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A review by fictionfan
The Children Act by Ian McEwan
2.0
Banal, unconvincing and arrogant...
High Court judge Fiona Maye's comfortable life is rocked when her husband of many years announces that he would like her permission to have an affair. The poor man has his reasons – apparently he and Fiona haven't had sex for seven weeks and one day so you can understand his desperation. (Am I sounding unsympathetic? Oh, I haven't even begun...) This shattering event happens just before Fiona is to preside over a case where a hospital is seeking permission to give a blood transfusion to a 17-year-old Jehovah's Witness suffering from leukaemia, over the religious objections of the boy himself, his parent and the elders of his church. In her emotional turmoil over her marriage, Fiona allows herself to become personally involved in the case, throwing her carefully nurtured professionalism to the winds. This is the story of what happens to Fiona's marriage and to the boy...
I have a strange relationship with Ian McEwan's books. I find his writing style very compelling and occasionally he writes a brilliant book – Atonement, Enduring Love. At other times I find his subject matter banal or designed merely to shock. This one falls into the banal category. He has set out to have a go at religion or, as he likes to term it, supernatural belief, and has chosen a hackneyed plot to do so. The whole idea of whether the state should intervene when a child's life is at risk because of a religious belief has been debated ad nauseam and McEwan has nothing new or even interesting to say on the subject. But that's not his purpose anyway. He is really setting out to show how religion is an evil thing from which children require protection. He makes it crystal clear that he believes that children brought up in a faith are really victims of indoctrination and need to be saved - the suggestion hovers unspoken that it is tantamount to a form of child abuse. The central case concentrates on the Witnesses because, of course, they're an easy target, but he manages to get in criticisms of Jews, Muslims and Catholics too. He openly suggests that the beliefs of Adam's parents are superficial and that they will be glad if the court overrides them as that will get them off the hook and see them alright with God and their church – and he implies that that superficiality is common to all who profess religious beliefs. In fact, and I speak as an atheist here, his denigration of the sincerity of religious belief left me feeling furious and a little soiled. I find the attitude held by some atheists that theirs is the only possible right answer displays an arrogance greater than that of most religious people of whatever faith.
Of course, it's quite possible to disagree vehemently with an author's point and still find the book to be worthwhile. Certainly this one starts off well. The description of Fiona's shock at her husband's request is done well and the story of how their relationship develops from that point has much about it that feels convincing. But McEwan has obviously done a ton of research on how the courts work and on the life of a High Court judge, and he has determinedly shoe-horned it all in at the expense of any sense of forward momentum for large parts of the book. While his descriptions are written well for the most part, sometimes he gives far too much detail of stuff that is both trivial and irrelevant, leaving me impatiently turning pages in the hopes that we might return to the story sometime soon. And while I found the characters of Fiona and her husband believable, I found them both to be cold and rather detached, not just from each other but from life. McEwan suggests that Fiona is realising too late that perhaps she should have made time to have children – largely so she'd have someone to sympathise with her over her husband's desertion, it would appear. Again I found this banal – wouldn't it be interesting if just once an author didn't suggest that a woman can only find fulfilment through breeding? Unsurprisingly the husband didn't seem to feel the lack of children at all...
But from a literary point of view it's the story of the boy, Adam, that's the real problem. We are told several times that he is mature for his age, but he acts more like a thirteen-year-old adolescent than someone on the cusp of manhood. His reaction to Fiona's decision left me entirely unconvinced, while his personal reaction to this 59-year-old woman verges on the ludicrous, as does her behaviour towards him. Not only does she behave unprofessionally, which she at least recognises, but her behaviour is inhumane - or perhaps more accurately, unhuman. Adam's behaviour is manipulated clumsily to make McEwan's point about the evil effects of a religious upbringing, meaning that he at no point seems like anything more than a cipher. And the ending is so deeply coloured by McEwan's clear hatred of religion that it has no ring of truth or compassion to it at all.
Overall, this is one I rather wish I hadn't read. The quality of the prose is the only thing that raises it above 1-star status, but I feel I've had enough of McEwan now. I think he has finally removed himself from my must-read list...
