Thank you to Random House UK for this ARC. Unfortunately, I couldn't get into this book. I tried a few times but I just don't think it was for me. The writing is lovely, and the story is interesting but the characters didn't grab me.

A strange work of fiction, which in some ways is not fiction. Julian Barnes does his usual trick of confusing fact and fiction. In some ways he is giving voice to a set of philosophical thoughts, which could be his own. It felt a little like ‘Sophie’s World’ in this respect, and I confess to having been quite ignorant of Julian the apostate, his place in history and religious beliefs. I am quite proud to have stuck with it to the end, mostly because I expected more of Elizabeth herself, it having taken me years and several attempts to get through ‘Flaubert’s Parrot’ ( although this was also very slim, but packed with confusing turns) The author is undoubtedly a very worthy writer, and quite funny in parts, although I did have to consult a dictionary a couple of times, this makes his work a little less accessible.

Elizabeth Finch is a great character and at the start of this I was really engaged. The middle of the book felt completely out of keeping and the end was a disappointment. His musings on biography and Julian we're lost on me. I wish the character study had gone somewhere more interesting.

I particularly enjoyed the chapters regarding Elizabeth Finch (both as Neil's lecturer and after her death, existing only in memory and history -- both of which are thematically discussed at length), which make up the bulk of this novel, however the chapter featuring Neil's essay on Julian the Apostate did feel much drier and harder to read. The amount of detail given about Julian the Apostate's life overwhelmed me at times, and I didn't think the novel needed to go into so much depth in order to fulfil the narrative. However, I am much less interested in history as a collection of events in the past, as I am interested in historiography, which is dealt with much more in the 'Elizabeth Finch' chapters, so I'm more than a little biased in this matter.

Elizabeth Finch is an interesting character for the novel to centre around, despite not being the narrator, and her character development is explored into more depth when Anna and Christopher Finch talk about her with Neil. Overall, I enjoyed this book, but if I were to reread it I would definitely skip the chapter on Julian.

Apostate

A narrator, who reveals little about himself attempts to reveal all he can about his teacher, the charismatic and idiosyncratic Elizabeth Finch. For all her teaching prowess she has published little and guards her private life assiduously. Her passion however is for Rome’s last pagan emperor, the man who attempted to stop Christianity in its tracks, the man known as Julian the Apostate.

These three, a narrator whose family call him the man who never completes a task, the college lecturer who never writes her book on Julian, the emperor who failed in his ambition to render Christianity an irrelevant dead end, all dominate this short novel. We learn tantalisingly little about Elizabeth Finch, less about the narrator, and a lot of Christian calumny but little hard fact about the emperor.

A brief work this, perhaps the product of a Lockdown interest, it asks many questions, proposes various possibilities, but in the end settles for provocation rather than revelation.

'Elizabeth Finch' is a book of three parts. In the first, the narrator, Neil, introduces the eponymous character - an independent academic and adult education lecturer. After attending her evening classes, Neil maintains a friendship with her, and is left her notebooks and library when she dies. The second part is an essay Neil writes about 'Julian the Apostate', a Roman emperor, based on Finch's notes. And the third part returns to Neil and his recollections and tentative plans to write a memorial or biography of his former teacher.

I enjoyed the first part the most. Barnes is a good writer with an easy, conversational style that is surprisingly absorbing. Time seemed to pass very quickly when I was reading. It's not a book that goes in for drama or high emotion of any kind, and I found it rather restful to read. There isn't a 'plot' as such, although it does have a structure as described above. Neil is a likeable narrator and Finch is an interesting character, and everything is completely believable. It's also a 'philosophical' book and one that aims to make the reader think about philosophical questions, but in a very light, non-strenuous way. I tend to prefer exciting books with fast paced plots and/or powerful emotional themes. 'Elizabeth Finch' is the opposite of that - but mentally it was nice to read for that reason.

The second part, the essay, I was not keen on even though it was still written in Barnes' easy style. I don't choose to read non-fiction, and if I did want to read about the life of a Roman emperor, I would set out to do so. I'm less keen to receive a random history lesson in the middle of a novel I'm reading for pleasure. Although the third part was a continuation of the first, I felt like the book had lost some momentum and I'd fallen out of love with it by that point.

There's no doubt that Barnes is a good writer and able to put across a novel that could very easily be dull or directionless, in a way that is neither. It's just a shame about the middle bit which I just don't think works and which derailed the novel for me. I would recommend the book to readers with an interest in history and those who like character-driven novels. It's a book to choose at the right time - if you're in the mood for action, it's not the right choice. If however you are looking for a quieter, slower novel, that is intellectual without ever being pretentious, this is worth a read.

