Amsterdam (edition 1999)

After reading Atonement and On Chesil Beach, Amsterdam is a disappointment. Make that a BIG disappointment. I wasn’t amused or smiled wily with knowing passages. None of the characters were likeable, not even in a wicked, sly, ‘daaang’ kind of way. The details were not particularly relatable – I liked Clive Linley’s search of that inspiring sound in nature for his symphony, but his other musical writer’s-book was more tedious than revealing. Similar for Vernon Halliday’s journalism tribulations – somewhat informative, but not news (punt intended). There weren’t even delightful sound bites, except perhaps one – “visual pollution of Day-Glo anoraks” during Clive’s hike in Lake District.

The story started with Clive and Vernon’s friendship and their common lover, Molly Lane, now deceased. Along the way, they make a promise to each other. As each of them proceed with their lives and the climax of their careers, all hell break loose. (Well, it wouldn’t be a McEwan book if things go smoothly now, would it?) Unfortunately the conclusion is forced, blunt, potentially plausible but poorly delivered.

What a dud of a book.

Some quotes:

On Music – I’m a pretty big fan of “Nessun dorma”, particularly the Pavarotti version, so this was entertaining:
“The committee, dismissed by the music establishment as middlebrow, above all longed for a symphony from which could be distilled at least one tune, a hymn, an elegy for the maligned and departed century, that could be incorporated into the official proceedings, much as “Nessun dorma” had been into a football tournament. Incorporated, then set free to take its chances of an independent life in the public mind during the third millennium.”

On Being a Manager:
“This exercise of authority did not sharpen his sense of self, as it usually did. Instead it seemed to Vernon that he was infinitely diluted; he was simply the sum of all the people who had listened to him, and when he was alone, he was nothing at all.”

On Civilization:
“But now it appeared that this was what it really was – square miles of meager modern houses whose principal purpose was the support of TV aerials and dishes; factories producing worthless junk to be advertised on the televisions and, in dismal lots, lorries queuing to distribute it, and everywhere else, roads and the tyranny of traffic. It looked like a raucous dinner party the morning after... To watch it mile after mile, who would have guessed that kindness or the imagination, that Purcell or Britten, Shakespeare or Milton, had ever existed?” ( )

I picked up this book because I like Ian McEwan as an author and wanted to read a book about the Netherlands before traveling for vacation. Well although this book has almost nothing to do with Amsterdam, it was definitely worth reading. The story starts off with the funeral of Molly Lane which is attended by some of her former lovers. All of them have achieved fame in their own careers, but are at a point in life where they are looking to do one last GREAT thing that will launch them into the history books. But two of the men are faced with a difficult moral dilemma - do they choose fame, even when someone else could get hurt? McEwan has picked an interesting and controversial topic and woven a good story around it. ( )

Vernon is a newspaper editor desperate to improve his paper's circulation. Clive is a classical composer working on what he is convinced will be the masterpiece of the new millennium. The two men have quite a few things in common, including driving ambition, a long mutual friendship, a history with a woman named Molly (whose funeral starts off the novel), and the fact that they're both about to be faced with an ethical dilemma.

I can't say this is my favorite of the McEwan novels I've read (which, so far, includes Solar, The Comfort of Strangers, Enduring Love and On Chesil Beach). Compared to most of them, it feels pretty slight, and the ending, while entertaining in a pleasantly tragicomic way, is both easy to guess and difficult to believe. But I do like McEwan's writing, which as usual pulled me effortlessly along. And while his characterization may not be particularly deep here, comparatively speaking, I don't think he's capable of doing characterization badly, even if his characters are often bad (or at least unlikeable). So, even if it's not his best, I did find it enjoyable. "Not McEwan's best," after all, still leaves quite a lot of room for quality. ( )

A pithy little black comedy, well-plotted and engaging.

I found this an enjoyable read from first page to last, hence am really surprised by the patchy ratings it has received. Perhaps people expect something a little "weightier" from a Booker Prize winner. Admittedly, I baulked from awarding more stars for what is little more than a very well-written but fairly frivolous romp, so perhaps I kind of, sort of agree.

Very impressed by the two Ian McEwan novels I've read so far! ( )

Not at all what I expected.
The book is very easy to read. I wish I knew more about music, because there's so much about composing and listening and such that I'm sure it adds layers to the story that I do not catch.
If the bookw as not so acclaimed, I might have dismissed it as popfiction fluff, but there really is a lot here for discussion and contemplation. ( )