I’m sorry, but I just didn’t get it. An admirer of Julian Barnes – I’ve read a large proportion of his work – I’m afraid “Elizabeth Finch” just didn’t work for me. Most of the time I wasn’t sure it was a novel at all. It seemed like an excuse to write an essay about Julian the Apostate. And in a way, the main character in the story confessed as much.
It didn’t even have the feel of a novel; it seemed to be missing adequate contributions of plot and character. I was completely flummoxed… Which I know isn’t particularly edifying or instructive, but there you have it.