Departure

by Julian Barnes

The new book from the Booker Prize-winning Julian Barnes, about looking back, facing the future, and coming to the end of life

Departure(s) is a book about many things,

A man called Stephen and a woman called Jean, who fall in love when they are young and again when they are old

A Jack Russell called Jimmy, famous for his good behaviour

The mischievous nature of memory

The aging body, and how it begins to fail

Taking our chances, facing our fate

How we find happiness in this life

How a departure can also be an arrival

And when it is time to say goodbye

Genres: Fiction

Kindle Edition

Expected publication January 20, 2026

About the author

Julian Patrick Barnes is an English writer. He won the Man Booker Prize in 2011 with The Sense of an Ending, having been shortlisted three times previously with Flaubert's Parrot, England, England, and Arthur & George. Barnes has also written crime fiction under the pseudonym Dan Kavanagh (having married Pat Kavanagh). In addition to novels, Barnes has published collections of essays and short stories.
In 2004 he became a Commandeur of L'Ordre des Arts et des Lettres. His honours also include the Somerset Maugham Award and the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize. He was awarded the 2021 Jerusalem Prize.

Reviews

[Jill · Rating 5 out of 5]

Julian Barnes mentions two things at the beginning of his latest book: there will be a story – or a story within a story – but not just yet; and this will be his last book.

As promised, there is indeed a story that might be fiction, or may be autobiographical, but most certainly is metafiction. There is a beginning to the story and an ending, but there is no middle. It is flawed story, fleshed out by three overlapping memories – the author’s (or the character named Julian Barnes who stands in for the author) and the man and woman whose relationship he narrates – two individuals he met at university in the 1960s. And in the middle, there is a black gaping hole where none of them had contact with the other two.

Although Julian Barnes had promised his friends – Jean and Steven – that he would never appropriate their story, he does. He waits until they die and assuages his conscience by doing so. But Departures isn’t about them – not really. Memories shift and deceive with time. It forces writers to reinvent and rework.

As he nears 80 years old, a loyal reader of his works can almost feel him questioning his legacy. A song from the Broadway play Hamilton popped into my mind: “Why do you write like you’re running out of time?” Barnes would no doubt answer, “Because I am.” He does not flinch in writing about his manageable but incurable blood cancer, his increasing frustration with age-related memory lapses. There are ghosts of his other extraordinary books: Tony Webster in The Sense of an Ending revising his estimation of his place in the world; Levels of Life, a discourse on love and sorrow on the loss of his wife Pat Kavanaugh; or The Lemon Table and his mediations on growing old.

Now it’s real, and this may (or may not) be this great author’s endgame and his farewell. I will say this: for those of us who are more than casual readers of an author, an invisible bond begins to grow between us and them, even though we have never met them or spoken to them. We don’t know if this is truly Julian Barnes last book, but when he says, “I shall miss you,” it feels real. And corny though it sounds, I cried as if I had lost a friend. My thanks to Alfred A. Knopf for enabling me to be an early reader and reviewer of an all-time favorite author in exchange for an honest review.

[Liz Hein · Rating 5 out of 5]

I need people to read this; I am SOBBING and need to know if that is normal.

[A Dreaming Bibliophile · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thanks to NetGalley and Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage and Anchor for providing me with an eARC.

This was a very interesting book. It's mostly in a stream of consciousness/rambling thoughts format but in this case I think it worked well, given the author's situation. The title worked out quite well too -- to me it signified the departures in memory the author was trying to come to terms with given his impending departure from the world. It was sad and thoughtful all at once. This was a well written book and toed the line between fiction and non fiction. There were too many tangents for me to comfortably absorb the entire book but whatever I did, I enjoyed. I would recommend this to anyone looking for a book about last thoughts and coming to terms with one's life towards the end.

[A. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to Knopf and NetGalley for the ARC of Departure(s).

After about 10 pages of reading this book, I had to quickly look back at the title page to assure myself that I was reading a novel. I even went online and looked up the title just to make sure. “Departure(s): A Novel” the browser said in bold text. I did so because the book was reading surprisingly like a memoir, which I didn’t mind at all. I had enjoyed Barnes’s Nothing to be Frightened Of very much when I read it years ago, and Departure(s) was starting to feel like a companion book to NTBFO, a continuation or update of that memoir. But the book in hand clearly stated itself as a novel, so as a novel I read it.