Very different to his other books so may alienate some. Felt a little bit like I was being lectured to rather a book for me to actively engage. There was some distance between the book and the reader. Having said that, I do enjoy his writing and wil likely read this again as I am sure there is more to be gained

To be honest I normally love Julian Barnes however this book I suspect you will either love or hate. It is split into three parts and the first and the last are good and the sort of read I like from the author however the second part I found boring and almost like a flight of fancy from the author and to be honest I skim read most of part two.
For me a very disappointing book.

"I sometimes wonder how biographers do it: make a life, a living life, a glowing life, a coherent life out of all that circumstantial, contradictory and missing evidence. They must feel like Julian on campaign with his retinue of diviners. The Etruscans tell him this; the philosophers tell him that; the gods speak, the oracles are silent or obscure; the dreams alarm him this way, his visions propel him that way, the animals’ viscera are ambivalent; the sky says this, the dust storm and the advisory thunderbolt insist otherwise. Where is the truth, where is the way forward? Or maybe consistent narrative is a delusion, as is trying to reconcile conflicting judgements. Maybe you could equally account for someone by a mere list of snagging, indicative facts."

A deep, sharp and engaging character study; Barnes' novel explores the themes of both person and historical identity, both personal and historical in complex, meta, literary manner.

I've previous enjoyed Julian Barnes novels so was intrigued to read this one.
It begins as Neil is taking an adult education class - his teacher is the enigmatic Miss Finch. The first section of the book deal with these classes and the relationship between the students and Miss Finch, between the students themselves and the between the students and the materials they are covering. Thus far I coped and was intrigued by Miss Finch, but the second part of the book dives in the history of Julian the Apostate, which Neil believes is central to the message Elizabeth Finch was trying to get across to them. In the final section of the book Neil is back, making connections with those students from the early days and still trying to decide what it was that made Miss Finch so special.
I have to say, while I enjoyed the relationships with the Miss Finch, the middle section was too dry and too philosophical for me and I lost focus. My fault probably, but I didn't enjoy this novel nearly as much as I have Barnes's previous works.
With thanks to Netgalley and Random House UK, Vintage for the early copy.

Barnes has a style, of course, but this novel reminded me, very, very much, of The Sense of an Ending in that the idea tackles memory and men looking back on their lives with a sense of yearning or disappointment. OK, fine. This time the character, Neil, remembers a course tutor, Elizabeth Finch, whom he remembers for her opinions and general influence on his life. Where I think the yawnability factor kicked in, for me, was the repeated description by EF of Julian the Apostate's life and death - a cathartic moment where she is concerned for its effect on history, in her opinion. I know that the characters, Neil included, seem to be trying to make sense of what she says in relation to their own lives, and I read it that Barnes is (yet again) making some philosophical point about life and death generally, but I did find myself floating off several times.

It's a novel I think you need to concentrate on, which, I'd say, is what Barnes intended, but if you're in the wrong frame of mind it can be a bit of a tedious read.

My thanks to Netgalley for the pre-read.

Julian Barnes is, to me, the writer of the quiet voice that resonates the longest. Long after I’ve closed the pages of one of his books, my thoughts remain with the protagonists of his books and the themes they represent. Two such unforgettable literary characters appear here, in Barnes’s thirteenth novel, and are Neil, a young philosopher, and Elizabeth, his deceased former lecturer whose notebooks he curates. Full of philosophical threads that somehow always run back to Roman Emperor Julian, later Julian the Apostate, who died in the year 363 but whom Elizabeth considered her soulmate and historical predecessor, this is a demanding but magical book that was a great joy to read. Warmly recommended – to the readership Barnes has already, and to new readers who wish to engage with philosophical thought.

The first section of this book describes the narrator’s relationship with his charismatic tutor on the adult education course he is taking. The tutor, Elizabeth Finch, is erudite and inscrutable and the narrator transcribes a lot of her lectures and the discussions they have around topics such as the Albigensian Heresy, St George, and Swinburne. I had to keep putting the book down to look things up. It made me feel quite stupid a lot of the time, but occasionally very smart (when I could follow one of EF’s lectures).

The middle part of the book is an essay on Julian the Apostate that the narrator writes after EF’s death, and this is where it lost me. I found it quite dry, but probably it was just too clever for me, and I struggled to maintain interest. It’s definitely a book that rewards concentrated reading, however.

