First Page

The beginning of this book really drew me in. The opening line was strange: "I remember in no particular order," followed by a list composed of six different things. I use the term "things" loosely, because a I could not think of a better word to group together a "shiny inner wrist," "steam rising from a wet sink..," "gouts of sperm circling a plughole..," two different rivers, and bathwater. But, like I said, the first words caught my attention and from then on, I wanted to continue reading. In my opinion, the first line of a novel is what makes or breaks an entire book. If the book does not start well, there is no possible way it is going to end well. It is a rule I have lived by basically my entire life, and, not that I could afford to toss this book out the window if I did not like the opening line, it just so happened to work yet again in the case of The Sense of an Ending. The narrator (who we later find out is named Tony Webster) had just listed certain images from his memory and how "what you end up remembering isn't always the same as what you have witnessed." I like that line a lot. Almost as much as the first line. If you think about it, it is completely accurate. Last year in Psychology, I learned that your brain does not remember everything perfectly. It remembers certain things that stood out to you and it basically creates a frame of the memory and then your brain goes ahead and fills in little details for you.- details that you really thought were attached to that specific memory but really were not. Your brain is a beautiful, complex organism, and we would be next to nowhere as a species if it was not as amazing as it is, but while it is awesome, it is also tricky. Memories are tricky things to hold onto and time alters memories. With that said, I feel like time and the importance of time plays a huge role in this novel. As Barnes goes on to say, "we live in time- it holds and moulds us" (I love that the word "moulds" is spelled the British way). Time holds us prisoner; humans are the only creatures on Earth who pay attention to time. We give it such an importance in our lives, and for what reason? Animals, plants, nor any other organism on this planet stresses on time and hours and minutes and clocks and watches and so on and so forth, so why do we? I am eager to continue reading and find out if the answer to my question is ever revealed in this book.