Although this is a fictional novel, it ventures into the realms of a biography. Barnes, or rather, Geoffrey Braithwaite, the author and narrator, recounts many aspects of Gustave Flauberts life, and presents us with biographical details and chronology. I suppose it could be state that the real writer, Barnes, is writing a fictional biography of the fictional biographer, Geoffrey Braithwaite, who in turn is writing a biography on the real writer, Gustave Flaubert.
Due the authorial voice, and because I have never indicate any of Flauberts works, I found myself trusting the information that was given up to me, and therefore trusting the narrator.
Fairly near the start, we learn that there are hidden skeletons in Geoffreys past. He promises to reveal them, at some(prenominal) point, but seems very reluctant to do so. This made me to the highest degree impatient over the information I was given near Flaubert, as I found myself much more inquiring about Geoffrey and his life. It seemed that Geoffrey was hiding behind Flaubert as an excuse to chide about other things. He doesnt appear to have much of an exterior or interior life, other than it revolving around his project. Geoffrey is relating everything patronize to Flaubert, and using him as a lens to view reality.
This withholding of information, and insight into the narrators life, ties in well with the curiosity of the reader to cut about the writer, which Geoffrey comments on throughout the book. Barnes is obviously trying to hold up the point to us that a work of fiction does non necessarily reflect in any port on the writer, and, as readers, we should separate the two. This is further compounded by the feature that the reader feels as though Geoffrey is in some way relative to Barnes himself. If we take the narrative advice,
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