Customer Reviews

Metroland

5 star:		(3)
4 star:		(8)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Metroland is the sort of book that, frankly, most people will not like (or even finish). However, those who do like the book will enjoy it a great deal. The theme is one that has been explored by almost every male author of note: A young man is attempting to sort out his own values while asking himself if he is living his life properly. This is, of course, a serious topic. Because of the gravity of the subject, many writers seem to cave in to the temptation to go overboard and the resulting work becomes hopelessly melodramatic. Julian Barnes, however, has avoided the cliches of this sub-genre by mocking the main character's periodic self-absorbtion. The result is a protagonist that the reader can truly care about and (ultimately) admire. Metroland's dialog is witty, and the narrative is very clever. The chapter dealing with Chris's attempts to impress his new French girlfriend are so realistic that they must be autobiographical. Metroland would be best enjoyed in small bites, a chapter or two at a time at the end of the day. You might hate this book, and I honestly wouldn't blame you, but I loved it.

Metroland is undoubtedly on my top 10 list for life. The story is, above all else, touchingly honest. Vivid pictures are painted with the subtlest of language. The writing gives keen insight into the head of a young boy and his passage into adulthood.
There is nothing more satisfying than when you read a book that is written as if it could have come from your own head...
The absurdity and comedy of some of the conversations will make you laugh as you think about times in your own life when things don't have to be mature and sensical - you just say them, and magically, everyone understands.
The scenes in the museum where the two main characters are observing peoples' minute reactions to artwork is my absolute favorite. The passage describing how art is the most important thing in life, and how people, simply by viewing art, are in some way improved, is in my wallet and I make sure to show it to everyone I know.
I have read Talking It Over, also by Barnes, and enjoyed it, but Metroland stands alone because it is so completely and honestly genuine.

kidTiger

Metroland is a very intimate and enchanting novel written in the first person. The reader is drawn into Chris, the narrator's, world at the very outset and from that point on, we are taken on a journey through life, time and age.
We start out in the mind of a 16 year old boy, feeling all his hopes and ideals alongside him, sharing his philosophies and questions with his closest friends in a haven of teenage, mutual, intellectual exchange.
Then comes Paris, May '68. Chris has matured. We sense that he has begun to live, and has become increasingly uncertain of how the realities of life fit in with his childhood ideals.
As the work draw slowly to a close the narrator is experiencing "real" life to the full; the marriage, the mortgage and the child, and yet the need to question seems to have been appeased. We now sense his readiness to live life day by day, without too much forward-thinking. With age, he no longer really asks why things happen, he merely accepts.
The ageing process we feel in the novel is fascinating, in particular when we consider the relationship between the two childhood "best friends", Chris and Toni. As children they seem to parralel so closely, with similar beliefs and concerns, yet as time passes their priorities and goals move in conflicting directions. Chris adapted his ideals to reality. Toni, on the other hand, tried to live by his childhood ideals as an adult, torturing himself in the process in the hopes of being true to his past self and his broken dreams.
Some of us mature and develop and some are children forever ....who is happier?

I agree with KidTiger's review that the museum scene is priceless;many others are too.

I don't think the book depicts a stereotypical account of English boys' adolesent thoughts, but I would love to believe they are all so pensive and aware--even in the sometimes sophmoric ways of Toni and Chris. The way these observations and thoughts are conveyed are refreshingly honest and admittedly naive. I have recommended this fast-read gem to all English guys I know who want to revisit an awkward time and laugh.

Yes, this is another sensitive-young-man-coming-of-age story, but a very good one. It's well-written, humorous, and sensitive. But its take on growing up is dreary and somewhat fatalistic.

There are many comparisons to be made here. Barnes explicitly mentions Flaubert's "Setimental Education," and that is apt, but I thought more of Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man." The main difference, besides Barnes's much less intellectual tone, is that Joyce's book left me joyously inspired, while Barnes's left me despondent and a bit angry. In the start of Metroland, the two young men are full of curiosity and joy -- as they mature, they inevitably become, well, old and boring and defeated, seeking contentment rather than joy. Joyce's protagonist went off to forge in the smithy of his soul the uncreated conscience of his race; Barnes's protagonist just becomes a bitter suburban man. And Barnes doesn't even seem to reproach him for this. To Barnes, this seems to be the natural process of growing up. (John Cougar Mellencamp: "Life goes on, even after the thrill of living is gone.")

I am giving Metroland four stars because it is unfair to give a book demerits for an unhappy ending. Barnes certainly knows his stuff as a writer, and the dialogue, especially in the start of the novel, is crisp and engaging. But it's getting four stars instead of five because the ending could have been a little more original (and, a tiny voice in my head says, happier too) than "And then we became old and boring."

One note: you may enjoy Metroland more if you know French, since many of the key expressions, and even entire sentences, are in French. It's not crucial to know French, but it's helpful.

Les evenements? What?

The secret shame of the book's main character is having been in Paris through May of 1968 and not even noticing the student revolution, much less participating in it.

But then, he was in love.

This book lays foundation for almost every recurring theme of Barnes's future writing: the anxiety of growing up, the middle-class identity, the French connection, sex, love, etc.

It is less enthralling than "Talking It Over" or "Before She Met Me", but still an excellent novel.

