Ian McEwan
Things change. They
come and go. Some stay around longer than others, is all.
The Cement Garden
The first Ian McEwan
book I read. I was supposed to be reading physics at King's, not
something at which I was ever really destined to succeed. Instead I
was frantically catching up on reading infinitely more interesting
things. The (then very short) Martin Amis back-catalogue, for
example.
Casually macabre,
The Cement Garden had me hooked. I haven't reread it since,
and that was a long time ago. I remember going straight onto...
The Comfort of
Strangers
We went to Venice
for our twenty fifth wedding anniversary, BLISS and me. I fell in
love with the place. It's easier to fall in love with somewhere when
you're there for a few, work-free, stress-free, carefree days, but
I've a sneaking suspicion that it's somewhere easy to fall in love
with.
One thing I did
learn in two years trying to understand the maths of relativity and
Brownian motion approaching absolute zero, was that the laws of
thermodynamics govern the universe we inhabit, and they favour chaos
in a big way. If you prize order above all else, then you need to
accept defeat, misery, or move to another universe. Venice is a
celebration of chaos. Map in hand, still hopelessly lost, still
strangely happy.
I reread The
Comfort of Strangers shortly before we visited. It is a dark
narrative, and a celebration of a fantastic city that could easily
wear you down.
First Love, Last
Rights
Grabbed, gleefully,
at some mistaken discount from a major outlet.
The Child in Time
Now the routine was
established. Books to be snatched, and devoured as soon as they're
published. The Child in Time was probably the one that planted McEwan
in that zone: up there. Not someone who gives you any choice, just
someone who writes what you must read.
The Innocent
There it is on the
shelves. Hardback copy. The sign of a serious addict. The first
espionage novel.
Black Dogs
Dark subject matter,
and a dark novel.
Enduring Love
A balloon accident.
A complicated love affair torn apart by a stalker. A paperback copy,
dark beige colour cover, with the title and a simple line drawing of
a hot-air balloon, tattered and sandy due to a holiday reading.
Amsterdam
A beautiful study of
love and voluntary, assisted death.
Atonement
A child's
accusation, the consequences, and a twist at the tail.
Saturday
More stalking. This
is the first time I remember McEwan writing music into a
novel. The surgeon character playing classical albums to suit the
mood and the activities in the operating theatre. This made me listen
to Barber's Adagio again, in an entirely new light.
I think this is an
underrated novel.
On Chesil Beach
About this time,
reading was being hijacked by Richard, Judy, and the hell-spawn of
middle-class, middle-of-the-road old biddies' 'book clubs'.
Sorry guys, this is
how I see it. If you need an exercise class, you have nothing
to exercise for. Give it up. You won't keep it up. A football player
will shift weights, row miles, do hours of sit ups for a purpose: to
play better football. There's no place for lycra and instructors in
my world, and there's no place for book clubs.
Just like plastic
football fans who only came along when the game became fashionable,
just like those mad-keen gardeners who never listened to Gardener's
Question Time on lowly, unfashionable Radio 4, but couldn't wait to
grab their spades and seed catalogues when Charlie Dimmock and Alan
Tichmarsh hit the telly screens, the minute reading became
fashionable along they all came. Great for the publishers and
booksellers, probably great for the authors that were promoted, too.
Not so good for the new, the experimental, the fringe: they're always
frozen out by the big retail capitalist giants who want to shift
large piles of books and have a vested interest in slow change in the
popularity charts and a predictable, stable market.
Look, I was reading,
in any case, and first, and i've always loved football. You new lot
are trendy wankers and are treading on my toes and I don't like you
one little bit. P.S. you can keep the gardening, I'm allergic, it
brings me out in rashes, bad backs and bad tempers.
Solar
M4 heading into
town. Between 0600 and 0700 but still a traffic jam. A billboard
advertises 'Solar'. An irate motorcyclist taps on my window
because I'm playing with the Blackberry instead of focusing on the
road ahead while not moving, just in case...of what, exactly? I
placed the library order there and then, over the mobile network. A
week or so later I got an email telling me to call into the library
and pick it up: brand new, unread, 60p reservation charge. Libraries
are wonderful places.
Sweet Tooth
Espionage novel two,
a spy and a love story.
The Children Act
Just finished.
Another library loan. 200 pages packed with insight and emotion. A
commentary on how powerful religion can be in individual's
decision-making, and the dilemma that can bring to others. More
music. I'm listening to Keith Jarrett now.
Thanks Ian. Thirty
six years is a long time.
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