Saturday by Ian McEwan

Reading Saturday by Ian McEwan was a fraught enterprise, though not for any reasons inherent in the book itself.  The problem is that I had read so many reviews, plot summaries and opinions of the book that I had developed a whole raft of preconceptions about it, not least the fact that after all the publicity I was sick of the sound of its title and utterly convinced that I would dislike it intensely.

So why, you may ask, did I decide to take it as one of my small quota of holiday books?  Well, I had a niggling feeling that having a strong opinion on a book which one has never read is pretty silly, if not downright indefensible.  I had also gleaned the impression from the press that Saturday and The Sea were at mutually exclusive ends of the literary spectrum, and if you enjoyed one you were bound to hate the other.  (In fact this may have been an impression created entirely by John Banville himself in his infamous review of Saturday for The New York Review of Books).  Having read The Sea and not enjoyed it, the pendulum swung a little way in favour of McEwan.  And finally, it seemed that every literary critic loved it.  And how likely is it that they would all be totally wrong? (OK, only joking on that one).

The upshot is that I am now forced to eat my literary preconceptions and say that I really enjoyed the book.  It was an absorbing and an interesting read and knowing the plot (and even the denouement) in advance did not detract from the pleasure of reading.  It wasn't a perfect book, but it was a thoughtful, and a serious book.  Writing this a couple of weeks after finishing it, I find myself still thinking about it, turning over aspects of it from different angles, both from the point of view of content and style, and of how McEwan approached his task, where it worked and where it didn't.  Not all books have enough in them to stay with me in that way.

Perowne, whose Saturday is described in the book, was a realistic representative of his time and class; a rational and intelligent man able to observe himself with some detachment.  Yes, some of it was unbearably smug, and some of Perowne's thoughts on world politics and terrorism read like half-baked editorials from the Independent, but that, I came to appreciate, was the point; that is how most of us think (and yes, I note the huge implications and assumptions of 'us'). 

The heart of McEwan's preoccupation struck me as being encapsulated in a remark by Perowne's son when he and his father watch a news bulletin which reveals that the blazing plane which Perowne saw in the early hours was not the result of terrorist activity, but simply a malfunctioning engine.  So "Not an attack on our way of life then" is the relieved comment.  I think that this sums up what some have hated and others (including virtually all the reasonably affluent, middle class reviewers) have admired: the way McEwan has portrayed the intimate, mundane but lovely details of a contented and fulfilled life, and then balanced it with the constant anxiety that it could be destroyed at any time.  Its fragility makes it seem even more precious, but depending on your own personal situation or political viewpoint, you either feel that threat and empathise with Perowne, or you wish him and every other smug, fat-cat, middle class b*****d put up against the wall and shot.  In that sense I think it is a love-it-or-hate it book. 

From the plot summaries, I was convinced that the denouement, where a vicious criminal is deflected by a recitation of Arnold's Dover Beach, would be ludicrous.  In fact, in context, it was brilliantly done. The violence and menace leading up to it were palpable, and the ending was satisfying and humane.  Perowne will save the ill criminal from jail, his degenerative brain disease is punishment enough.  Perowne's his thought "They'll all be diminished by whipping a man on his way to hell", summing up the novel's humanistic and civilised ethos.

So, at least now I am entitled to have an opinion on the book, even if it's a very different opinion from the one I thought I was going to have.  Long live the open mind.

Comments

[Susan]

Yet another book I've got to get around to. Glad to hear you enjoyed it.

[Larraine]

I read the book last year and really enjoyed it. Since I find myself getting emotional about the written word, I didn't find the poetry recitation to be ludicrous. Interesting that you didn't like "The Sea." I guess I'll check that one out.

[Mike B.]

Now knowing your take on the novel, I'm going to have to check McEwan out. But like you I have a preconceived notion, not only of the book, but of McEwan. I guess I have to read him before I judge him.