Departure(s) is an enjoyable, marvelous reading experience. The novel is narrated by Julian, a near octogenarian who resembles the novelist Julian Barnes a great deal. Julian is also a novelist suffering from many ailments, conditions, and disease who relates the story of how he came to be the person who brought together (to life?) two people into a relationship not once but twice. In relating their story, Julian examines love and its meaning, its power to bring people together, and its pain when it fails. This is where Departure(s) reads like a novel. There is dialogue and exposition, scenes in different locations. But always with Julian’s insight to help us along. It is a melancholy rumination on what love is, on the individual and personal definition of love and how two people can say they love one another and mean two completely different things.

The story of this couple is told in between sections of Julian writing about memory and identity, his illness, his preoccupation with death, aging, writing, death, friendship, love, Jimmy the dog, death, legacy, and goodbyes. Some dark stuff. But since this is Julian Barnes writing about these subjects, I was nodding my head and laughing most of the time. There is no doubt that people of a certain age (ahem) will find the preoccupation with aging and death more relevant(?) or poignant, but Barnes’s wit and insight will definitely enlighten and lighten the existential load. It’s not an easy subject to read about, but Barnes’s conversational tone keeps the reader engaged intellectually and emotionally. It’s like having a good friend sitting at a table just riffing on life, sharing experience and insight. You might not agree with everything he says, but it’s a wonderful way to spend an evening.

We’re not supposed to quote from ARCs because the text might change before publication, and that is a shame because there are many lines in Departure(s) that I highlighted for their insight or humor, usually both. There are memorable lines one can almost use as mantras when a bit of the existential darkness blackens the day. There is no surrender to the inevitable, just a clear-eyed, grudging acceptance of it. And if this is Barnes’s farewell to his readers, it is a marvelous way to bid adieu. Thank you, Julian.

[Elisha Robinson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Departure(s) begins by delving into the many theorists behind IAM’s and HSAM - both of these things being conditions believed to provide people with the ability to recall things beyond ‘normal’ ability. Julian Barnes questions, would you if you had the choice want to know absolutely everything about yourself?

As the next couple of chapters begin, we are introduced to Stephen and Jean - although their names may be fictional, their story is anything but. Stephen and Jean were in a relationship in their younger days but split up only to years later ‘coincidentally’ bump into eachother again. It is that of three perspectives - Stephen, Jean and Julian himself. This is where memory becomes a crucial factor, Julian did not see Stephen nor Jean for 40 years, so can only rely on their recollection to fill in any blanks and as he says himself, with an ageing mind, what he recalls now could potentially be how he chooses to remember it but not actually what happened.

Following on from this, we see Julian receive his blood cancer diagnosis during COVID lockdown in 2020 and he goes into detail of his opinions on death and how you become familiar with it as you grow older. He covers reuniting with Stephen and Jean and shows many things from all three perspectives.

There’s so much more that occurs within this book but I’ll refrain from saying much more so that you can read it for yourselves and love the novel as much as I do! It’s a book that you truly need to experience for yourself to feel the full effect of it.

This story, although it is short, really and truly tells a compelling story and I’m so glad I’ve read it.

Thank you Vintage Books for very kindly gifting this to me!

5⭐️

[Baz · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5

This is a novel. Or: it’s literary nonfiction. On the spectrum from fiction to nonfiction, it definitely leans toward literary nonfiction—for me. But I still view it as a novel. Do you feel me?

The narrator is Barnes himself, reflecting on his cancer diagnosis, death, coming to the end of life, and memory. He also meditates on the relationship between two of his friends, who first meet as students at Oxford and reconnect decades later, exploring their complicated love story and conflicting personalities in both eras of their lives.

The book is also deeply metafictional—or is it, if it’s basically nonfiction despite being christened as fiction?—and Barnes examines fiction’s strengths and limitations, simultaneously admiring great works that came before, while gently picking certain ideas apart and highlighting their fallacies.

