Which Julian Barnes Book Best Shows His Use Of Unreliable Narrators?

“Does your husband know you’re taking my cock and moaning my name like a good bad girl? Does he know?” My toes curled as his deep octave dropped sensation into my body, p**sy dripping with every thrust he made deeper into my c*unt. My back arched off the bed, and my lips parted… body trembling as every thrust moved me closer to my orgasm. * I didn’t mean to fuck him, but I did. And one night of reckless pleasure suddenly turned into reality. It should have been nothing but a nightmare… but what happened when that nightmare came back as your nemesis, taking and claiming you in every corner… right where your husband could hear you? I should not want him. I should not like the way his lips part my legs open. I should not like the way his tongue moved against my skin, or the way he parted me open and ruined me till I’m nothing but a trembling mess… but I did. Because he made sure I realized how helpless every inch of my body longed for him. This is not your road to salvation. This is your way to damnation. And here… we offer smut and plot, so join me as I drip, wipe, and smirk. Thank you.

"You were never her, Aria. You were just... there." Jason's words echo in my head as I stand in the back of the church, watching him mourn another woman on her sister's wedding day. Isabelle. The perfect dead girlfriend. The ghost I've been competing with for three years. I thought I could be enough. I thought love could grow where grief once lived. But when I find the evidence, when I see the hotel receipts, the text messages, the photos of Jason with Isabelle's sister Violet, I realize the truth. I was never the love story. I was the intermission. What I don't know yet is that nothing about my marriage was real. Not Jason's cruelty. Not Violet's affair. Not the stranger's rescue. They've all been playing a game, and I'm the prize they're willing to destroy each other for. When the truth comes out, when I discover why Isabelle really died and who's been pulling the strings, I'll have to decide: Do I let them destroy me, or do I burn their whole world down?

The novel is mainly about the forgotten British poet/writer named C. J Richards who lived in Burma/Myanmar in colonial times and he believed himself as a Burmophile. He served as I.C.S (Indian Civil Servant) and when he retired from I.C.S service, he was a D.C (District Commissioner) and he left for England a year before Burma gained its independence in 1948. He came to Burma in 1920 to work in civil service after passing the hardest I.C.S examination. He wrote several books on Burma and contributed many monthly articles to Guardian Magazine published in Burma from 1953 to 1974 or 1975. Though he wrote several books which had much literary merit to both communities, Britain and Burma (Myanmar), people failed to recognize him. The story has two parts: one part is set in the contemporary Yangon (then called Rangoon) in 2016 context and a young literary enthusiast named “Lin” found out unexpectedly the forgotten writer’s poetry book and there is surely a good deal of time gap that led him into a quest to know more about the author’s life. The setting is quite different comparing to colonial Burma and independence Myanmar (Burma), early twentieth century and 2016 which is a transitional period in Myanmar. The writer’s life is fictionalized in the novel and most of the facts are taken from his personal stories and other reference books. It is a kind of historical novel with a twist and it has comparatively constructed the two different periods in Myanmar history to convince readers, locally and abroad more about history, authorship, humanity, colonialism, and transitional development in Myanmar today.

When Clara Davis accidentally switches suitcases at the airport, she expects an awkward exchange— not a gun, stacks of cash, and a stranger calling her Mrs. Vale. Lucien Vale, a cold, beautiful man with blood on his hands, insists she’s his wife—and that men are hunting her. Dragged into a world of covert missions and deadly secrets, Clara must live under an alias to survive. But the longer she stays by his side, the more she questions everything: Is Lucien her captor or her protector? Is this marriage fake—or fate? One suitcase, one lie, one love that could cost them both their lives.

What happens when your life is just a lie? What happens when you finally find out that none of what you believe to be real is real? What if you met someone who made you question everything? And what happens when your life is nothing but a fiction carved by Mr. Fiction himself? "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." — Oscar Wilde. Disclaimer: this story touches on depression, losing someone, and facing reality instead of taking the easy way out. ( ( ( part of TBNB Series, this is the story of Clarabelle Summers's writers ))

When Vivienne Carter married Sebastian Cross at twenty-two, everyone said how lucky she was. He was ten years older, a mafia Don with terrifying power in his hands, and yet for three years he doted on her alone. He indulged her in everything, kept her sheltered under his wing, tender and attentive down to the smallest detail. Only in the dead of night did he turn possessive and overpowering, taking without limit, never once relenting even when she begged him through tears. She had always been certain she was the one thing he loved. Then her father died without warning. Drowning in grief, she called him ninety-nine times, and every call was cut off. In an instant, a single photo shattered every illusion she had. On a Paris street softened by dusk, the man she'd loved for three years was bending to hold another woman. That woman, gentle-featured and faintly resembling her, was her cousin.