Saturday

The critical response to Saturday must be making Ian McEwan a very happy man (not that his virtually unassailable position as Britain's leading novelist has been in doubt). While contemporaries (and rivals) Martin Amis and Will Self have had much more hit-or-miss records recently, each new McEwan novel gleans a host of plaudits, and Atonement has been generally hailed as his masterpiece. Saturday may not enjoy quite such acclaim, but it's a remarkably accomplished piece of work, as richly drawn and characterised as anything he has written.

McEwan's protagonist is neurosurgeon Henry Perowne, a man comfortably ensconced in an enviable upper middle class existence. His wife is a successful newspaper lawyer, his daughter Daisy a budding poet. But as he wakes one Saturday morning and witnesses a plane accident through his window, he is not yet aware that this is a harbinger of a sustained assault on all that he holds dear. It's a McEwan trademark to begin his novels with a striking or violent rupture of everyday existence, but this opening is a prelude to his most impressively sustained narrative yet. It's the publication day of Henry's daughter's poetry collection, but a chance encounter with a drunken trio emerging from a lap-dancing club ends violently, even as a march against the war in Iraq streams past nearby. And this encounter with the menacing Baxter, main antagonist of the group, is to have fateful consequences. As Saturday progresses, Henry is forced to examine every aspect of his life and beliefs, not least his attitude to the war.

Unlike many of his peers, McEwan is not content to reduce the issues of the war to simple opposition, in which Tony Blair is characterised as a war criminal. Henry has treated a victim of Saddam's brutality, and although a comic encounter with the Prime Minister himself is a highlight of the book, both Henry (and his creator) are obliged to consider the complex skein of the conflict from all sides. While there are missteps (the poetic daughter, Daisy, is thinly drawn), McEwan's invigorating and trenchant novel is an unmissable experience. --Barry Forshaw

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Simply fantastic - Rated
If you like to race through books that have explosive plots which twist and unravel themselves at a breathtaking pace... then this probably isn't for you.

Instead this is a richly detailed and analytical book which deserves to be read slowly, while contemplating the subtle points the author makes. The reviewers who have said they gave up as the book was 'boring' have completely missed the point. It's the incidental casual lines and phrases, irrelevant to the overall plot, which reveal the most about the main protagonist and his take on the world.

By involving the reader so deeply with Perowne's thoughts and feelings, I could hardly bear to read at the point when his family is in danger. Of course, the people who say they 'skimmed over' large parts will probably have arrived at this section lacking any empathy with the situation he is facing, but hey, that's their problem. I thought this book was fantastic.

mostly gripping, sometimes puzzling - Rated
I quite enjoyed this, because it gives us a lot to think about. But, as with several of McEwan's novels, it's a little bit patchy in parts. Take the family re-union - with Theo, Henry's blues guitar son, daughter Daisy the poet returning from Paris, John Grammatic, his poet father-in-law, and Rosalind, his wife - disturbed by madman Baxter and his mate, with a knife-threatening attack. This section is gripping.
But 2-3 hrs after, in the same evening/night, would Henry (the neurosurgeon) really get a call to cover in hospital on the same victim (Baxter) who he's just thrown down his own staircase?
Overall, though, this book infiltrates our consciousness with a precise, yet risky, combination of scalpel and pen.

One of his best - Rated
I am a fan of McEwan and this was, in my humble opinion, one of his best. The main character is inspiring in his compassion for humanity and his magnanimous ability to forgive . If you haven't read it - I urge you to do so.

The view from Ivory Towers - Rated
Why is Ian McEwan so successful? Is it because his rich understanding of literature and science create a vital lens on our times? Or is it because the literate classes can so easily identify with his firmly middle-class viewpoint (see every main character for the last ten years). Like Atonement, the main character (Perowne, a neurologist) has that mixture of vague musing about how the less fortunate live and barely disguised fear of Baxter, a maladjusted type, this time 'with Simian features'. Honestly, how much closer can you get to dehumanising the less fortunate? Obviously this elevates Perowne to the paragon of man, flexing his mind and his muscles in a squash game while Baxter spends his time lounging in Spearmint Rhino. This is every male, middle-class professional 's fantasy version of himself, with all base urges assigned to the 'lower class' character. Like Atonement, Saturday includes scenes of hard-to-swallow heroism from Perowne and his arty children (yeah right) when by that point I was on Baxter's side, hoping he'd set fire to their Oriental rug or something. Of course, McEwan chooses to bring him close to raping the daughter instead, just to underline that he's no better than an animal. But instead he reads the daughter's poetry, gets all emotional about it and doesn't do any damage. This must be one of the most laughable moments in the history of literature, and epitomises this writer's problem. Instead of keeping one foot in the plausible, McEwan uses the dramatic climax to champion the transforming power of literature. But since its effect is attributed to Baxter's neurological and emotional condition, McEwan is just subtly and smugly stating that the 'lower classes' are otherwise morons and no better than animals. There is no awareness of Baxter's cultural alienation from poetry, or his lack of opportunity to indulge in it like the Oxbridge daughter. The reduction of Baxter in this way is compounded by the fact that he's no more than a sounding-board for the Perowne character to muse on neurological conditions. I'll admit this leads to some finely researched writing, but does 10 obscure scientific terms per page add up to literature? Or is it just pandering those middle-class readers again, who are just too busy these days to read novels (unless it can be categorised under 'mental self-improvement' activities).
When are we going to see a writer emerge who can really speak for the millions of Londoners who don't live in Highgate and Notting Hill? In the meantime, this book's only good for a laugh at the myopic ivory tower types.

His best yet! - Rated
I read this book four times in a row. It is wonderful: the story is simple, yet it delivers the point very effectively and the mind of the main character is fully explored; the same story would seem quite different from anyone else's point of view. This book is just sublime!