I bought
this book just because the title was so powerful that I couldn’t resist. I didn’t
read the synopsis; I didn’t give it a second thought. I just stood there, watching
the words on the whitish cover: The Sense of an ending.
“We live in
time – it holds us and moulds us – but I’ve never felt I understood it very
well. And I’m not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back,
or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday
time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: tick-tock, click-clock.
Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the
smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time malleability. Some emotions speed it
up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing – until the eventual
point when it really does go missing, and never to return.”