Neil, the narrator, is a mature student on a Philosophy course at London University. He along with his classmates is strongly affected by quietly charismatic Professor Elizabeth Finch (EF) who delivers the foundation lectures. These lectures, despite being set in a pre social media era, are intriguingly relevant to contemporary themes; cancel culture, slavery, love, political divides etc. Although Neil fails to complete his module assignments, he maintains a relationship with EF over regular, if infrequent, lunches until her death many years later. Surprised to learn she has bequeathed her books and writings to him, he embarks on an attempt to write her biography. His research leads him to wonder if he every really knew her at all.
This is a slim novel in three parts. Unusually, I found myself reading them out of order and leaving part two, an account of the life and influence of Julian the Apostate, until last. This was not because I found it less interesting, on the contrary, but because I was intrigued by the plot and Neil's quest to uncover EF's background.
This book is a fascinating read and is almost itself a very short course on philosophy.

i love julian barnes okay, and i appreciate the formal experimentation of this book. it's part philosophy, part love letter to critical thinking, part biography of julian the apostate and the titular elizabeth finch. but i just couldn't bring myself to fully enjoy it. it's not for everyone -- that said, i love its uniqueness though it didn't quite hit the mark.

i really vibed with the first third -- e.f. (as the narrator calls her) is a wonderful character brought to life. i think everyone's had a similar experience of being utterly charmed and inspired by one of their professors. the way she argues is just so filled with clarity that i felt like i was in the lecture hall too.

the rest of the book i really struggled with. there's a long essay on julian the apostate, but i lost the argument and got a little dizzy by the end. i enjoyed the first bit of it, but it meandered and meandered to a seemingly lackluster conclusion.

thank you to netgalley, the publishers and the author for the arc of this book!

For me, Julian Barnes is a hit and miss writer- some of this books are magnificent, evocative and touching but some feel overworked. For me this one didn’t fly. It’s beautifully written (as always) but the characters didn’t fly. I longed to like Ms Finch but she never delighted or even intrigued this reader.
Very grateful for the opportunity to read.

If you’ve read Julian Barnes before, then you should have a pretty good idea of what to expect from his books, and Elizabeth Finch fits in squarely within the mould of his recent oeuvre. The eponymous Elizabeth Finch teaches a course to mature students on the subject of ‘Culture and Civilisation,’ and the reader is introduced to her through the narrator, Neil, who is a student in her class inspired and captivated by her teaching and with whom she becomes unlikely friends.

Finch is presented as a Socratic thinker firmly stuck in the past and by that, I mean, not someone who can’t accept change or looks back nostalgically at eras past, but someone who looks to history to answer the questions of the present. As Neil explains, ‘she dealt in truths not from previous generations but previous eras, truths she kept alive, but which others had abandoned.’ Finch taught her class that humans are determined by their history, but that history is a discourse that is ‘active, effervescent, at times volcanic’ and should be investigated and always questioned.

Neil’s friendship with Finch continues for years after the course has ended and upon her death, he is left her papers and library ‘to do with as he wishes.’ As their conversations were usually limited to intellectual musings, Neil hopes to discover more about her elusive personal life, however, her papers consist mostly of research that she has undertaken on Julian the Apostate. Now, we have been on pretty solid Barnes ground already, but this is when you know you are firmly in Barnes territory, as he does tend to frame his narratives around a historical male figure: Arthur Conan Doyle, Shostakovich, Samuel Jean-Pozzi, Flaubert.

I’m not mad about it, it gets pretty intellectually heavy in these sections, but I enjoyed the discussions raised by this study of Julian, particularly regarding the foundations of Christianity as an oppressive monotheistic religion without a civilisation behind it. It was interesting how Barnes connects these discussions with modern Britain and what the country would have been like if churches had been less monotheistic and oppressive; contemplating how it’s inhabitants would have ‘mixed more freely, miscegenation would have been more normal and whiteness no indicator of superiority.’ Barnes also reflects on Julian’s posthumous reputation and influence throughout history. A precursor to enlightenment thinking, his name was common currency throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but there are vastly different versions of him, and his ideas, represented in politics and art. This middle section is slow and challenging and I would have preferred it if the information about Julian had been broken up and interspersed more within the main narrative.

