Take a photo of a barcode or cover
kiwikathleen 's review for:
Saturday
by Ian McEwan
Sometimes it's good to read other people's reviews, and sometimes it's not. I finished this book yesterday, but I'd read another book the day before, and I've started a third, and I've watched two DVDs in the last two days, and I was just thinking to myself, "Now, what did I like about this book?", and then I read 3 reviews here, and the last one was negative (DIDN'T enjoy it) and I started semi-agreeing. It's true - nothing really happened.
But then, on an ordinary Saturday of mine, even less happens than happened in his. Mind you, I've never felt I would want to write a novel about one of my Saturdays. Of course, Henry Perowne did a lot more thinking about things (and highly intelligent and literate thinking, too, which is more than I do at any time) on his Saturday. I enjoyed his thinking.
I also got quite anxious when I thought something really nasty was going to happen; and I had several moments of thinking that something else was going to happen, and the feeling of building up towards something. I enjoyed that.
One reviewer said something a little negative about the characters being so beautiful (the women) and intelligent (almost everybody) and talented (again, almost everybody) and skilled (the key character primarily), but I'm none of those things (well, perhaps a little intelligent and a little talented and a little skilled, but basically quite average and therefore inherently boring except to my friends) and so nobody would want to read about me. Don't we want the characters we meet in books to be "more" than we are? Not so much that they're caricatures, but still a little larger than life in one or more ways. I enjoyed these characters and their qualities that are more than mine, and I enjoyed their interactions, and I enjoyed the way Perowne thought about them.
I think I'd have to say that I enjoyed this book (in case, that wasn't already clear!?)
But then, on an ordinary Saturday of mine, even less happens than happened in his. Mind you, I've never felt I would want to write a novel about one of my Saturdays. Of course, Henry Perowne did a lot more thinking about things (and highly intelligent and literate thinking, too, which is more than I do at any time) on his Saturday. I enjoyed his thinking.
I also got quite anxious when I thought something really nasty was going to happen; and I had several moments of thinking that something else was going to happen, and the feeling of building up towards something. I enjoyed that.
One reviewer said something a little negative about the characters being so beautiful (the women) and intelligent (almost everybody) and talented (again, almost everybody) and skilled (the key character primarily), but I'm none of those things (well, perhaps a little intelligent and a little talented and a little skilled, but basically quite average and therefore inherently boring except to my friends) and so nobody would want to read about me. Don't we want the characters we meet in books to be "more" than we are? Not so much that they're caricatures, but still a little larger than life in one or more ways. I enjoyed these characters and their qualities that are more than mine, and I enjoyed their interactions, and I enjoyed the way Perowne thought about them.
I think I'd have to say that I enjoyed this book (in case, that wasn't already clear!?)