I was bored for most of this book – it’s way to philosophical for me, too many generalities about human nature with emphasis on how we make memories to suit ourselves – make up reasons for the behavior of other people. Typical Julian Barnes stuff like that. The protagonist is hopelessly self-centered and unable to let go of the past. It’s supposed to be a good book – it won the Booker. Two of my reading groups are discussing it so maybe my impressions will change – we’ll see.
Whatever – an older man remembers his younger years, school friends, a suicide, the love of his youth. He wonders about memory and loss and love, etc.