I have now read two books by Ian McEwan, and while I found Atonement so accomplished a novel that I didn’t see the point in my ever trying to write anything ever again, Amsterdam, I’m sad to say, is less intimidating an achievement. Vernon Halliday, newspaper editor, and Clive Lenley, famous composer, meet at a past lover’s funeral. Molly Lane has died of a slow and undignified disease, and the two old friends agree that they will each euthanize the other before he could come to such a pass. All the various elements of Amsterdam hang together properly, but there’s no flesh on the skeleton – the plot is predictable and unconvincing, the characters are wooden and uninteresting, and while the novel was published in 1999, the social satire already seems outdated and irrelevant. It’s not that the book is bad, exactly; it’s just that it isn’t great. I still think, however, that McEwan is too good a writer for me to hope to emulate on any level, and still plan to read all of his other books.
I’ve Been Reading: Amsterdam
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