Late last week, as if my friend knew I was in desperate need of a new read, she handed me a physical copy of Ian McEwan’s Atonement. I had wanted to read this novel ever since I first heard of it, but I had put it off for a while. I have a hard time diving into something that I know will make me sad. (There’s a reason why I’m refusing to watch this past episode of Game of Thrones.)
However, with a lack of anything better to read on hand, I decided to give it a go. I’m not quite yet 200 pages in, but I’m already deeply in love with McEwan’s writing. I’m no literary expert, and I don’t have a degree in English. I just know pretty immediately whether I find an author’s style of writing attractive and if I find myself wanting to read more. This is the case with McEwan and the novel. He writes deliberately and beautifully.
Yesterday I read a part of the book that made my heart drop a little. Now, finally, with the exercise of will, his adult life had begun. There was a story he was plotting with himself as the hero” The character then goes on to imagine a possible life in fifteen years and so on. The movie version of this novel came out a while ago, and so I am already familiar with what happens next. And I think that’s why these early moments are so upsetting.
Anyway, I expect to be finished with this book by the end of the week. I’m sure I won’t write a review afterwards. I can barely trust my opinion on something. I won’t subject anyone else to it.