I loved it. What a beautiful book, both funny and sad. It will be Barnes’s last—and it has the depth and pathos you’d hope for in the final novel of someone who has been writing for over forty years.

•

(Longer review coming, but it won’t appear here.)

[Helen Haythornthwaite · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the first book I’ve read by Julian Barnes, and the last one he will write. Julian won the Booker Prize in 2011 with ‘The Sense of an Ending’, and has many novels, short stories, essays and memoirs to his name.

This book has been classed as ‘biographical fiction’ but it’s more like a collection of Julian’s thoughts and musings. It’s a philosophical look at memory, love and death, including Julian’s own memories and references to people he has known or read himself.

The initial section about memories does begin quite scientifically, mentioning Proust and neuropsychology, of which my knowledge is limited. However, this recurring theme of memories runs throughout the whole book and the science behind it all became much clearer as I read on. There were some fascinating facts of which I was completely unaware and now feel all the richer for knowing them.

The love story, in this book, is based on a true story and tells of two people who fell in love when they were young, and when they were older. Julian uses this story to ponder on their relationship, and his role as ‘agony uncle’ within it.

Julian is very aware of his own mortality, and contemplates people he has lost and how they are remembered. He talks about death as if it is an old friend and he is preparing to meet it. It’s a poignant moment when he explains about this being his final book.

You might have noticed a more serious tone to my review today and it’s because this is a serious read. It’s very intellectual at times so I had to slow my reading pace down and really think about what I was I reading, but there were some lighter, more humorous pages interwoven within these. I enjoyed reading it and found it very thought-provoking. I liked Julian’s wit and writing style and would definitely like to read more of his work now.



I was sent a proof copy of this book by the publisher in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.

[Bruce Katz · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Men must endure / Their going hence, even as their coming hither: Ripeness is all.”
(King Lear, 5:2:10-12)

Julian Barnes quotes these lines in his new book, “Departure(s).” It makes perfect sense: the book I am holding in my hands was written by and about an old (which is to say my age) writer who has been diagnosed with cancer and is thinking about his life and his creations and what he remembers. His publisher says the book is fiction, a novel. This may be true: the term has become, let us say, unstable in recent years. Barnes asserts that it will be his last book. This also may be true. It’s almost certainly true, in fact. As I said, Barnes was diagnosed a few years ago with a rare kind of blood cancer. “It isn’t curable,” his doctor told him, "but it is manageable.” (“Incurable yet manageable,” he reflects shortly after learning the diagnosis. “That sounds like… life, doesn’t it?”)

Much of the book -- especially at the beginning -- focuses memory. It begins with Barnes conjuring Marcel Proust’s story in “Swann’s Way” of eating a Madeleine and suddenly being inundated by long-forgotten memories. (No prior knowledge of Proust is necessary.)

(I have to pause here and acknowledge that I’m taking some liberty with the truth. The book actually opens not with Proust but with this: “The other day, I discovered an alarming possibility. No, worse: an alarming fact. I have an old friend, a consultant radiologist, who for years has been sending me clippings from the British Medical Journal. She knows that my interest tends towards the ghoulish and the extreme.” No need to speculate: Barnes gives us a pretty good idea of what he’s talking about.)

But back to Proust. The allusion to “Swann’s Way” sets Barnes off on a lively and eccentric contemplation of memory (“that place where degradation and embellishment overlap.”) Suppose, he posits, you could call to mind everything you’ve done, every thought you've had. “Would you want to know absolutely everything about yourself? Is that a good idea, or a bad one?” An interesting question, particularly (I have to believe) for a writer: “How would you face the record –the chronological record – of all your lies, hypocrisies, cruelties both avoidable and (seemingly) unavoidable, your harsh forgettings, your dissimulations, your broken promises, your infidelities of word and deed? Not just the actual failings but the imagined and desired ones.

