Julian Barnes won
the 2011 Booker Prize for his splendid novel, The Sense of an Ending, which explores the memories a group of
friends has upon the death of one of their number. Barnes returns to that theme in Levels of Life. In this essay, he explores the idea of two
people coming together for the first time, and then how they are torn
apart. But the story is much more
complicated than that,
The essay is divided
into three parts – “The Sin of Height,” “On the Level,” and “The Loss of
Depth.” These three parts revolve around
historical figures who came together in unique ways. The first involves a photographer and the
renowned 19th century actor, Sara Bernhardt. Barnes provides an outline of the history of
ballooning and early photography.
Colonel Fred Burnaby is an aeronautical enthusiast, and when he meets up
with Sara Bernhardt, the world is changed.
Part Two continues with Burnaby and Bernhardt and the sudden collapse of
their affair. In Part Three, Barnes
begins a lengthy meditation on life, love, and loss following the death of his
wife, Pat Kavanagh, in 2008.
Barnes’ prose is
vivid and heart rending. He writes in
part two, “We live on a flat, on the level, and yet – and so -- we aspire. Groundlings, we can sometimes reach as far as
the gods. Some soar with art, others
with religion; most with love. But when
we soar, we can also crash. There are
few soft landings. We may find ourselves
bouncing across the ground with leg-fracturing force, dragged towards some
foreign railway line. Every love story
is a potential grief story. If not at
first, then later. If not for one, then
for the other. Sometimes, for both”
(39). His language is quite poetic.
In part three, he
explores the meaning of loss. Following
condolences by a friend, Barnes writes, “The same friend, four years later,
said, ‘I resent the fact that she’s become part of the past.’ If this isn’t yet true for me, the grammar,
like everything else, has begun the shift: she exists not really in the
present, not wholly in the past, but in some intermediate tense, the
past-present. Perhaps this is why I
relish hearing even the slightest new thing about her: a previously unreported
memory, a piece of advice she gave years ago, a flashback in ordinary
animation. I take surrogate pleasure in
her appearances in other people’s dreams – how she behaves and is dressed, what
she eats, how close she is now to how she was then; also whether I am there
with her. Such fugitive moments excite
me, because they briefly re-anchor her in the present, rescue her from the past-present,
and delay a little longer that inevitable slippage into the past historic”
(117).
I found Julian
Barnes essay, The Levels of Life comforting. I know I will face loss, and I will return to
this interesting essay as an excellent companion through dark times. 5 stars
--Chiron, 12/8/15
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