Take a photo of a barcode or cover
katieparrott12 's review for:
Sweet Tooth
by Ian McEwan
In brief: Ian McEwan’s newest novel is a sexy literary espionage, guaranteed not to leave you paralyzed with grief, rage, or sorrow at the futility of existence—unless, of course, you don’t happen to like literary espionage.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about reading an Ian McEwan novel from my previous four experiences, it’s that you should approach with caution: the man has an almost unparalleled ability to decimate his readers intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually; sometimes, if he’s on a role, he does all three at once. But his newest novel, Sweet Tooth, is also his most fun: a sexy literary espionage, guaranteed not to leave you paralyzed with grief, rage, or sorrow at the futility of existence—unless, of course, you don’t happen to like sexy literary espionage.
Set in Cold War London, Sweeth Tooth follows Cambridge graduate and avid reader Serena Frome as she begins a thankless, anonymous desk job at the English intelligence agency MI5. But everything changes when her reputation as a girl who knows her way around a novel brings her to the attention of the MI5 higher-ups, who give her an assignment of her very own: promising young writer Tom Haley, whom MI5 is considering for inclusion in a top-secret arts funding program. Serena’s assignment is to familiarize herself with Haley’s work, then approach him and serve as a liaison of sorts, all while concealing the fact that she works for the government. But the assignment is jeopardized when, despite herself, Serena develops feelings for her asset, and the two become involved in a relationship that ruins both of their careers. (For the record, that’s not a spoiler: the novel says as much in the first paragraph.)
I’ve already called this McEwan’s “fun” novel, and I stand by that assessment, though you may not believe it based on the synopsis. But because it is an Ian McEwan novel, there are still weighty ideas in play, including Cold War politics, gender dynamics in the 1970s workplace, and generous amounts of literary theory. Mercifully, McEwan resists the temptation to become aggrandizing or sentimental about the Importance of Literature, and doesn’t strain credibility too terribly— Serena and Tom do not solve the Cold War with fiction. But Sweet Tooth is without question a book for book lovers, and McEwan’s own appreciation for the pleasures of reading shines through. In this sense, Sweet Tooth functions as a companion of sorts to McEwan’s most well-known novel, Atonement, in which he deals with, among other things, the challenges, seductions, and limitations of writing fiction. Sweet Tooth even comes with its own postmodern twist, a polarizing effect that will either delight or infuriate, depending on your attitude toward postmodern twists.
There are other McEwan hallmarks on display in Sweet Tooth as well: he continues to be a master of psychology, and, as ever a skilled ventriloquist, he gives a surprisingly convincing performance as a twenty-something woman (though, because of the above mentioned postmodern twist, that performance is ultimately on trial here). He also proves himself yet again to be a fearsomely excellent prose stylist—elegant but efficient, meticulous but evocative. There are those who might accuse McEwan of a certain amount of narcissism, since the career of the fictional writer Tom Haley so closely mirrors his own early days. But I’m willing to give him a pass for that, because it seems like a waste of effort to invent an entire literary career from scratch when you have a perfectly respectable model under your belt. And anyway, McEwan does not exempt Haley from his customary razor-sharp character dissections; if anything, his willingness to put a fictionalized version of himself on the page suggests more self-deprecation than narcissism. Even in his “fun” novel, McEwan’s insight into the human condition, and particularly its shortcomings, is formidable; I certainly wouldn’t want the force of it turned on me if I could help it.
Review originally posted at bookwurst.blogspot.com
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about reading an Ian McEwan novel from my previous four experiences, it’s that you should approach with caution: the man has an almost unparalleled ability to decimate his readers intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually; sometimes, if he’s on a role, he does all three at once. But his newest novel, Sweet Tooth, is also his most fun: a sexy literary espionage, guaranteed not to leave you paralyzed with grief, rage, or sorrow at the futility of existence—unless, of course, you don’t happen to like sexy literary espionage.
Set in Cold War London, Sweeth Tooth follows Cambridge graduate and avid reader Serena Frome as she begins a thankless, anonymous desk job at the English intelligence agency MI5. But everything changes when her reputation as a girl who knows her way around a novel brings her to the attention of the MI5 higher-ups, who give her an assignment of her very own: promising young writer Tom Haley, whom MI5 is considering for inclusion in a top-secret arts funding program. Serena’s assignment is to familiarize herself with Haley’s work, then approach him and serve as a liaison of sorts, all while concealing the fact that she works for the government. But the assignment is jeopardized when, despite herself, Serena develops feelings for her asset, and the two become involved in a relationship that ruins both of their careers. (For the record, that’s not a spoiler: the novel says as much in the first paragraph.)
I’ve already called this McEwan’s “fun” novel, and I stand by that assessment, though you may not believe it based on the synopsis. But because it is an Ian McEwan novel, there are still weighty ideas in play, including Cold War politics, gender dynamics in the 1970s workplace, and generous amounts of literary theory. Mercifully, McEwan resists the temptation to become aggrandizing or sentimental about the Importance of Literature, and doesn’t strain credibility too terribly— Serena and Tom do not solve the Cold War with fiction. But Sweet Tooth is without question a book for book lovers, and McEwan’s own appreciation for the pleasures of reading shines through. In this sense, Sweet Tooth functions as a companion of sorts to McEwan’s most well-known novel, Atonement, in which he deals with, among other things, the challenges, seductions, and limitations of writing fiction. Sweet Tooth even comes with its own postmodern twist, a polarizing effect that will either delight or infuriate, depending on your attitude toward postmodern twists.
There are other McEwan hallmarks on display in Sweet Tooth as well: he continues to be a master of psychology, and, as ever a skilled ventriloquist, he gives a surprisingly convincing performance as a twenty-something woman (though, because of the above mentioned postmodern twist, that performance is ultimately on trial here). He also proves himself yet again to be a fearsomely excellent prose stylist—elegant but efficient, meticulous but evocative. There are those who might accuse McEwan of a certain amount of narcissism, since the career of the fictional writer Tom Haley so closely mirrors his own early days. But I’m willing to give him a pass for that, because it seems like a waste of effort to invent an entire literary career from scratch when you have a perfectly respectable model under your belt. And anyway, McEwan does not exempt Haley from his customary razor-sharp character dissections; if anything, his willingness to put a fictionalized version of himself on the page suggests more self-deprecation than narcissism. Even in his “fun” novel, McEwan’s insight into the human condition, and particularly its shortcomings, is formidable; I certainly wouldn’t want the force of it turned on me if I could help it.
Review originally posted at bookwurst.blogspot.com