Well here we go, my first crack at anything even vaguely resembling a book review. Be gentle with me, it’s my first time… 😉
Atonement paperback cover art
Anywho, I realise that I’m a little behind the times with this, since everyone else in the world finished talking about Atonement about six months ago, after the hubbub from the film release died out (starring the simply gorgeous Keira Knightley), but I didn’t see the film as I couldn’t convince anyone to go and see it with me, and I couldn’t/can’t afford the DVD. However, this didn’t turn out to be the annoyance I had assumed, as my darling girlfriend got her hands on a couple of free copies of the book, and very graciously gave one to me, since she knows what a bookworm I am. After hearing from some of my more literary friends that the book was better than the film, I was eager to start on this unassuming paperback. However, I had to finish at least one of the books I had already started, so my dive into this much vaunted novel was delayed.
But at last, about a month ago, I settled down to start reading it. To say I was disappointed would perhaps be an understatement. I think that after reading Robert Jordan and Dan Abnett, Ian MckEwan’s work seemed somewhat dull and lacklustre. I was – to be brutally honest – bored, for the first third of the book. There were brief highlights – Robbie’s sections were interesting, as were Cecilias – but the majority of it bored me. A couple of hundred pages more-or-less dedicated to the musings and emotions of a self-important child did little to enamour me to this supposedly outstanding novel. But I persevered. And I was rewarded.
From the moment of the twins dissapearence, things brighten up. Gone are the mundane, pointless musings of the child. Things begin to happen; tensions are mounting, misunderstandings are collossal, and a sinister menace builds behind it all, only glimpsed in veiled hints, suffusing the events on the page with a dark potentiality. From then on, the book is amazing.
The depiction of France during the retreat to Dunkirk is staggering in it’s depth of detail and realism, and it’s emotional exploration of those involved – the resignation of many of the French civilians, to the anger felt towards the RAF by the fleeing British troops. The narratove, from Robbie’s POV gives you some sense of what it must ave been like in those dark days, when a German victory seemed unstoppable and our shattered armies dragged themselves back to the sea to return home and lick their wounds. Again there is a mounting sense of menace behind it all – not the sinister tension that builds before the accusation and Robbie’s arrest, but a more general, more oppressive feel behind the words; the army is broken, the enemy is coming, and we can’t stop them. This time there is no release for this menace written down. Before Robbie can be rescued, the, the narrative of his section ends.
Then once again we find ourselves behind the eyes of Briony Tallis, the child that dominated the opening of the book. But this time there is a change. No longer is she the child whiling away the readers attention with idle speculation and insubstantialities. Now we see her adapting to her chosen atonement, and again the detail given to her new life as a trainee Nurse is quite staggering. You find yourself empathising with her, sharing her sense of monotonous duty and routine. And you feel yourself grow as you watch her grow after the retreat from Dunkirk begins to arrive on our shores, and through her visit to the wedding or Lola and Paul Marshall, and her arrival at Cecilia’s accomodation.
Her final confrontation with Robbie seems almost anticlimactic, until you realise that the way it is written is almost almost certainly the way things would have resolved themselves in that particular situation, at that time, with those people, those unique characters, involved. The result seems somehow weak, because it cannot compare to the moments of sureality experienced on the road to Dunkirk, or in the throes of lust, or on the wards of a hospital hit with the first wave of war-wounded. But its normality, it’s humble example of human beings coming face to face in the flesh after confronting one another so often in their heads is what gives the scene its power. There’s no background menace here. No looming threat. All those things are in the past. There, in that small room, in that one scene, all that has happened, all that has been endured, all the threats, the anger, the pain… it all comes down to three human beings talking in a room. The way it usually does in reality. To me, that scene in the bedsit is masterful, and the highlight of the novel.
The final section of the book… well, to be honest I can’t decide whether I love or hate it. The twist that is so casually slipped into the closing paragraphs of the novel is both shatteringly powerful, and yet somehow necessary. And it leaves the reader with an almost hollow sensation, as the assurance that the three met again and almost resolved their differences, that Robbie and Cecilia saw one another and fulfilled their love once before the end is torn away, so casually. And once again, it is reality. The almost fairytale ending is revealed as Briony’s creation, a falsified ending for her novel to give the readers of her own book a sense of completion, of assurance in the good balance of the universe as they close the book. An assurance that we are lft without, as the realisation dawns that they both died, casualties of the war, months and hundreds of miles apart, having never seen one another again, and never being able to confront Briony.
I’m not sure how much of what I just wrote made sense, and I know that there’s a few spoilers in there (though I tried to keep it all vague enough that only those who’ve read the book would understand), but that’s my take on it! A bloody good book, once it gets going.
Now, I’m going to publish this before my laptop crashes again and deletes everything i just wrote!
TTFN
Not Your Average Geek 