For example, A Farewell to Arms is a book whose ending she very much dislikes, while I myself like it, and in fact think it is as nearly perfect an ending as the ending of a novel could be, or anyway as nearly perfect as it could have been, for each novel must end in its own way, according to its own compass, or interior light, which really means, I think, if the novel is any good, according to an inevitability that has been written into it since its opening line, even if the author has no inkling of what shape that inevitability will assume until he or she arrives at its articulation.