Julian Barnes est un écrivain anglais contemporain dont les œuvres s'inscrivent souvent dans le courant du postmodernisme. Son écriture explore les complexités de la mémoire, de l'histoire et de l'identité à travers des récits soigneusement construits et un style distinctif et ironique. Barnes tisse avec maestria des thèmes de perte, d'amour et de recherche de sens dans des histoires existentiellement résonnantes. Sa profondeur littéraire et son habileté stylistique en font une figure marquante de la fiction britannique contemporaine.
Au début, c’est l’ironie qui domine : les aventures de l’Arche de Noé nous sont racontées par un passager clandestin, un ver à bois. Puis Julian Barnes revisite avec le même humour décapant les guerres de religion, le drame du radeau de la Méduse… Jusqu’à ce que le rire se teinte d'angoisse... Voici des images des camps de la mort, des conflits nucléaires, des fanatismes variés. Reste-t-il alors une forme d’espoir ? C’est ce que nous dira le «demi-chapitre», petit bijou de tendresse et de violence mêlées.
On pourrait commencer, prosaïquement, par ce qui peut être décrit comme une robe de chambre. Rouge — ou plus exactement écarlate — et allant du cou jusqu’à la cheville, laissant voir des ruchés blancs aux poignets et à la gorge... Est-ce injuste de commencer par ce vêtement, plutôt que par l’homme qui le porte? Mais c’est ainsi représenté et ainsi vêtu que nous nous souvenons de lui aujourd’hui. Qu’en eût-il pensé? En aurait-il été rassuré, amusé, un peu offusqué? «L’homme en rouge», peint par John Sargent en 1881, s’appelait Samuel Pozzi. Né à Bergerac en 1847, il allait vite devenir à Paris LE médecin à la mode, particulièrement apprécié des dames de la bonne société en tant que chirurgien et gynécologue. Beaucoup d’entre elles, dont Sarah Bernhardt, étaient aussi ses maîtresses et le surnommaient «L’Amour médecin». À travers sa vie privée, pas toujours heureuse, et sa vie professionnelle, exceptionnellement brillante, c’est une vision en coupe de la Belle Époque qu’on va découvrir sous le regard acéré de Julian Barnes. Il y a d’une part l’image classique de paix et de plaisirs et, de l’autre, les aspects sombres d’une période minée par l’instabilité politique, les crimes et les scandales. Un grand récit.
"Préféreriez-vous aimer davantage, et souffrir davantage ; ou aimer moins, et moins souffrir ? C'est, je pense, finalement, la seule vraie question." Angleterre, années 1960. Paul a dix-neuf ans lorsqu'il rencontre Susan, une femme mariée de trente ans son aînée. Sur le court de tennis où ils disputent des parties en double, une passion se noue, totale, absolue. Ils la vivent fièrement, conscients de défier les conventions sociales. Mais les années passent, sans bruit, tandis que l'amour et la jeunesse de Paul se heurtent aux démons de Susan...
Flaubert's Parrot, Julian Barnes's breakthrough book—shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1984—is the story of Geoffrey Braithwaite, a retired doctor who is obsessed with the French author and with tracking down a stuffed parrot that once inspired him. Barnes playfully combines a literary detective story with a character study of its detective, embedded in a brilliant riff on literary genius. A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters is a mix of fictional and historical narratives of voyage and discovery—ranging from a woodworm's perspective on Noah's ark to a survivor from the sinking of the Titanic—that question our ideas of history.
From the bestselling, Booker Prize-winning author of The Sense of an Ending and one of Britain’s greatest writers: a brilliant collection of essays on the books and authors that have meant the most to him throughout his illustrious career. • "[A] blissfully intelligent gathering of literary essays." —Financial Times In these seventeen essays (plus a short story and a special preface, “A Life with Books”), Julian Barnes examines the British, French and American writers who have shaped his writing, as well as the cross-currents and overlappings of their different cultures. From the deceptiveness of Penelope Fitzgerald to the directness of Hemingway, from Kipling’s view of France to the French view of Kipling, from the many translations of Madame Bovary to the fabulations of Ford Madox Ford, from the National Treasure status of George Orwell to the despair of Michel Houellebecq, Julian Barnes considers what fiction is, and what it can do. As he writes, “Novels tell us the most truth about life: what it is, how we live it, what it might be for, how we enjoy and value it, and how we lose it.”
The updated edition of Julian Barnes' best-loved writing on art, with seven
new exquisite illustrated essays'Flaubert believed that it was impossible to
explain one art form in terms of another, and that great paintings required no
words of explanation.
Duffy is summoned to a country manor for his hairiest case yet Vic Crowther’s housekeeper found the body. Ricky bled out after crashing through the French windows of the manor’s library. Crowther doesn’t know who did this to Ricky, but he does know whom to blame. Duffy, the security consultant who installed the dodgy burglar alarm, will have to answer for this murder. When Duffy rushes out to the country to smooth things over, he finds more than one surprise. First of all, Ricky was a dog. And Braunscombe Hall is filled to capacity with strange folks—even by Duffy’s rarefied standards. His country sojourn is extended—as are his headaches—when he finds that each of the eccentric guests has a problem that needs his expertise.
As Julian Barnes notes in his introduction to Alphonse Daudet’s La Doulou, the writer, who lived from 1840 to 1897, was once celebrated as a leading literary figure. Henry James referred to him as “the happiest novelist” and “the most charming story-teller” of his time. However, Daudet was also part of a tragic group of nineteenth-century French writers afflicted by syphilis. In the Land of Pain—notes toward an unwritten book—Daudet offers a poignant response to his illness.
With quick, incisive strokes, he details his symptoms, describing pain as a “one-man-band” and his treatments as “morphine nights” filled with sleeplessness and existential void. He reflects on his fears, seeking meaning in pain and urging it to be his philosophy and science. Daudet shares observations of fellow patients at spas, noting the cultural contrasts in their experiences, and he contemplates the deceptive nature of death, which seems to merely thin out life.
Barnes’s translation captures the essence of these notes, creating a record that is both shattering and lighthearted, haunting yet beguiling. This work reveals the dual nature of physical suffering—its banality and transformative power—while celebrating the complex resilience of the human spirit.
'You put together two things that have not been put together before. And the world is changed...' Julian Barnes's new book is about ballooning, photography, love and grief; about putting two things, and two people, together, and about tearing them apart. One of the judges who awarded him the 2011 Man Booker Prize described him as 'an unparalleled magus of the heart'. This book confirms that opinion.
Since 1990 Julian Barnes has written a regular ‘Letter from London’ for the New Yorker magazine. These already celebrated pieces cover subjects as diverse as the Lloyd’s insurance disaster, the rise and fall of Margaret Thatcher, the troubles of the Royal Family and the hapless Nigel Short in his battle with Gary Kasparov in the 1993 World Chess Finals. With an incisive assessment of Salman Rushdie’s plight and an analysis of the implications of being linked to the Continent via the Channel Tunnel, Letters from London provides a vivid and telling portrait of Britain in the Nineties.
