Julian Barnes' new book, 'Levels of Life' is part memoir, part essay. It examines the lives of several nineteenth century hot-air balloonists and juxtaposes their stories with the grief he experienced (and is still experiencing) following his wife's death in 2008.
Barnes has reached a stage of maturity as a writer where he knows the process of writing well enough to examine it and control it and here he knowingly offers us stories of hot air balloon expeditions as metaphors. Perhaps he decided this would be the best way to explain the grief he felt when his wife died: to have such strong imagery set up to refer to. Or perhaps it was simply the storyteller in him almost listlessly telling compelling stories. Stories always inform life; they cannot help it. These are the eponymous 'levels of life'. We tell stories and then we step back and examine them at another level. This is how we syphon meaning out of life, by comparison, by analogy and patterns.
Whilst it is clear how the story of balloonists crashing to the ground, their innards bursting out upon impact, is a metaphor for how it feels to lose a loved one, it is less clear how the story of the English aeronaut Fred Burnaby's rejected marriage proposal by promiscuous actress Sarah Bernhardt, works as a metaphor. How does this relate to Julian Barnes' story? Does Burnaby's rejection involve a similar kind of grief? Is it an example of people who were not meant to be together, a kind of anti-metaphor? Sarah Bernhardt would not have grieved over Burnaby, theirs was not real love? Maybe there doesn't have to be a clear correlation.
The last section of the book which describes the grief Barnes felt is sad, honest and devastating. He contemplates suicide: his preferred method, a japanese carving knife in a warm bath accompanied by a glass of wine; and the self-consciousness of grief: does my grief reflect my love? Am I grieving enough? Compared to other people? How do I respond to other people when they ask me if I'm alright? One of the strongest messages of the book is that other people can have a huge impact on the recovery process. He wants them to talk about her with him, to help him remember her, to tell him new things about her. Writing this book is another important part of the process. How relieving and cathartic it must have been to write it, to get it all out in the open.
The book is written with clarity and wisdom, like all the words are patiently chosen and then slowly and thoughtfully annunciated. It's concise and pristinely structured in three short sections and makes you realise it takes a truly great writer to write such perfect short books.
Below is a scan of my copy signed by the author. More are available at City Books, Brighton.
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