Ian McEwan is one of those authors who became a bona fide favorite of mine based on just two novels, the epic Atonement and the beautifully rendered On Chesil Beach. The former is one of my all time favorite books, and more than five years after reading it, I still cringe at what humans can do to those they love. The latter is a book so understated yet emotionally poignant that its ending will stay with me forever. I have yet to read any of McEwan's well-regarded earlier works, nor have I tackled the Booker-winning Amsterdam or the much praised Saturday. All in good time.
Solar, his latest novel, got good reviews, but was generally considered less outstanding than his other works. I got the feeling, reading the reviews, that literary critics thought they had to give it high marks because it's new McEwan, but that they thought he might be resting on his laurels. A music critic once said, in reviewing Madonna's American Life album, that if you stack it up next to her Ray Of Light, it falls flat ... but then quickly added, "to be fair, most pop albums do." Thus is the hallowed status of Ray Of Light. One could similarly write of Solar ... "Stack it up next to 'Atonement' and it falls flat ... but to be fair, most modern novels do." However, why should an artist who has created a masterpiece (or more than one) have to endure the shadow of his masterpiece forever, suffering through every subsequent novel being compared to an all time great?
So I vowed to take Solar on its own terms, and not compare it to either Atonement or On Chesil Beach, and guess what? It's a damn good book, with some exquisite writing, great characterization, and touches of laugh-out-loud humor. I was never bored, and that's saying something, because physics plays a large role in this book, and let's just say that was the class that saw my Honor Roll train go screeching off its tracks during my junior year of high school.
Solar has a decent, identifiable plot (a couple of them, actually), but largely, it's a character study. The character is Michael Beard, a pompous, arrogant Nobel winner who has been coasting on his reputation for several decades, and sort of falling through the cracks as younger, more forward-thinking physicists are coming up through the ranks (there is an interesting tangent on the nature of scientists who think in terms of saving the world, vs. those who are more single-minded [selfish?] in their focus). Beard spends his time giving lectures, serving on committees, basically selling his name to help universities and various scientific projects rake in grant money. Along the way, he has managed to divorce four women, and as the novel opens, his fifth marriage is about to implode. The way in which it does so is quite fun to watch, in spite of some tragic consequences. There is a lot of dark comedy at play in Solar, and McEwan presents it brilliantly.
One criticisim I read of the book is that its three distinct sections, which each occur a few years apart, do not hold together well. I disagree. I felt that they all served to show how stagnant Beard is, how he doesn't really change or try to better himself in spite of the horrible things he's done, and the lessons he should have learned. Some readers will be pleased by the comeuppance Beard gets in the final act. I can't say that I really hated his character. It's often hard for me to loathe a character who is the centerpiece of a novel, if the author does his or her job correctly. I mean, we are basically going on a journey with Michael Beard, and seeing his reactions, thoughts, and dreams as they are rendered by McEwan ... which ultimately creates a portrait of a flawed, but not evil, man.
At the end of the day, the real pleasure for me in reading Solar was McEwan's gift as a wordsmith. I can't think of another contemporary novelist who sends me to the dictionary (well, Google) with as much frequency as this guy, but it's worth it for the words I learn, and the perfect way in which he employs them. And his writing is just so damn good, as evidenced by this sentence:
"She did not tease or taunt or flirt with him - that at least would have been communication of a sort - but steadily perfected the bright indifference with which she intended to obliterate him."
Ah, he is such a fine writer. I got a lot out of Solar: moments of laughter, engagement with the plot, a few new words to add to my vocabulary, some insight into solar power and physics, but mostly, an even greater appreciation for a man who ranks among our greatest contemporary novelists. I look forward to many more nights lost between the pages with Ian McEwan.
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