The question of reputation does connect back to Elizabeth Finch’s story eventually, as Neil realises, through discussions with her brother and his other classmates, that he knew only a fraction of her, and a repeated refrain throughout the novel is ‘some things are up to us and some things are not up to us’ – there are few things that we can determine and control about ourselves and how we are perceived by others, because people look at us in different ways to how we look at ourselves.

Ultimately this is a post-modern exploration (I mean, what Barnes book isn’t?) into the unreliability of historical representation, the effects of history on the present, and the impossibility of truly knowing someone. I thoroughly enjoy reading Barnes as it makes me question and rethink previously held ideas; I appreciate the challenges of his work and always look forward to his new books.

Thanks to NetGalley for this ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Barnes, Barnes, Barnes. You really know what you’re doing, don’t you? This is beyond annoying - at one level. Why? Because I genuinely had every intention not to particularly like Elizabeth Finch – Part Two! Why make your devoted readers go through Part Two? – but there is just so much Barnes for the Barnes reader that it still ends up being irresistible. (Too much of him might also be the thing to note here.)

Let’s proceed with some problematic ‘conclusions’, as opposed to ‘narratives’ – this being one of the solid recurring concepts and features of his fiction.

First: that Barnes's Elizabeth Finch is, in and of itself, an act of interpretation. Not unlike his other fiction, for that matter.

What kind of interpretation, you ask? A seemingly absurd, highly experimental one, at that. One that was bound to ‘make a noise’. Okay, I will tell you, because its seeds are meticulously planted in Part One, in any case. And, this is Barnes: so irresistibly taken by his counterintuitive conception of history. Actually, so much so that he works his entire narrative around the concept that ‘getting history wrong’ is just what the ‘crooked timber of humanity’ does; it is our speciality, if you will.

Therefore, by testing a hypothesis – an alternative to the rise of Christianity – that would have paganism prevail, this text in turn gives rise to a calm sense of disillusionment and disappointment that is so typical of Barnes. Needless to say, the wryness and bluntness are all there.

What of this history, on a purely historical level? It is, quite simply, that history arrives to us as always and necessarily an interpretation – an interpretation by the people. A Barnes reader knows this, but here what we get is the Barnes-historian, doing research and interpreting his findings around the idea of monotheism – and all its counterparts – as the true disaster of civilisation. One could argue that it was only a matter of time. He had to do this. There is, in fact, something in the incongruity between Parts One and Two (and the coming together of both in Part Three) that is blatantly deliberate. I would venture to say that it relates to Barnes's ultimate project: that of to some extent disqualifying or contradicting itself, thereby revealing the overarching principle of paradox in and of history – the inexorability of it. It’s a do-a-double-take move for the reader. Much of Part Two is simply repulsive. And yet the logic of it is not defective. Barnes also has fun with it, of course. Julian the Apostate: he dismantles him!

Second: he really, quite literally, dismantles Julian the Apostate! What’s up with that? Well, I will say that it is fairly impossible not to register a pronounced element of self-importance in this text. It is, however, counteracted and problematised in more ways than one. The protagonist, Neil, is a bit of a loser: far inferior to and in awe of the stoic Elizabeth Finch, his lecturer-intellectual from times past, with whom he stays in touch until he can no longer do so. I would say that there is, in this sense, a sort of displacement of self-importance, though it is by no means complete. The narrative proceeds, almost entirely, on Elizabeth Finch’s terms. But why? You might well ask that question. Because, as you will find out, the fascination between student-lecturer does lead to certain fairly reasonable fantasies that rework the dynamics of the story, or suggest that other perspectives ought to be taken into account - the primary filter being ineluctably defective. Also, Neil takes great pains to specify, time and time again, that ‘This is not [his] story’. Another time he states: 'In my case - but my case isn't relevant.' Yet again: 'This is not my story, as I may have mentioned.' Barnes knows. He knows that he is pushing it. With all the ‘Julian’ talk. Is it all self-importance?

Third: is it all, merely, a Myth? Is that all there is?

While capturing the immanent contradictoriness of history, as well as its inconsistencies and ultimate inventiveness, Barnes also questions the mythologising tendencies of the human, and the human’s relations to other humans. Is EF, as he tends to call Elizabeth Finch throughout the narrative, merely a myth? 'I sometimes get confused between memory and research’, he admits towards the end of the narrative.

There is definitely a painstaking effort to intensify contrasts and polarities, formally and otherwise. It is, moreover, excruciatingly painful for Neil to allow such an idea – EF, a myth! – to seep through. EF, the one person in his life who inspired in him some level of openness; who gave him ‘an idea to follow’, and follow through. He, the King of Unfinished Projects!

