Why do brilliant novels so often fail at the finish?

A disappointing ending to a novel you've been enjoying has a peculiar power over us. At least it does for me. 

You can spend days immersed in a novel, recommend it to friends before you've even finished it, and carry the characters around in your head. Then you reach the final chapter and something doesn't quite land. The ending feels rushed, overly clever, relentlessly bleak, or simply at odds with everything that came before.

It raises an uncomfortable question. Can a bad ending ruin a great novel? I'm asking as I have read a slew of novels recently where this has been the experience.

The two Kate Atkinson books we should talk about much more

There are books that arrive with a chorus of approval already attached to them. You can hear the noise before you even turn the first page: prize longlists, ecstatic reviews, the familiar phrases about brilliance and urgency and importance. 

Then there are books that are quietly absorbed into the background of contemporary fiction, admired, recommended now and then, occasionally pressed into a friend’s hands, but rarely given the full, sustained conversation they deserve.

Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life and A God in Ruins belong to the second category, which feels faintly absurd when you consider what they actually do, and how good they are. 

Why men read less than women — And how to change it

It remains a sad truth universally acknowledged that women read more books than men.

Twenty years ago, Ian McEwan remarked that ‘when women stop reading, the novel will be dead’. I found myself thinking about that last week, sitting by the pool on holiday. 

The women — myself included — were all reading novels. The men, almost without exception, were staring at their phones. Doom scrolling. A small snapshot, perhaps, but one that reflects — and still reflects — a broader reality.

Where to start with Martin Amis: The style, satire and the savage beauty of language

With writers you grew up reading, their departure leaves a space in your life that is as close to an ache as books and literature can get. That’s how I feel about Martin Amis.

Amis, who died in 2023 at the age of 73 from cancer, was one of Britain’s most distinctive and dazzling literary voices. The son of Kingsley Amis, author of Lucky Jim, he forged his own reputation as a bold stylist and razor-sharp satirist, chronicling the absurdities and moral disintegration of late 20th-century life with wit, intellect and a signature swagger.