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A review by andrew_russell
Before She Met Me by Julian Barnes
1.0
I suppose when you embark on a project to read the entire output of an author, and especially one as prolific as Julian Barnes, you can't be too surprised to encounter the odd dud. And this was very much the case as concerns Before She Met Me, Barnes' second novel, published in 1982.
There is often the feeling with Barnes' works that he deliberately selects as his main protagonists dull, middle-aged males, whose idea of excitement is to wear a slightly different shade of beige. But in spite of this, his authorial abilities - namely those that allow him to imbue such dullards with a broad-brush, universal appeal through handling broad-brush, universal concepts - have always shined through to save the day. Unfortunately, Before She Met Me never quite succeeded in this regard. If it was a colour, it would almost certainly be the dullest shade of beige on a paint colour chart.
Part of my disappointment with this work no doubt stems from the fact that I've come to expect so much more from Barnes. Even his debut, Metroland showed some layer of interest. But with Before She Met Me, he fails to deliver the goods, to provide a hook of familiarity upon which the reader may hang their hat. It seems to show no progression from his debut and in many ways, is a retrograde step.
I wish I could say something, anything that would highlight that there was a stand-out feature in this second novelistic outing from Barnes...but alas, I cannot. Prose-writing, characterisation, thematic elements, character relationships - each of them was second-rate at best. By the end, you are simply left asking, 'What was the point?' I couldn't recommend this to anyone, at least nobody that I liked.
There is often the feeling with Barnes' works that he deliberately selects as his main protagonists dull, middle-aged males, whose idea of excitement is to wear a slightly different shade of beige. But in spite of this, his authorial abilities - namely those that allow him to imbue such dullards with a broad-brush, universal appeal through handling broad-brush, universal concepts - have always shined through to save the day. Unfortunately, Before She Met Me never quite succeeded in this regard. If it was a colour, it would almost certainly be the dullest shade of beige on a paint colour chart.
Part of my disappointment with this work no doubt stems from the fact that I've come to expect so much more from Barnes. Even his debut, Metroland showed some layer of interest. But with Before She Met Me, he fails to deliver the goods, to provide a hook of familiarity upon which the reader may hang their hat. It seems to show no progression from his debut and in many ways, is a retrograde step.
I wish I could say something, anything that would highlight that there was a stand-out feature in this second novelistic outing from Barnes...but alas, I cannot. Prose-writing, characterisation, thematic elements, character relationships - each of them was second-rate at best. By the end, you are simply left asking, 'What was the point?' I couldn't recommend this to anyone, at least nobody that I liked.