Oh, and yes! It must have been noted already, and probably many times, but for me it was a small personal revelation. In "Flaubert's Parrot" the narrator ridicules the author of some first novel or other, who mentiones in his book the first forbidden edition of "Madame Bovary". The narrator's sting points at the fact that there have never been such a thing, and the poor chap must have meant "Les fleurs du mal".

The passage ridiculed in "Flaubert's Parrot" is taken from "Metroland".

Postmodernism rules. Or does it?

The thoughts and conversations of the two teenage boys and this book are certainly not typical of those of 'real' children. The device used by the author in attributing such sophistication to adolescents parallels one of the themes of the book, that of utilty versus aesthetics.
In the first conversation we read between Chris and Tony since Chris' marriage, Chris asks Tony to explain to him the use of their childhood, heartfelt, agonising studies of reactions to the arts.
As adolescents, the boys have no power but no responsibility - Tony, it seems, never develops responsibilty and is embittered by his subsequent lack of influence on the real world or, indeed, on the literary world.
Chris accomodates real responsibility with a gradual softening of his views on other peoples jobs and lives, (see school reunion,) and the novel ends with Chris looking at the effect of a sodium light - this time he doesn't worry about it turning the colour of his clothes brown, but is content that his daughter is comforted by the light outside her window.
Art has no 'use' other than to sustain our spirits and give support to our more duties as adults.
There is no 'selling out' in this novel, just a wish to avoid the bitterness, loneliness and futility of a life driven by criticism and cynicism.

I was immensely disappopinted with this novel. In contrast to the thoughts of most other reviewers it was the opening third which irritated me most. The two central characters as children were quite preposterous. Whilst recognising that Barnes wished to track the arc of their development from immature pretentions through to adult acceptance (in Chris's case) I really don't think he carried it off well. Unless these children attended a school for the outstandingly gifted, I suspect they could not have reched such a level of erudition and linguistic profficiency. I also found that the author pandered (perhaps unwittingly) to a certain strata of reader. Yes, the novel examines some universal themes, but much of it is devoted to the angst of the unknowingly privileged and after a while I found my face twitching as I read. As for Barnes' reputation as a witty and observant writer, if his Man Shop anecdote is his best attempt at humour, I suggest he sticks to the plays on words. Barnes' brand of humour is slick and clever, as you would expect, but it seems far too constructed and simply isn't amusing. Like most readers I admire Barnes greatly for his brilliant use of language and his insightful thoughts on the human condition, however this novel is ridden with hubris and an overall dillusion of applicability to the world in general. As a teenager in Newcastle I learned French at school. Most of the time I could barely remember the days of the week, and yet, compared to most kids, I was thought of as fluent! Perhaps this genius generation only ever existed in the Home Counties of England, but then since Englishness is defined, de facto, by those counties I suspect this offering is regarded as a representative piece of 'English' fiction. All in all, a highly insulated view. Posh twaddle - avoid if at all possible.

This was the first of Julian Barnes's novels, but I came to it after reading a selection of his later essays in 'Letters from London' and the 'Pedant in the Kitchen' as well as his intellectual postmodern history novel 'A History of the World in Ten Chapters'.

The sharpness, wit and originality prevalent in the aforementioned works I found to be sadly lacking in Metroland. The story seemed to be implausible and trite. The narrator is Chris Lloyd, a sensitive teenager growing up in a part of suburban London served by the Metropolitan line - hence the book's title. With his friend Toni, he peruses the world with a mixture of cynicism, scorn, curiosity, cheekiness and boredom. In the middle third of the novel, Chris comes of age, finding the traditional intellectual shelter spots of Paris coming to his rescue as he loses his virginity to an attractive French girl and meets his future wife. The final third highlights Chris's maturity into the mellow contentment of middle age - a condition acidly mocked by Toni, who is still trying to remainin true to the bohemian, artistic ideals of their shared adolescence.

The coming of age theory is one that has been tackled by virtually every well known male novelist, usually early in their career, and there is no shame in this. But first novels should be a fresh, energetic footprint on the existing field of literature. Metroland is a mere scrabbling in the soil. It is a neat, clever book, but the prose bumbles along in a bland, bored manner, reminiscent of the Metropolitan tube line itself. The themes covered for instance include:

Teenage Chris and Toni going into a mans shop and asking for 'One man and two small boys please' - come on Julian, you can write better jokes than this surely.

Chris nervously chatting up a French girl in a cafe by asking her about the book she is reading - a trite cliché if ever I saw one.

Chris comparing his emotional state at various stages in his life by considering the objects around him - notorious critic, Dale Peck's assertion that Barnes is motivated by little more than boredom and hubris begin to hold some resonance here.

Chris in middle age going to a school reunion and reflecting on how his peers have grown up and matured - please, is this not a theme covered a thousand times in navel gazing contemporary literature? even in great novels such as 'American Pastoral', the school reunion scene is rarely treated originally or creatively.

Julian Barnes did go on to become one of Britain's foremost novelists and essayists, and deservedly so. But you wouldn't think so from this uninspiring debut.

As always, books mean different things to different people.

For me, this book is about how we change as we grow older. Or rather, not the fact that we change, but the way that we move in different directions.

Its about the wedge that time drives between us, and it reflects the experience of every one of us.

In places it is a little painful - it offers no rose-tinted view of life, merely tells it how it is.

For those who prefer to escape into their reading list, it is probably not ideal. But it is extremely well written (as always! Barnes is a very accomplished author), and flows nicely.

All in all, an intelligent, and very observant book.