Is it all on EF? How much of it is (self)constructed? These are some of EF's preferred topics, to be fair: artificiality and authenticity. And, well, there is much to be said about her. Perhaps, the time has come for one important endorsement: I absolutely love Elizabeth Finch. There, I have said it. I love everything she represents. The quiet yet passionate life led within the walls of a wholly unassuming apartment. The life of the independent mind, perhaps a tad (no, scratch that – profoundly) exiled, but never completely so. Her calm-and-collected stance. Her lucidity. The fact that she matter-of-factly and effortlessly opens up spaces for the inconsistencies of human nature, and affords no judgement. Her directness of vision, and – why not? – also her apartness, her quirkiness, and her hidden vulnerabilities. Not to mention, her system of belief. Oh, there we go: that myth we were talking about just a minute ago. Mythologising literary characters!

Which reminds me:
I have, quite frankly, warmed up to Barnes’ at times eccentric or unpopular character choices. Yes, even the protagonist, who is rarely presented as the ideal candidate to make head or tail of events, but is one who – probably out of boredom or some concealed desire – is willing to take the time and explore the implications of the said events. There is also an aloneness about Barnes’ characters, usually unmarried or with a bunch of marriage failures to look back on, that I am drawn to. It is not uncommon for the isolated protagonist, following a trail in his ‘exploration’, to contact an old acquaintance out of the blue, and re-establish a sense of momentary though awkward intimacy. Some kind of fleeting connection. And – this is important – it occurs through a piece of writing. Notebooks, this time around, that lead to more writing, and the usual emailing. Contact tracing, we could say. What else?

***

Barnes’s vision is ultimately one that I find interesting, almost against my better judgement (that is, the judgement of the heart). He does things with literature that make me stop and think. It is a literature that knows itself to be 'mere dispersal', 'merely an assembly of fragments'. There is everlasting passion there – think of how he develops the hypothesis of ‘Apostasy’! – and yet: ‘maybe a consistent narrative is a delusion, as is trying to reconcile conflicting judgements.' Stoicism or cynicism? What would the compromise between the two look like? The tentative answer to that, I would say, is dissimulated in the complex movements of this text.

I feel that readers of Barnes should definitely look into this and make up their own mind about it. Fair warning: it might test your love for him. (Could he really be testing our loyalty? I wonder.) But you do have to read it.


Thanks go to NetGalley, publisher, and author for this one special ARC. All thoughts expressed here are my own.

Another excellent book by Julian Barnes.
Elizabeth Finch is an enigmatic lecturer who the narrator falls in love with. The love is what I would call Platonic love, but he calls it Romantic-Stoic.

The other main protagonist in this novel is Julian the Apostate, and it is not easy to see how these would fit together, but the master story blender does it almost seamlessly, and I wasn’t exactly sure how they fitted together until the last paragraph of the book.

It is a multi-layered book, by that I mean that it can be read as a simple tale or you can search for the deep meaningfulness within it.

Julian is one of the most erudite authors I read, and probably the only one that could make such a novel work, but it certainly worked for me.

I will be reading the book again and will probably find some things that I missed first time.

I read this book in two sittings, but if not started late at night it can be managed in one. I have read most of Julian’s novels, and after reading this one I will go back and read some of the ones that I have not yet read, and wait patiently for his next!

This book took me by surprise – It delves into philosophy, alternative histories, psychology, and love, which would all normally be massive ticks from me, but it has been written as two sections of fiction set either side of a lengthy academic factual essay on Julian the Apostate. So, just as I was getting really interested in the character and story of the narrator and his inspirational teacher Elizabeth Finch, I was forced to read through a lengthy biography of an ancient Roman emperor.
Yes, it’s well written and well researched but I found the imposition of this lengthy middle section frustrating and quite tedious. If Barnes wanted to write in such detail about Julian the Apostate, he should have done this as a factual biography of the man and not tried to dress it up as a novel.
I get that Julian the Apostate is a means to investigate the ‘what ifs’ of history, and the ‘what if Christianity had never triumphed’ is a really fascinating one, but I feel the theme could have been handled in a far more accessible way.
I felt disappointed that what had started out so well for me, with the story of an older man looking back on his time with an influential teacher, suddenly ground to a halt in the middle section. So, although there were sections that I found fascinating and thought provoking, overall I found it too much of a challenge to stay engaged throughout.
With thanks to the publishers and NetGalley for an ARC in return for an honest review.