I really, really enjoyed this post. Thank you. On the theme with which you begin — how the sense of an ending informs the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and how we became who we are, and how such conceptions change as we grow older (I hope this paraphrase is not too far off the mark(?)), well that is a hobbyhorse of my own. I've written more than one essay touching on two books sharing that name — The Sense of an Ending — (one by Julian Barnes, the other by Frank Kermode) and have a few more in draft mode (maybe even touching on Henri Bergson, if I can figure out what the heck he was talking about?). But where were we? Oh yes, Edith Wharton and Henry James and Edmund Wilson and the Upper East Side at the fin de siècle and questionable parentages and snooty gossip about a 'dandy' who wore 'button shoes.' All just wonderful stuff! Moreover you've just about convinced me that I need to read me some Edith Wharton, an author I haven't looked at since high school. If only to better appreciate your essays about her — any enjoyment I might get from her novels themselves being an extra benefit.
Thank you so much! Will look your your piece on Sense of an Ending; love Djuna Barnes. Looking forward also to your drafts — I don’t know Bergson at all and would like to!
I believe first mentioned the two books entitled 'The Sense of an Ending' in this essay:
https://open.substack.com/pub/johnsundman/p/i-saw-a-tangerine-sun-suspended-in . I came back to those themes in passing in a few subsequent essays, and I believe I also have quoted from Edmund Wilson's diaries in one or two essays as well. (In any event I know I've mentioned him -- and more importantly, his sublime ex-wife Mary McCarthy.) I shall look forward, as always, to any comments you care to make on any of my essays.
I really, really enjoyed this post. Thank you. On the theme with which you begin — how the sense of an ending informs the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and how we became who we are, and how such conceptions change as we grow older (I hope this paraphrase is not too far off the mark(?)), well that is a hobbyhorse of my own. I've written more than one essay touching on two books sharing that name — The Sense of an Ending — (one by Julian Barnes, the other by Frank Kermode) and have a few more in draft mode (maybe even touching on Henri Bergson, if I can figure out what the heck he was talking about?). But where were we? Oh yes, Edith Wharton and Henry James and Edmund Wilson and the Upper East Side at the fin de siècle and questionable parentages and snooty gossip about a 'dandy' who wore 'button shoes.' All just wonderful stuff! Moreover you've just about convinced me that I need to read me some Edith Wharton, an author I haven't looked at since high school. If only to better appreciate your essays about her — any enjoyment I might get from her novels themselves being an extra benefit.
Thank you so much! Will look your your piece on Sense of an Ending; love Djuna Barnes. Looking forward also to your drafts — I don’t know Bergson at all and would like to!
I believe first mentioned the two books entitled 'The Sense of an Ending' in this essay:
https://open.substack.com/pub/johnsundman/p/i-saw-a-tangerine-sun-suspended-in . I came back to those themes in passing in a few subsequent essays, and I believe I also have quoted from Edmund Wilson's diaries in one or two essays as well. (In any event I know I've mentioned him -- and more importantly, his sublime ex-wife Mary McCarthy.) I shall look forward, as always, to any comments you care to make on any of my essays.