It has been a long time before I read a ‘serious’ work of fiction (as far as I can remember!). And from the same writerly pack, I’ve ever only had Martin Amis and Julian Barnes on my plate. Ian McEwan had never been near it. He’s quite a revelation, though I’m afraid I bulldozed through a few descriptive parts … only to realise that was quite possibly an intended reaction. When you’re in the hands of an artist, be prepared to get played. The last time I was truly aghast at a character was … when? Diana Wynne Jones’s Charmed Life? Read a library copy (henceforth I shall aim for that, having no more space and no more money to add space), which yielded a surprising, unintended voice to Atonement:
I love it.