“Memory is identity,” he observes more than once in “Departure(s).” Barnes fleshes out the many complexities inherent in the statement. Novelists are story-tellers, and memories the stuff of which their stories are made. But aren't the memories themselves essentially stories themselves? Fabrications “mutating a little with each retelling until it congeals finally into a version which we convince ourselves the truth”? What is fiction in “Departure(s),” and what… well, not fiction? Another good question, but one best left unanswered because it doesn't matter: reading the book is like being in the company of a truly interesting and amusing stranger you’ve just met. Maybe you're sharing a bottle of wine as you listen to him talk about this or that.

That parenthetical addition to the title — “Departure(s) — conveys some sense of what Barnes is up to. He interrupts his discourse on memory to give the reader notice: “Two things to mention at this stage: There will be a story — or a story within the story — but not just yet; and This will be my last book.”

About that story: It involves two people — Stephen and Jean — Barnes met back in college when they were in their 20s. He was instrumental in bringing them together as a couple. In time they broke up but then reentered his life some 40 years later (he is again instrumental in bringing them together). While the story is true, he tells us (though I’m not 100% sure I believe him), Stephen and Jean are not their real names. He promised them “separately” that he would never write about them. (He lied.) Plus, in order to tell a story — “any story” — he has to give “a certain amount of background.” (He breaks the fourth wall and directly speaks to the reader: “Actually, just writing this makes me feel a bit weary. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did too. So I’ll keep most of that stuff to a minimum. You may thank me, or you may not. But as writers get older, either they grow egotistically expansive or they think: contain yourself and cut to the chase.”)

And so he goes in and out of the story of Stephen and Jean (and Jean’s very excitable dog) as they come together, grow apart, come together again, and… so on. Reporting on what they tell him (again separately), what he says in response. They’re difficult people, very different from one another. “I had treated Stephen and Jean as if they were characters in one of my novels, believing I could gently direct them towards the ends which I desired. I’d been confusing life with fiction. I’ll tell you the rest another time.”

Understandably, he keeps coming back to his own situation. His own uncertainly imminent departure. He was writing much of the book during Covid. He penetrates the wall again: “The writer, quarantined in his own home, suddenly victim of blood cancer, while all around a plague is spreading exponentially. It sounds like a bad, or at least derivative, novel.”

He’s careful to stay away from other people as much as he can because he’d “rather die of his own disease, thank you very much, not everybody else’s.’

I imagined myself being rushed to hospital, breathless, speechless, perhaps even unconscious. They see this old geezer and are coming down on the side of straight to ‘end of life care’ when one of them notices that I am wearing a lapel badge. It reads: BUT I WON THE BOOKER PRIZE. And I am reprieved. Unless the gesture looks like an attempt to pull rank, in which case . . . well, I would never find out.

Elsewhere he envisions himself as an old-er man and losing his memory and friends/caretakers, trying to be helpful, suggest that he read his own early books to see if he might recapture who he was (“memory is identity”). They put the headphones on, and you listen to an actor – or perhaps, even, yourself – reading words you had written decades previously. And then what? Does it feel half-familiar? Do you think this must be some book you had read in earlier years? Or might it trigger a genuine memory of writing the words?

So: life, death, writing, fame, love, dreams… (“Departure habitually leads to arrival. Not always, of course… We go, we arrive, we set o in return, and reach home again: we live with this momentum.” Until in the end there is “The Departure which will be followed by no Arrival.”

Barnes reassures the reader that he’s not (or not often) afraid of dying. As an atheist — and support of a group called Dignity in Dying — he doesn’t expect any Thereafter. He shares a story from when catalytic converters were being stolen all the time from cars:

”An old friend and neighbour of mine, disturbed by a noise from the street, opened his bedroom curtains and saw a man half-underneath his car. He rushed down to the front door and shouted ‘What are you up to?’ The man stood up and pointed at him. ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ he said in a threatening manner, ‘Now fuck off back inside.’ Which my friend obediently – and wisely – did. I sometimes think of this incident when I’m musing on illness and decrepitude. It’s just the universe doing its stuff, it has nothing to do with you, so just fuck off back inside, OK? Do you see what I mean?

“…the universe doing its stuff…” Or as Kurt Vonnegut put it many many decades back: “So it goes.”

