The week in books
No one has (yet) remarked on the paradox of this year’s Man Booker victor. A panel of judges which had promoted “readability” and accessibility picked a book that borrows its title from a somewhat abstruse work of literary theory. In 1967, Frank Kermode’s original The Sense of an Ending reflected on the arc of the story and the arc of existence, tapping into the notion of apocalypse in Western literature from Plato to Beckett. Julian Barnes’s winning book does, I suspect, deploy some of Kermode’s insights into the imperfect closure and completion of narratives and lives. But to name a novel after an arcane exercise in litcrit – just how “elitist” can a writer get?
The “readability” test has plunged Dame Stella Rimington – as the chair who most vigorously thumped the populist drum – into a war of words. It may, in time, help to renovate the prize. But I never knew that an intelligence professional who had spent 28 years in the security service, with four as Director-General of MI5, could be quite so thin-skinned. If Dame Stella’s nuclear riposte to a handful of sarky comment pieces about her shortlist by literary journalists is any guide, Thames House under her stewardship must have trembled on the brink of apocalypse day by day. We can only surmise that her demand for universal “readability” did not apply to signals traffic.
Barnes’s compact, tight and close-grained novel proves the key point better than any polemic. Its elegance and lucidity (readability, if you like) in no way corresponds to a shirking of nuance and complexity. Quite the contrary: from Chekhov and Kafka to Borges and Beckett, the subtlest of modern classics often employ the simplest of means.




