Certainly but when

Julian Barnes’ Nothing to be Frightened Of distinguishes between fear of death and fear of dying. Between two brothers’ memory of a blindfolded bicycle ride. Between a mother who repeated and a father who didn’t express enough. Part memoir and part tribute to greats such as Flaubert, Renard, and Maurice Ravel, Barnes writes a travelogue, turning pages of precious diaries to map his route, only half-convinced that preparation of this sort matters. Every sort of question – what is the purpose, who will judge, why do we carry on, who will remember us – he touches with his usual elegance. Undeniable is the truth of a last reader.