Amsterdam

Ian McEwan

Knopf

I didn’t actu­ally read Ian McEwan’s Amsterdam (Knopf) at the cot­tage, but I did write this note there, dur­ing a week spent bliss­fully alone. The only men around were the ones in this book: Clive, a promi­nent com­poser, and Vernon, the edi­tor of a high-quality news­pa­per, are friends and ex-lovers of Molly, who has just died. Following Molly’s funeral, sep­a­rate inci­dents force each of these men to face a cri­sis of con­science dur­ing which they turn to each other for help. Alas, each man is so embroiled in his own prob­lems that nei­ther can do any­thing but judge the other. As the story unfolds, first in London and then in Amsterdam, we see two men pro­pelled by their own tun­nel vision toward a solu­tion that at first seems unbe­liev­able. As we see it com­ing we assume there will be an inter­ven­tion, but no, they carry on despite our assump­tions, and the inevitable con­clu­sion is reached like a well-orchestrated finale. There’s enough quiet humour in this book to keep it from weight­i­ness, and just review­ing it gave me my fill of the male psy­che for the rest of the week.