What can one say about Ian McEwan that won't be cliched or, worse, seen as Jill-bashing? We can roll out cliches till the sheep come home (or was it the cows? Englishmen and -women, please come to my rescue... enlighten me!): "McEwan one either loves or hates"; "McEwan's writing is lush, metaphoric"; "McEwan's cruel streak shines again"...

Yet cliches, as I so love to repeat in my every other op - and as adapted from Kurt Andersen's novel 'Turn of the Century' (which reminds me, I should write an op on that excellent book one day) -, very often are true. That is why they become cliches. And truly, truly, truly, there's no other way I could think of to start off my ATONEMENT op but by saying that Ian McEwan is an author one either loves or hates - there's no middle way. [Ok, now do I get the award for the longest-winded getting-to-the-point introduction in the history of dooyoo? Do I or don't I? Don't say I don't else I'll replace the above with an even longer-winded intro - you have been warned.]

My all-time McEwan favourite is 'Amsterdam', so let's be clear about that. And please do not even attempt to debase said novel unless you want a hysterical red-eyed fellow charging up your doorstep with murderous intents...the Crowns debate will be the least of your worries at that point, believe me... 'Enduring Love', probably his most successful novel, sales-wise, is a close second. So it should come as no surprise that as soon as his latest, much-hyped novel, ATONEMENT, was published in hardback, I couldn't wait for the paperback and bought it. Or rather, to be precise, got it as a present from my prescient and loving wifey. [Thanks a million!]

For the record, ATONEMENT was shortlisted for the Booker Prize 2001 - although having won a couple of years back with 'Amsterdam' there were no lollipops for guessing McEwan wouldn't get a se
cond 'jaggy bonnet' (with apologies to Ken) from the Booker gurus. It was also nominated for a host of other, lesser and not-so-lesser, awards. And in case you're wondering, the paperback is due out in May. So there.

In typical McEwan style, ATONEMENT picks as its focal point a seemingly trivial insignificant detail, out of which nothing much could plausibly happen, and proceeds to construct around this detail an intricate web of consequences and counter-consequences, resulting in some dramatic event which totally overshadows in scope and gravity the original detail. However, and this is McEwan's great talent, in so doing he makes the whole affair seem logical and real. The reader's disbelief is suspended so that, reading of the cataclysm - which incidentally becomes as inevitable as it is clearly foretellable - one cannot but think "wow, such scary things may happen from such a small detail". Wow! Ian you're magical!

Actually - and here I'm mixing the sacred with the profane, if all science buffs will forgive my impertinence - this McEwanism reminds me of a popular colloquialisation of chaos theory (an item of quantum physics): If a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon, a storm breaks out in India*. Well folks, McEwanism is just that!

[*acknowledgement to dooyoo-er sgrup]

The trivial event in ATONEMENT is the spying, by young Briony, in her parents' luxuriant country manor in England of 1935, of her elder sister Cecilia stripping off and jumping into the garden fountain in front of bystander Robbie Turner, the low-class neighbour's well-educated son. Briony, who at her tender age can interpret and understand and reason out the entire gamut of human emotions (or so she thinks, conceited brat that she is) except love, misinterprets totally and disastrously the situation. From there on, a series of events and coincidences lead to a momentous heat-infested evening in the manor, when Ce
cilia's and Robbie's futures, together and individually, are placed at the absolute mercy of Briony.

The mistake Briony makes (but was it a mistake? the author, after all, calls it "Briony's crime") has such incredible consequences that she spends all the rest of her life trying to atone (hence the title, of course) for her error.

The book is divided into three parts (and an epilogue). The first part, which sets the scene and re-enacts the misunderstood event and the mistake/crime of little Briony, is easily the longest and least eventful. Reading through the first ten chapters or so, one could be forgiven for abandoning the book for want of anything happening. Oh, the undercurrents are there all right - but otherwise, it's basically watching a pendulum swing...

Things get moving in the last chapters of the first part. Then the second part brings a total change of ambience, character and mood. This is perhaps the best part of the novel, for sheer intensity of writing. The third part, set on the eve of the commencement of the bombings of London by the Nazis, closes the circle... nearly. Loose ends are finally tied up in the epilogue, with the usual McEwan twist (though it's more of a bend than a fully-fledged twist, to be honest).

Who should read this? All McEwan fans, of course. But beyond them/us, those who like to immerse themselves in luxuriant writing will enjoy this.... although, truth be told, McEwan could legitimately be accused of slightly overstepping the mark in this novel, and showing off his admittedly incredible mastery of the English language more than was stricly necessary. The writing in 'Enduring Love' and 'Amsterdam' was more natural than this.

Those who enjoy a gripping, no-holds-barred plot, the page-turner so to speak, will not be too overjoyed with this book - especially with the first third of the novel. Those, on the other hand, for whom reading usually
includes a dose of psycho-analysis of characters, their behaviour and its consequences, will devour ATONEMENT. Briony's lifelong process of atonement is brought out masterfully. 'Tis the touch of the master, to translate literally an Italian expression.

And with these words of ...ahem... wisdom, I leave you to your reading.

Au revoir...