What it told me about the novel excited me, its themes of travel and the end of colonialism and the rise of American industrialisation, the first hand experience of low ranking soldiers in the first world war, lust and medical practice in the suburbs of Paris in the 1920s… It sounded like my kinda thing, however, there was an unpleasant undercurrent to the introductory words (from John Banville and André Derval) that struck me pretty heavily: Céline (or whatever his real name was) became a Nazi sympathiser within a few years after the 1932 publication of this book. I did what I often do when reading something that I feel may be difficult, and I read the introduction before beginning the text. I didn’t know much about either the writer or this book when I began reading it, but it had been very heartily recommended to me recently and I thought: why not? Let’s give it a go. Louis-Ferdinand Céline was an infamous French writer of the mid 20th century and Journey to the End of the Night is widely hailed as his masterpiece. Here’s me in the rain at the Giant’s Causeway, scroll past to like read about a book: I’m having a strange time, a new time, a fresh time: a time of movement and change, of optimism and hope and positivity, of fresh horizons and left despair and pleasing uncertainty. I’ve also continued to discuss class and love and sex with people, both in real life and online, and I’ve continued to find myself in strange arguments with multiple people which I sometimes walk away from and sometimes dig my fucking heels in. I’ve also finished the course I was taking in Barcelona, applied for over 50 jobs (and counting), and spent a LOT of time thinking about the future, both anxiously and productively. I also wandered around gorgeous Brighton, and got a three hour midnight coach from Dublin Airport to County Antrim (not in that order).
#Night book summary ending plus#
In that time I have attended a wedding as my lover’s plus one, I have attended the first graduation I’ve ever been to (as a guest, in spite of my two degrees), I have visited the stunning Titanic Museum in Belfast, been rained on like a bastid at the Giant’s Causeway, have had a somewhat morose oldschool night on the booze on Upper Street with friends I left behind following my #brexodus. I have been in multiple different places, on two train rides, three flights, loadsa bluddy public transport and even an uncharacteristic Uber in the week and a half it has taken me to finish this.
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