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mars2k 's review for:
Days Without End
by Sebastian Barry
adventurous
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
sad
tense
fast-paced
Read for book club June 2025
I liked this book a lot more than I thought I would. I don’t usually go for historical novels, and the American Civil War isn’t an interest of mine. I was drawn in by the writing style; the evocative imagery, the efficient character studies, and the authentic voice (though I know some will be tripped up by the grammar).
Days Without End raised all sorts of questions about queerness in a racist and sexist world. Masculinity is presented as a vehicle of violence and conquest, contrasted with feminine mystery.Escapist interludes slowly give way to simply living as a woman. There’s something on performativity and becoming what you play. Of course, in this case that would mean not only rejecting manhood but also whiteness in a way. This makes me think of queerness in indigenous cultures and how it’s interpreted by white people (as a point of otherness or of kinship).
The homosociality of the army and the frontier offer a tantalising glimpse of queer possibility. Queer/marginalised narratives seem to be uniquely regarded as to be told. There’s an appetite in modern audiences to hear untold stories, and an idea that historical queer lives were somehow... incomplete? unfulfilled? because they lacked the concepts and terminology we have now. This being a historical novel, we in the present are drawing narratives out of the past which reflect our own assumptions and leanings. I appreciate this story not projecting current gender/sexuality taxonomy onto its characters. I also appreciate it not shying away from the bigotry and brutality of the age, not whitewashing the past to make it more palatable. These horrors and shameful acts are difficult to confront but it’s vital that we do.
I think this is the only time the “found family” trope has worked for me. I reject the valorisation of The Family and particularly the nuclear family structure, but the author of this book chooses to challenge that conservative/reactionary rhetoric from a different angle; he deliberately wrote about a queer family unit to push back against the idea that queerness and family are somehow at odds or incompatible. While I would approach the topic differently, I have to recognise it as a heartfelt gesture of solidarity, which is especially touching when you consider this was dedicated by the author to his gay son. I can see he’s really gone on a journey here, to explore queer realities and appreciate them for what they are – complicated and true.
I liked this book a lot more than I thought I would. I don’t usually go for historical novels, and the American Civil War isn’t an interest of mine. I was drawn in by the writing style; the evocative imagery, the efficient character studies, and the authentic voice (though I know some will be tripped up by the grammar).
Days Without End raised all sorts of questions about queerness in a racist and sexist world. Masculinity is presented as a vehicle of violence and conquest, contrasted with feminine mystery.
The homosociality of the army and the frontier offer a tantalising glimpse of queer possibility. Queer/marginalised narratives seem to be uniquely regarded as to be told. There’s an appetite in modern audiences to hear untold stories, and an idea that historical queer lives were somehow... incomplete? unfulfilled? because they lacked the concepts and terminology we have now. This being a historical novel, we in the present are drawing narratives out of the past which reflect our own assumptions and leanings. I appreciate this story not projecting current gender/sexuality taxonomy onto its characters. I also appreciate it not shying away from the bigotry and brutality of the age, not whitewashing the past to make it more palatable. These horrors and shameful acts are difficult to confront but it’s vital that we do.
I think this is the only time the “found family” trope has worked for me. I reject the valorisation of The Family and particularly the nuclear family structure, but the author of this book chooses to challenge that conservative/reactionary rhetoric from a different angle; he deliberately wrote about a queer family unit to push back against the idea that queerness and family are somehow at odds or incompatible. While I would approach the topic differently, I have to recognise it as a heartfelt gesture of solidarity, which is especially touching when you consider this was dedicated by the author to his gay son. I can see he’s really gone on a journey here, to explore queer realities and appreciate them for what they are – complicated and true.