Enduring Love by Ian McEwan

October 1, 2012

Enduring Love is the most human and most approachable novel by Ian McEwan I’ve read so far. The opening scene of the novel is quite unique: a happily married couple, Joe and Clarissa are having a picnic somewhere in the lovely English countryside when suddenly a hot air balloon gets out of control and everybody nearby, including Joe and Clarissa comes rushing to help the balloon owner. One of the helpers, John Logan, meets his death in the attempt to help, and another person, the young, disturbed Jed Parry has a sudden crush on Joe and starts harassing him after the accident with his irrational love which is fueled by religious fever.

Despite the surrealistic beginning, the human and emotional side of the story is quite easy to imagine and believe: after the accident, Joe tries hard to deal with his memories of the tragedy and also attempts to relieve himself of the sense of responsibility. Meanwhile, his everyday life and marriage are gradually overshadowed by Jed’s continuous presence: the young man keeps calling him, sends him love letters, blocks his way when he wants to leave his apartment, follows him around and finally even threatens his life. As a consequence, the so far harmonic relationship of Joe and Clarissa quickly begins to fall apart: at the beginning of his ordeal Joe does not tell Clarissa about Jed’s practices, and when finally he confides in his wife, it’s too late – Clarissa already has her doubts and she concludes that actually it is not Jed but Joe who has something wrong with him.

The way McEwan presents the story is highly dramatic and intriguing: the novel is full of suspense and ominous foreshadowing, and these continuously made me feel that I had to read just one more chapter. One of the reviews quoted on the back cover of my copy says that it counts as irresponsible behavior to start the novel in the evening if you plan to get any sleep that night. Well, this is a bit of an exaggeration: it is just possible to put down the novel, but it is certain that it will keep bugging you somewhere in the back of your mind until you pick it up again.

Another thing I liked immensely about the novel is the narrative technique it employs. This may be something of a perversion, but I am a huge sucker for novels with unusual narrative methods and/or stories which are told from the points of view of more than one narrator, and Enduring Love was a treat for me in this respect. Although the story is mostly told from Joe’s perspective, there is a chapter in which Joe tries to enter Clarissa’s mind and recounts the events the way she must experience them, and at some points the reader is also presented with some love letters Jed addresses to Joe, without any commentary whatsoever.

The narration is all the more interesting as Joe and Clarissa read the same events quite differently. Joe started out as a promising scientist, then turned into the successful author of popular scientific articles and books; Clarissa, on the other hand, is a prominent scholar, specializing in the life and poetry of John Keats – and their work and interests are reflected in the way they interpret the developments in their lives. Joe, true to his nature, tries to explain everything, collects facts and evidence, and finds out that Jed’s manic behavior is caused by a medical condition. At the same time Clarissa approaches Jed and his actions in an emotional way and is willing to get to know him better, so that she might be able to understand his personality and motivations.

Still, Joe remains the main narrator and interpreter of the novel, and his rational approach seems to be confirmed by the appendix: it contains some medical opinions and case studies relating to Jed’s condition, and it also provides an objective account of how Joe and Clarissa overcame the crisis caused by Jed. The content and tone of the appendix seems to correspond to Joe’s reading of the events, and this gives the impression that finally Joe has the last say in the story and that reason wins over feeling.

Finally it’s interesting to reflect a bit on the title – what counts as enduring love? Naturally, Jed’s fanatic adoration is a specimen of enduring love, as we learn from the appendix that this type of love does not relent as time passes, and we can also read one of Jed’s letters, written three years after the main events, which displays the same intense emotions as those at the beginning of his “relationship” with Joe. Besides this, however, Joe’s and Clarissa’s love is also enduring, all the more so because it survives the crisis caused by Jed and perhaps it even grows stronger as a consequence. And the love between the minor characters John (the victim of the ballooning accident) and his widow, Jean is also enduring, as even though Jean believes that John cheated on her with one of his students, it finally turns out that John was faithful to her throughout their marriage and their love was never corrupted.

The Comfort of Strangers by Ian McEwan

November 21, 2011

I like the work of Ian McEwan. I wouldn’t be happy to read two of his books in close succession, and fortunately no-one compels me to do so, so I always read his novels after waiting a sufficient time, when I feel that I’m ready again for the extraordinary experience his work usually provides me with. The Comfort of Strangers had also been sitting on my desk for a couple of months before I mustered the necessary courage which is needed for reading McEwan.

I know it’s not the size of a book that counts, however, in the beginning I was deceived and disappointed by the fact that The Comfort of Strangers only runs to 100 pages, so I was expecting a simple, perhaps rather shallow story without too much soul-dissection, one I would read in two hours and then forget about in a week. I was wrong. As soon as I started reading the novel, I realized that this is not a text that can or should be read quickly. McEwan demands the reader’s attention but he gives much pleasure in return, and he also proves that his short novel can contain as much drama, suspense, tragedy and gloomy poetry as any thousand-page book.

The novel tells the story of the English couple, Colin and Mary, who spend their holiday in an unnamed city (apparently it’s Venice). Their time passes monotonously until one evening, when, while walking through the city late at night looking for a place to eat, they bump into Robert, a rather aggressive, overwhelmingly cordial local man who invites the couple first to a smoky bar, and then next day to his own apartment. Here they meet Robert’s disabled wife, Caroline, who can hardly walk because of the constant pain in her back. The rest of the novel analyzes the special relationships which exist among these four people, but I would rather not say any more of the story, as every further detail might diminish the morbid, perverted delight offered by the book.

Because despite all its brutality and harshness, The Comfort of Strangers is a beautiful text. It’s written in such a stunning, poetic and seductive language that I often found myself reading a sentence three or four times before moving on, and I also turned back the pages several times to read through a particularly rich paragraph again. In this fascinating, cutting and detached language McEwan tells us quite a lot about the relationship of men and women, alienation, passion, desire and fear, and what he says here is never reassuring and often unsettling.

The atmosphere of the novel, suggested by the story and the language itself, is much enhanced by the city where the events take place. Although it is not stated explicitly, several signs imply that the story is set in Venice: we read about channels and bridges, the characters move about in boats and the cemetery island can also be vaguely seen on the horizon – and Venice is not the city of light, airy stories: just think of Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice, Jeanette Winterson’s The Passion or Daphne Du Maurier’s story, Don’t Look Now. These stories came to my mind immediately when reading The Comfort of Strangers, and the comparisons didn’t make my heart any easier.

Apart from the style, the language and the setting, the title of the novel is also worth contemplating. I think it’s beautiful and very expressive. To be comfortable among strangers – it almost sounds like an oxymoron, and still: Colin and Mary feel at home in the strange city, in the company of Robert and Caroline, and this is the setting where they find the means of rekindling their rather cold relationship which is more of a friendship now than a love affair. The same holds true for Robert and Caroline who can gratify their passions and sexual desires under the strange gaze and presence of Colin and Mary.

On the whole, this is a stunning and rich novel which also made me reflect on myself and the world. And this is exactly what I expect from a book.


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