The distinguished author (
The Child in Time,
On Chesil Beach,
Atonement: we don’t talk any more about his 1978 debut novel
The Cement Garden which was possibly just a wee bit plagiarised from, sorry, inspired by Julian Gloag’s 1966 novel
Our Mother’s House: I had read the
latter and when I read the former I thought, hang on a minute, mate. . .)
says, apropos his new novel
Solar which is about climate change:
I am quite tempted sometimes to be a calamatist. There is something intellectually delicious about all that super-pessimism.
The publisher
says, unexpectedly, of the book:
It shows a fresh side to Ian McEwan’s work, that he’s a comic writer of genius.
1 comment:
Isn't the point - as some of the more honest reviews of Solar have pointed out (see Thomas Jones in the LRB, for one) - that McEwan has pursued a niche for pseudo-intellectual, self-consciously wry and topical tosh, which is about as much "comic [writing] of genius as it is "science", "literature" or genuine engagement with the human condition?
I can't, myself, read The Child in Time, On Chesil Beach, Amsterdam, Saturday and so forth without wincing (and can only plead masochistic curiosity for having continued to try) - the earnest emphasis on significance, the poignant reflections (see Jones above) of the burdens of true intellect, the adolescent plotting. I can only imagine that their large audiences have some need for what might seem worthy, dangerous and clever - but is actually about as mad, bad and dangerous to know as a airport schlockbuster.
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