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
High Court judge Fiona Maye's comfortable life is rocked when her husband of many years announces that he would like her permission to have an affair. The poor man has his reasons – apparently he and Fiona haven't had sex for seven weeks and one day so you can understand his desperation. (Am I sounding unsympathetic? Oh, I haven't even begun...) This shattering event happens just before Fiona is to preside over a case where a hospital is seeking permission to give a blood transfusion to a 17-year-old Jehovah's Witness suffering from leukaemia, over the religious objections of the boy himself, his parent and the elders of his church. In her emotional turmoil over her marriage, Fiona allows herself to become personally involved in the case, throwing her carefully nurtured professionalism to the winds. This is the story of what happens to Fiona's marriage and to the boy...
His face had been tight as he shrugged and turned to leave the room. At the sight of his retreating back, she felt the same cold fear. She would have called after him but for the dread of being ignored. And what could she say? Hold me, kiss me, have the girl. She had listened to his footsteps down the hall, their bedroom door closing firmly, then silence settling over their flat, silence and the rain that hadn't stopped in a month.
I have a strange relationship with Ian McEwan's books. I find his writing style very compelling and occasionally he writes a brilliant book – Atonement, Enduring Love. At other times I find his subject matter banal or designed merely to shock. This one falls into the banal category. He has set out to have a go at religion or, as he likes to term it, supernatural belief, and has chosen a hackneyed plot to do so. The whole idea of whether the state should intervene when a child's life is at risk because of a religious belief has been debated ad nauseam and McEwan has nothing new or even interesting to say on the subject. But that's not his purpose anyway. He is really setting out to show how religion is an evil thing from which children require protection. He makes it crystal clear that he believes that children brought up in a faith are really victims of indoctrination and need to be saved - the suggestion hovers unspoken that it is tantamount to a form of child abuse. The central case concentrates on the Witnesses because, of course, they're an easy target, but he manages to get in criticisms of Jews, Muslims and Catholics too. He openly suggests that the beliefs of Adam's parents are superficial and that they will be glad if the court overrides them as that will get them off the hook and see them alright with God and their church – and he implies that that superficiality is common to all who profess religious beliefs. In fact, and I speak as an atheist here, his denigration of the sincerity of religious belief left me feeling furious and a little soiled. I find the attitude held by some atheists that theirs is the only possible right answer displays an arrogance greater than that of most religious people of whatever faith.
He came to find her, wanting what everyone wanted, and what only free-thinking people, not the supernatural, could give. Meaning.
Of course, it's quite possible to disagree vehemently with an author's point and still find the book to be worthwhile. Certainly this one starts off well. The description of Fiona's shock at her husband's request is done well and the story of how their relationship develops from that point has much about it that feels convincing. But McEwan has obviously done a ton of research on how the courts work and on the life of a High Court judge, and he has determinedly shoe-horned it all in at the expense of any sense of forward momentum for large parts of the book. While his descriptions are written well for the most part, sometimes he gives far too much detail of stuff that is both trivial and irrelevant, leaving me impatiently turning pages in the hopes that we might return to the story sometime soon. And while I found the characters of Fiona and her husband believable, I found them both to be cold and rather detached, not just from each other but from life. McEwan suggests that Fiona is realising too late that perhaps she should have made time to have children – largely so she'd have someone to sympathise with her over her husband's desertion, it would appear. Again I found this banal – wouldn't it be interesting if just once an author didn't suggest that a woman can only find fulfilment through breeding? Unsurprisingly the husband didn't seem to feel the lack of children at all...
But from a literary point of view it's the story of the boy, Adam, that's the real problem. We are told several times that he is mature for his age, but he acts more like a thirteen-year-old adolescent than someone on the cusp of manhood. His reaction to Fiona's decision left me entirely unconvinced, while his personal reaction to this 59-year-old woman verges on the ludicrous, as does her behaviour towards him. Not only does she behave unprofessionally, which she at least recognises, but her behaviour is inhumane - or perhaps more accurately, unhuman. Adam's behaviour is manipulated clumsily to make McEwan's point about the evil effects of a religious upbringing, meaning that he at no point seems like anything more than a cipher. And the ending is so deeply coloured by McEwan's clear hatred of religion that it has no ring of truth or compassion to it at all.
‘Of course they didn’t want me to die! They love me. Why didn’t they say that, instead of going on about the joys of heaven? That’s when I saw it as an ordinary human thing. Ordinary and good. It wasn’t about God at all. That was just silly. It was like a grown-up had come into a room full of kids who are making each other miserable and said, Come on, stop all the nonsense, it’s teatime! You were the grown-up.’
Overall, this is one I rather wish I hadn't read. The quality of the prose is the only thing that raises it above 1-star status, but I feel I've had enough of McEwan now. I think he has finally removed himself from my must-read list...
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com