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tomleetang 's review for:
Saturday
by Ian McEwan
Ian McEwan is a great stylist - at least in my opinion. His books always toy elegantly with language, with the sounds of words, with their delicate meaning.
Saturday follows this general rule, following Henry Perowne through a single day in his life, as his thoughts flit about between the Iraq war, his work as a surgeon, his family dynamic and all the mental and emotional baggage these topics come with. By exploring a single (admittedly very eventful) day, the author reveals how much we can learn about a man and his life by peeking into his thoughts over a short, 24-hour period.
Of course, the downside of McEwan's intelligent writing here is that it all feels artificial. He constructs clever sets for his characters to act out their play upon, but you never fall into the flow of the novel; you are always aware of the artifice. In every thought, speech and action, one sees quite clearly the string of the pupper master, manipulating his marionettes.
Well duh, you might say, every author leads his characters by the nose to a certain degree. And maybe you're right, but for me, McEwan sacrifices realism and pathos to stylistic concerns, leaving Saturday feeling a little hollow.
Saturday follows this general rule, following Henry Perowne through a single day in his life, as his thoughts flit about between the Iraq war, his work as a surgeon, his family dynamic and all the mental and emotional baggage these topics come with. By exploring a single (admittedly very eventful) day, the author reveals how much we can learn about a man and his life by peeking into his thoughts over a short, 24-hour period.
Of course, the downside of McEwan's intelligent writing here is that it all feels artificial. He constructs clever sets for his characters to act out their play upon, but you never fall into the flow of the novel; you are always aware of the artifice. In every thought, speech and action, one sees quite clearly the string of the pupper master, manipulating his marionettes.
Well duh, you might say, every author leads his characters by the nose to a certain degree. And maybe you're right, but for me, McEwan sacrifices realism and pathos to stylistic concerns, leaving Saturday feeling a little hollow.