The last sentence of this book made me feel daft. I think I pretty much comprehended the majority of the book: the mild, slightly frantic despair that the main character feels over a marriage that is mutually dissatisfactory; the duplicitious and hypocritical nature of trying too hard to do good things when your own life is in shambles and you can't have fulfilling relationships with people that you actually know; the ambiguity that someone can feel when no option is without unacceptable costs.

In fact, I think the most interesting thing about the book is how Hornby illustrats the protagonist's focus on herself and her constant rationalization of her poor choices. She teeters on the edge of actually taking responsibility for her mistakes, but never quite realizes that her choices are what lead her to unhappiness. Rather, she blames her husband for her choices. Instead of making the real life changes that would come from taking responsibility and trying to fix things a bit by being less selfish, she eventually decides that finding some time for herself to read and listen to music may enable her to limp along for the next fifteen years in moderately acute displeasure and unhappiness.

I'm not saying that taking time for yourself to read and listen to music is bad. Quite the opposite. I think everyone should find things that they like to do for themselves so they can relax and rejuvinate, feel accomplished. I just don't think that doing so is a valid replacement for owning up to your mistakes properly and making the hard personality changes to start treating others better. This, the protagonist obtusely refuses to do.

Other than the last line, my issues with the book focus more on the story than the writting. Up until the complete change in personality of the husband, which is just not realistic at all, Hornby does an incredible job at describing the horror of a rotten marriage and the selfishness of someone who cannot see their contribution to the mire. Then the whole random mystic healing thing leads to the complete personality change, and suddenly the husband is not only no longer angry, but can not longer even recognize sarcasm or humor. That just wouldn't happen. It's a big pill to swallow. I suspended my disbelief to finish the story and see what Hornby has to say, but I think he could have gotten to the same place in the story without resorting to the outrageous and unbelievable. Eventually, it works itself out, but not completely. So the story is a bit tough to buy, but it can be done.

But that last line of the book is just a gargantuan puzzler. The entire book was clearly written, except the last line. Hornby suddenly, abruptly, uncharacteristically, violently jumps tracks into an affected symbolism that contrasts glaringly with the rest of the writting in the book. It's really quite ugly and ungainly. If I could only change one thing about the book, I would probably choose to change that last few words, even over the whole husband's personality change thing. I would change it to say, "...I wonder if I can keep it alive indefinitely." I figure that's what Hornby was trying to say anyway.