But there comes a moment near the end when, importantly, the "we" the narrator uses to describe himself and his brothers becomes very distinctly an "I".
So I quickly settled on the "We" as narrator.
We find narrator Luisa on the Pacific coast of Mexico, meeting strangers at beach bars — a place she landed after boarding a bus from Mexico City with fellow teenager Tomás in search of a troupe of Ukranian dwarves.
I think in "Eat, Pray, Love," we believe the narrator's introspection, whether we're fans of the book or not.
The ad riffs on Obama saying "Yes we can!" "Can we?" says a narrator in Spanish.
We trust the seemingly unbiased third-person narrator; we learn to dislike the wife and forgive the painter's affairs and shortcomings.
Before we reach the narrator's final "I", the splintering "we", aware of its approaching end, makes a final, desperate play for our attention: "Look at us, our last night together, when we were brothers still," it insists.
We did a concert where we had a narrator and this big backdrop of a weird face.
Yet precisely because we resent the narrator's condescension towards his fond and foolish possession, we insist that behind the "type" there must be a real Pnin, who is worth "knowing" in all his fullness and complexity.
"If we could start again, what kind of world would we build?" the narrator asked, against footage of hills dense with Sitka spruce.