Do I make the book sound terribly dark and depressing? I hope not because it’s neither of these things, not in the least. It’s touching, profound, playful, tender… Which is not to say the reader won’t finally put the book down with a feeling of sadness of the kind one feels after saying farewell to a beloved friend they may never see again. If “Departure(s)” is in fact to be Barnes’ last novel, it’s a hell of a way to go out.

My thanks to Knopf for a digital ARC of "Departure(S)" in return for an honest review.

[LLJ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to #NetGalley and to #KnopfPublishing and, especially, to Julian Barnes for this unforgettable read. From the cover to the conclusion (and everything in between) I absolutely loved this book. Full disclosure, I had (somehow!!) not read anything by this author despite his acclaim, including the Man Booker Prize, and I'm equally as excited to have discovered him via his, based upon its themes, final book. This is a short but packed "novel" that is inherently based upon the author's life and musings and felt more like an extended coffee conversation (a fascinating one with many cups of coffee on my "listener's" end). What a pleasure. And a dog named Jimmy Jack to boot!

The book begins with a study in types of memory (launched via a reference to Proust) and, in some ways, ends on the same notes. It's one of my favorite endings in recent memory, actually, and felt so intimate. Despite topics of cancer, death, betrayal, and loss, it was for me an uplifting and poignantly funny book. Just from reading this one short book, I can imagine enjoying a few cups of coffee (or tea) in the company of this author.

The middle section which focuses on the romantic ups and downs of his two university companions -- Jean and Stephen - is nothing short of brilliant in its depiction of relationships, perception(s) of personal power, fate, and how brief one's life truly is (though we never know it until it feels like hindsight). This book hits that concept REMARKABLY well.

Now I get to go back in time to Mr. Barnes' earlier works (likely in chronological order) because that is the simple and abundant JOY of being a reader (and writer) who loves books and great authors. I so highly recommend this one (especially for anyone who can relate to any aspects of this review OR who enjoys Julian Barnes).

Thank you, sir, for this deep and gratitude-filled read. Long may you live and deeply may you laugh!!!

[Nancy · Rating 5 out of 5]

‘Incurable yet manageable,’ that sounds like….life, doesn’t it? from Departure(s) by Julian Barnes

Such a strange novel. The narrator is Julian Barnes, a writer in his mid-seventies with a rare cancer which is treatable but not curable. He writes about his thoughts on memory, life, aging, and death. And, he tells the story of two friends. He introduced them to each other as young adults. They married and divorced, and forty years later he reintroduced them, resulting in their remarrying.

The pair made him swear he would never write about them. But in this novel, he writes about them.

The border between what is real and what is imagined is nebulous. The book has little plot, and limited characters. In addition to the forementioned friends, the narrator’s wife has died, leaving him with her aging dog.

What engages us are the narrator’s rambling thoughts and digressions. Especially, if you are, like me, in your seventh decade. The reader feels they know this narrator, and there is a sense of loss when the book ends. we are told it is his last book.

This is the start of the ending. from Departure(s) by Julian Barnes

We must depart from this world, not knowing where we will arrive afterward. There is some relief in knowing we will not have to live into what may come, considering the trajectory we are on in regards to destroying the planet and democracy and ourselves.

But our narrator has gained an acceptance. “Ripeness is all,” he quotes Edgar in King Lear. Like our narrator, I read the play first in my teens. Inevitable decay of the body and mind, he notes, helps his acceptance.

The novel ends with acknowledgement of the years of delight his readers have brought. And try to stay clear eyed, reading it. Have a hanky at the ready.

Thanks to the publisher for a free book through NetGalley.

[Liz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Forewarned is forearmed. Departure(s) isn’t a traditional fiction and those looking for that will be severely disappointed. At times, it comes across as more stream of consciousness, especially in the beginning when the author/main character discusses memory. It’s totally metafiction, with all the boundaries blurred. One of the sentences in that initial chapter should give you a hint of what you’re dealing with:
“There will be a story—or a story within the story—but not just yet.”
Julian is the author/main character. He’s seventy-eight and dealing with a blood condition that is manageable but not curable. So, there’s a lot of talk of old age, health, dying, loss.
The “story” concerns his two friends, Stephen and Jean, whom he introduces in college and then re-introduces four decades later. The fact that he promised both of them he’d never write about them gets thrown out like yesterday’s trash. (At least he waited until they were both dead.) I can’t say I especially liked either of them. A little too weird for my taste. So, I was less entranced with those sections when Julian was with them or talking about them.
Despite the book’s quirks, I did enjoy it. The writing is lovely and I was highlighting lots of passages. It’s a thought provoking book; one you will be thinking about for days afterwards. One of my favorite passages:
“Life is not a tragedy with a happy ending, despite what religion promised, rather it is a farce with a tragic ending, or at best, a light comedy with a sad ending.”
My thanks to Netgalley and Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage and Anchor for an advance copy of this book.

