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3.92 AVERAGE
3.92 AVERAGE
challenging
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Content Warnings
Moderate: Rape, War
Minor: Dementia
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This is a very good book.
Well written and engaging from the start. My only real criticism is that i would have liked it to go on longer, develop the characters more.
Well written and engaging from the start. My only real criticism is that i would have liked it to go on longer, develop the characters more.
This book almost landed on my unfinished shelf. So, so glad it didn't.
The first third or so of the book moves excruciatingly slowly, which is why Atonement spent a week or two just lying around after reaching page 120 or so. The something someone was going to atone for just wasn't happening, and the slow pace was killing me. I picked it up again though, convinced the vivid images I still had of the scenes and the characters despite the lack of narrative held a promise.
The rest of the book I finished in a matter of hours. It is crafted in an ingeneous way, with a surprise ending that feels it could not have been any other way now that you've read it. Having read a number of books with less than stellar endings recently, I admire McEwan all the more for his firm hand at this most difficult part of any book, where you leave its characters, or they you.
The first third or so of the book moves excruciatingly slowly, which is why Atonement spent a week or two just lying around after reaching page 120 or so. The something someone was going to atone for just wasn't happening, and the slow pace was killing me. I picked it up again though, convinced the vivid images I still had of the scenes and the characters despite the lack of narrative held a promise.
The rest of the book I finished in a matter of hours. It is crafted in an ingeneous way, with a surprise ending that feels it could not have been any other way now that you've read it. Having read a number of books with less than stellar endings recently, I admire McEwan all the more for his firm hand at this most difficult part of any book, where you leave its characters, or they you.
challenging
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
dark
emotional
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This novel made me absolutely livid. The devastation the main character caused with her false accusations was diabolical.
A meandering novel that unfolds a horrific story about love and loss. This was written in a way I cannot fault or disparage legitimately; however, I think it possessed long stretches of voidless extrapolation.
Very few times have I ever read a book where action seemed impossible at every given moment—and, in fact, action was strongly discouraged unless characters were being directly informed or instructed to do something of that nature. This book was interesting in the sense that it brought up The Waves by Virginia Woolf as a touchstone, at least in terms of its writing style, particularly from Briony’s perspective. However, Woolf still allowed personal consciousness to reach pinnacles of action. No matter what, in To the Lighthouse, the individuals were going to the lighthouse. In Mrs. Dalloway, there was suicide—intimately of the self.
Whereas here, every action felt necessarily tied to another character’s suggestion, indication, or purpose. It was a bizarre experience to read a novel so dense with prose where action was not the priority of the plot. Instead, the vehicle of the plot was thought itself: the spiraling of individualism that never went anywhere. It was always this stone that sunk the characters in their own mire and desecrated their ability to function within a cause. Cecilia couldn’t interact with Briony’s cloying request for absolution of the crime because she was seeking approval from Robbie. Robbie couldn’t escape the situation by himself because he was constantly being roped back into these groupings with other corporals, or when he tried to save the Flemish woman and her child. There was never a moment where individualism truly flourished in this novel; instead, it was more about the interconnectedness of individuals at every given point.
This was all really amplified toward the end of the novel when Briony makes a statement about her inability to truly atone for the mistakes of the story—because she had to wait until everyone was dead before the law could pursue her. And then, she had no way of doing something within words that wasn’t totalitarian, because she describes herself as a god-like individual as a novelist.
This book was a fascinating combination of stream of consciousness in a way I have never interacted with before—and therefore, it was extremely tantalizing and provocative.
Very few times have I ever read a book where action seemed impossible at every given moment—and, in fact, action was strongly discouraged unless characters were being directly informed or instructed to do something of that nature. This book was interesting in the sense that it brought up The Waves by Virginia Woolf as a touchstone, at least in terms of its writing style, particularly from Briony’s perspective. However, Woolf still allowed personal consciousness to reach pinnacles of action. No matter what, in To the Lighthouse, the individuals were going to the lighthouse. In Mrs. Dalloway, there was suicide—intimately of the self.
Whereas here, every action felt necessarily tied to another character’s suggestion, indication, or purpose. It was a bizarre experience to read a novel so dense with prose where action was not the priority of the plot. Instead, the vehicle of the plot was thought itself: the spiraling of individualism that never went anywhere. It was always this stone that sunk the characters in their own mire and desecrated their ability to function within a cause. Cecilia couldn’t interact with Briony’s cloying request for absolution of the crime because she was seeking approval from Robbie. Robbie couldn’t escape the situation by himself because he was constantly being roped back into these groupings with other corporals, or when he tried to save the Flemish woman and her child. There was never a moment where individualism truly flourished in this novel; instead, it was more about the interconnectedness of individuals at every given point.
This was all really amplified toward the end of the novel when Briony makes a statement about her inability to truly atone for the mistakes of the story—because she had to wait until everyone was dead before the law could pursue her. And then, she had no way of doing something within words that wasn’t totalitarian, because she describes herself as a god-like individual as a novelist.
This book was a fascinating combination of stream of consciousness in a way I have never interacted with before—and therefore, it was extremely tantalizing and provocative.
