Atonement (2001)

I have tried on three separate occasions to finish this book, but have not been able to make it past page 66. I also tried to watch the movie, but also quit halfway through. I officially give up an declare this book a lost cause. ( )

I got this back when the film came out and my entire summation of it can be described thusly:

Of course there is always something spellbinding and touching in a love that’s faithful enough it crosses boundaries of distance and surmounts the passing time. A love that endures, as one might say, is both a blessing and a curse for it doesn’t deter from any kind of struggle, however the affliction, and reunites with a soulful fervour. But when it’s weathered by insufferable theatrics it becomes almost a borderline melodramatic excess. Such is Atonement. Told in paragraphs much too beautiful it can be emotionally dismantling, it successfully distracts from its subtle mediocrity. For one, Atonement is almost irredeemable with its usage of rape as a cheap, underwhelming plot device. As if it is not disturbing enough that the victim and perpetrator reach the most appalling of conclusions, the others are too caught up in their own confusing snobbishness, selfishness, and tiring anguish to prevent it at all. What’s more surprising here is my utter indifference to Briony Tallis which near the end turned to sympathy then pity of some sort. I don’t believe she is completely and solely culpable. A child exposed to some kind of trauma can’t be fully held accountable for acting out of fear. Some of the characters’ decisions are absurd (looking at you, Cecilia Tallis) too. And without any relevant interactions to invest much on, Cecilia and Robbie’s love story gets diluted into that one lustful library encounter. And perhaps if some form of explanation to Briony was provided after, it’d have been entirely different. Nonetheless, the chapters about the second world war are the strongest in the novel as they capture, also mirror, a life-altering catastrophe which victimises everyone. Nobody goes out unscathed. A theme present throughout the book. Amidst some flaws and predictability, McEwan’s prose kept me tangled (and fairly satisfied) in its depressing mess.

“A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.”

If there’s anything of genuine value here, it’s how we tend to forget that words can be both sharp and dull: they can alter a moment, injure those closest to us, and they become smoke when they have burnt a cellophane of emotions. That and it’s surely romantic to be made love to against a row of bookshelves (but mind the cunt-calling please). ( )

I started out not liking this at all, as long as the story line was stuck in rural England with people who have too much free time on their hands, but it improved greatly for me once the people in the book started living. And it is indeed better than the movie, at least in my opinion. ( )

I absolutely loved this book and include it in my favorites of all-time. Just a wonderful, complex characters and impeccably written. I can't recommend this one enough (though it's not a quick read by any means, so be ready to commit to it). ( )