[Kym · Rating 5 out of 5]

Would I like a chance to read an early copy of Julian Barnes’ upcoming (and possibly final) book, Departure(s): A Novel? Why, YES, please! I was eager for a chance to read this absolute treat of a book, which is due to be published in January 2026.

Although billed as “fiction” (with the words “A Novel” right there in the title and everything), Julian Barnes’ Departure(s) reads very much like a memoir. Rather than drive myself batty trying to resolve this novel vs. memoir conundrum, I decided to just . . . read it; to immerse myself in the magic that is Julian Barnes’ writing and not overthink how much is autofiction and how much is “a novel.” Because none of that matters, of course.

Departure(s) is a quietly contemplative, intimate examination of memory, friendship, and aging. Barnes is so dang sharp! His writing is brilliant and engaging and . . . intellectual. Not at all in an intimidating way, but in that charming, conversational “Barnes way” that makes even me want to go out and read Proust.

I loved Departure(s), and look forward to owning my own copy when it’s published . . . so I can highlight and underline and write in the margins to my heart’s content.

Thank you to NetGalley and Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor for providing an advance copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. The book will be published on January 20, 2026.

5 stars.

[Sue · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to Net Galley and the Publisher for the ARC.

Departure is quiet, reflective, and very Julian Barnes. It’s less about plot and more about the small, intimate moments that happen while waiting—on the edge of leaving, or maybe staying. Barnes leans into memory, aging, regret, and the way chance encounters can linger longer than expected.

I really enjoyed the thoughtful pacing and the sharp observations about love and loneliness, though it does require you to slow down and sit with it. This isn’t a book you rush through—it’s one you read in pieces, letting the ideas settle.

I found a new respect for Mr. Barnes while reading this, and I know I’ll return to it many times. I’m so glad he wrote this book at this moment in his life so we could hear his voice so clearly. If this truly is his final book, it feels like a quiet, meaningful goodbye—subtle, smart, and emotionally restrained, even if it didn’t completely knock me over. I definitely will continue to glean from this novel. Thank you Mr. Barnes.

[Laura · Rating 5 out of 5]

Told in characteristic Barnes' fashion, with digressions (or departures) from his main theme, which seems to be that this will be the last novel he will write due to advancing age and illness. That this isn't exactly a novel doesn't seem to be taken into account, and I'm really hoping that he does write more.

In addition to talking about his cancer, age and lockdown, he tells the story of two friends he'd introduced during their shared college years, and then assisted in the reconnecting 40 years later. Their story (and their dog, who probably doesn't know he's a dog) is something he swore not to tell but they're both dead and, well, he's telling it. By telling this, he's exploring how meeting your long-ago love again and rekindling that love can, and yet can't, work.

The 167 pages here gave me a lot to think about, including planning a re-read of all the other works of his I have.

eARC provided by publisher via Edelweiss.

[Natalia Weissfeld · Rating 5 out of 5]

Julian Barnes’s Departure(s) feels less like a book than a final, generous conversation with the reader. It reads unmistakably as a goodbye letter (intimate, playful, and unexpectedly moving) offered without the self-importance so often present in people of his generation. Barnes writes with the ease of someone who has nothing left to prove and everything left to share.
What makes Departure(s) so affecting is its tone. Barnes is funny in the dry, precise way that has always defined his work, but here the humor feels especially tender, a way of easing both himself and the reader into deeper emotional waters.
The personal anecdotes are the book’s beating heart. Barnes draws on his own experiences with candor. He urges the reader to look inward, but does so gently, without instruction or moralizing, more as a “companion” than a guide.
I loved this book for its honesty. If Departure(s) is indeed Barnes’s last word, it is a beautiful one: thoughtful, intimate, and profoundly human.

