The Beauty of the Broken

Though I’ve always loved to read, I rarely find the time to do it purely for pleasure. For too long, my library card sat collecting dust, despite my love of spending time in the community library's dim corners surrounded by shelves heavy with history. The library where I live is no ordinary one either; it was designed by the famed New York firm Carrère and Hastings, with construction completed in 1903. Its Beaux-Arts architecture lends the space warmth and romance, a sense that every book is cradled in the echoes of another century. But I digress. One of the most memorable books I’ve read lately, spurred on by anticipation for the author’s newest release, was We Begin at the End by Chris Whitaker—a novel that lingers like a meal both nourishing and heavy, impossible to forget.

We Begin at the End is a novel that thrives in moral ambiguity, painting a world where unlikable characters evolve and the lines between right and wrong blur. At first, the book can be frustrating, even challenging (it took me several chapters to get into). Whitaker does not offer readers easy heroes or neatly packaged resolutions. The inhabitants of Walkersville, California, are flawed, selfish, and often cruel—but it is precisely this unlikability that drives the novel’s emotional and symbolic depth.

The story opens with the complex figure of Duchess Day Radley, a girl living on the fringes of her own life. She is sharp-tongued, irritable, and quick to judgment. She lacks the immediate warmth that often anchors a protagonist in contemporary fiction. Similarly, Spence, a retired cop and her unlikely ally, carries his own baggage: a gruff exterior, a rigid sense of justice, and a haunted past. At first, readers may find themselves resisting these characters, recoiling from their flaws rather than empathizing with them. Yet Whitaker’s genius lies in showing that unlikability is not static; it is a mirror of survival and human complexity.

Over the course of the narrative, these characters are tested against grief, betrayal, secrets and the shadows of their own histories. What initially seems abrasive—Duchess’s bluntness, Spence’s moral rigidity—gradually reveals layers of loyalty, courage, and vulnerability. The novel’s unlikable protagonists become a lens through which the reader observes the possibility of change, the idea that even the most fractured individuals possess a capacity for growth. The transformation is subtle, organic, and earned, avoiding melodrama or contrived redemption. It mirrors the real-world truth that people are rarely wholly virtuous or irredeemably corrupt.

Whitaker’s prose is deceptively simple, yet it is imbued with symbolism that deepens the story. The title itself—We Begin at the End—hints at cyclical themes, suggesting that every ending carries the seed of a beginning. This notion resonates across character arcs: mistakes, regrets, and failures are not endpoints but opportunities for reconsideration and renewal. The recurring motifs of weather, light and darkness, and the physical landscape of Walkersville reinforce this thematic layering. Storms mirror internal tumult, abandoned buildings reflect personal and societal decay, and moments of sunrise punctuate acts of insight or transformation.

Additionally, the novel interrogates the social and emotional fabric of community. Whitaker examines how trauma, secrecy, and moral compromise reverberate across generations. Characters who seem irredeemable are often products of their environment, responding to systemic failures or personal tragedies in ways that feel instinctual and raw. This embedded social critique adds a richness that rewards patient reading, inviting the audience to consider the ways context shapes behavior and perception.

Symbolism also extends to Whitaker’s treatment of justice. Traditional ideas of law and morality are complicated by human fallibility. Spence’s pursuit of order contrasts with Duchess’s instinct-driven pragmatism, highlighting the tension between societal rules and personal ethics. In this way, the novel becomes not just a crime story but a meditation on how we judge others—and ourselves—when circumstances challenge our moral frameworks.

Ultimately, the unlikability of Whitaker’s characters is not a flaw but a deliberate, thematic choice. It forces readers to grapple with discomfort, challenging them to look beyond surface impressions and recognize the transformative potential of empathy, experience, and endurance. We Begin at the End is a study of how flawed people navigate a flawed world, and how understanding and redemption are processes rather than destinations.

I found this novel to be compelling because it demands engagement with imperfection, both in character and in life. The initial resistance to its unlikable figures gives way to profound recognition of humanity’s resilience, while the layered symbolism and thematic depth reward careful reflection. It is a book that lingers long after the final page, reminding readers that endings are always beginnings, and that even the most jagged edges can find a measure of grace.