Currently Reading: Saturday

In the middle of the night, or incredibly early on a February Saturday morning, Henry Perowne wakes up for no reason.  In a strange, but totally lucid state, he finds himself drawn to his bedroom window, where he sees a plane on fire.

Wandering down to the kitchen, he sits with his son, coming in from his night out.  They watch the news, hoping to see something about the plane, but there is nothing conclusive.

Henry goes back upstairs, where he makes love to his wife before falling back asleep for a few hours.  And then his day begins.

Ian McEwan weaves an intense, beautiful story out of one man's Saturday, including a squash game, running errands, and cooking dinner.  These casual, even mundane, activities are made exquisite through McEwan's writing and impeccable details.

There is action, happening when all of Perowne's activities of the day come to a head just before dinner, but the majority of the novel is simply incredibly detailed descriptions.  This is my first McEwan novel and I'm kicking myself for not having read him sooner.  The writing is stunning.  One sentence in particular stood out to me for its simplicity and its brilliance: "It nags at him briefly now, but the half-hearted effort of recall itself fades as he steps into the warmth of the hall and turns on the lights; a mere light bulb can explode a thought".  

Read this immediately. 


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