[Marlene]

Readers unfamiliar with Barnes's work might not want to start with this one. Departure(s) has been classified as both autofiction and metafiction and, indeed it fits the bill for both. The author is the narrator bookending a story between his thoughts on memory, illness, aging and death. In between there's a story about his experience as a matchmaker for two old friends. The topics are familiar to those who read Barnes' work. They're philosophical musings on subjects most of us choose to avoid. The heaviness is interspersed with amusing anecdotes about an inherited dog that lighten the tone. For those new to Barnes I recommend Arthur and George or Elizabeth Finch. The clarity of his prose will capture you, and I guarantee, expand your vocabulary. The narrator/author says this is his last book. I hope he reconsiders! Thanks to Netgalley and Knopf for the opportunity to in deep thought and exquisite writing.

[Gwen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Grateful to NetGalley and Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor for the ARC!

In this autofiction, the narrator - a writer by the name of Julian Barnes - muses on memory and then death, centered in large part around ruminations of the story of two friends that the narrator had first set up at Oxford who broke up after graduation only to marry decades later.

Like all of Barnes' work, this novel is full of beautiful and contemplative prose and an almost stream of conscious style of narration that makes connections between and across other pieces of literature, history, and current events.

For anyone who has loved Barnes' other work, this is a lovely culmination to a body of work that has spanned four decades.

[Linda · Rating 5 out of 5]

What an honor to be able to read the musings of a talented author like Julian Barnes in his (probable) final book at the age of 80. His thoughts on memory, aging, and death are spelled out with a gentleness that speaks to the heart of humanity. His “book within a book” allowed more reflection on love and relationships. Allowing as to how attitudes change as we age, death begins to seem more of a release than an unwelcome ending. This was a thoughtful and insightful largely biographical novel that leaves the reader with a sense of peace.

Thanks to NetGalley and Knopf Publishing for the ARC to read and review.

[Christopher Walthorne · Rating 5 out of 5]

Near the start of Departure(s), Julian Barnes claims that this will be his last book. If this is true, then he has picked a true masterpiece to go out on. This is neither a straightforward novel nor memoir; if anything, it is similar in structure to Flaubert’s Parrot, but with a more directly personal approach. I don’t want to give anything away, but there is an emotional nakedness and real candour to this book, and the closing lines are some of the most touching I have ever read in literature. An incredible swan song from one of Britain’s greatest writers.

[James B · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thanks to Netgalley and Knopf for the ebook. In this short, and very sharp novel, Stephen and Jean have been introduced to each other by our narrator, Julian, while at University in the sixties in England. It looks like a great match, but despite the wonderful start, the couple ultimately break up. The book then skips ahead forty years and Julian gets a chance for vindication and sets the two up again. It’s such a unique look at relationships at two very different stages of life.

[Perry · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an odd but somehow fitting signoff by Barnes. It is hard to say how much of it is "a novel," but I guess that leaves an opening for Barnes to write another book should he so choose. The section about the couple he knew who rekindled their relationship reminded me of Talking It Over, which I read twice and enjoyed. He has such a fluidity as a writer. Perhaps I will read his books now in opposite chronology.

[Karen · Rating 3 out of 5]

While the writing for this book is so so beautiful in parts, the navel gazing and meta nature of this story just didn't work for me. I am not interested enough in Julian Barnes himself I guess. It was still really beautiful in parts but not really for me.

with gratitude to netgalley and Knopf for an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

[J R · Rating 5 out of 5]

lyrical semi-fiction from one of the most popular authors in Britain. It's a short read but you can just sink into it. 5 stars. tysm for the arc.

[Katie]

DNF

[Novel Visits · Rating 3 out of 5]

3 stars would be my highest possible rating. I have a lot to say about it, but overall found it rambling, self-indulgent l, and very sad. I wish I’d liked it. Full review to follow.

[Derek Withshire · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a wonderful book. One that leaves the world feeling empty once you've read the final page.