves. Once I finished it, it reminded me of my literature classes in school where our literature teacher would ask us “what is the author trying to tell us?”, and in Barnes’ case - I’m not sure. I suppose it depends on how you read it. Is this an ode? Is this a fictional memoire? Is this a fictional biography? Is it a research paper?
I found Parts One and Three beautifully written in typical Barnes style - retrospective, looking at things in hindsight from various angles and dissecting the smallest observations: how someone doesn’t smoke, how they don’t move, how they don’t say something and by that tell you something.
Part Two was the section that threw me off for a while. I utterly enjoyed it’s topic and as someone who respects others’ religious beliefs but is still of the firm opinion that organised religion has caused humanity more damage than good, I found Barnes’ writing on the aggression, oppression, misleading and manipulation of early Christianity extremely satisfying and on point. But at the same time, I failed to find the connection between it and the other two parts of the book. Was it brilliant and educational on its own? Yes, yes it was. But would I have lost anything from the story if I’d omitted it? No, not at all.
Overall, a beautiful Barnes, erudite and deep as usual, but also vague and hard to put a finger on or decipher. I prefer to read it as an ode to a teacher. And a fictional memoire. And a fictionalised biography. And a research paper. And I might have missed the point of what the author is trying to say, but I found a few other points in it and I’m okay with that.
I found Parts One and Three beautifully written in typical Barnes style - retrospective, looking at things in hindsight from various angles and dissecting the smallest observations: how someone doesn’t smoke, how they don’t move, how they don’t say something and by that tell you something.
Part Two was the section that threw me off for a while. I utterly enjoyed it’s topic and as someone who respects others’ religious beliefs but is still of the firm opinion that organised religion has caused humanity more damage than good, I found Barnes’ writing on the aggression, oppression, misleading and manipulation of early Christianity extremely satisfying and on point. But at the same time, I failed to find the connection between it and the other two parts of the book. Was it brilliant and educational on its own? Yes, yes it was. But would I have lost anything from the story if I’d omitted it? No, not at all.
Overall, a beautiful Barnes, erudite and deep as usual, but also vague and hard to put a finger on or decipher. I prefer to read it as an ode to a teacher. And a fictional memoire. And a fictionalised biography. And a research paper. And I might have missed the point of what the author is trying to say, but I found a few other points in it and I’m okay with that.