And this is two almost-consecutive books by
McEwan. Unlike with Amsterdam, I am
really quite sure The Child in Time is
one of the greatest books of the last few decades. There is no point in saying
that it’s beautifully written, with McEwan it can be taken for granted. But
this book is one of the most touching ones I’ve ever read.
I was almost in tears during the initial
supermarket scene, desperately reading to get to the happy ending of the
section as soon as possible. Except that the happy ending never came. And then
the changing dynamics between Stephen and Julie, with the reader unable to take
sides because both of them appear to be – sadly – reasonable, and most of all
because who could make a judgement in such a situation?
But Stephen ends up realizing his childhood
dream and driving a train. And the actual driver figures things out before
Stephen – or any reader – does, and I think that’s just poetry.
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