Relectura febrero 2016*

Tengo que ser sincera y decir que este libro es mi favorito más por la forma en la que está escrito que por la historia en sí. Henry Perowne, el protagonista, es un hombre un poco exasperante. Su vida es casi perfecta. Hay un par de excepciones que "contaminan" esa burbuja de cristal en la que está metido, y esas son las cosas que generan acciones en este libro. A pesar de eso y de las descripciones de las cirugías que él realiza (demasiado detallistas e innecesarias, para mi gusto), creo que lo más interesante del libro son los temas políticos que se tocan y las discusiones sobre literatura.

(*) En la relectura salí un poco más desilusionada. Buena narración, buen punto de vista de hombre de clase media que tiene todo lo que puede pedir (un auto, incluso), pero con una conformidad sobre el final que asusta. Ahora sé que no es envidia lo que me aleja del protagonista, si no su insensibilidad. La escena más tensa que se da en la última parte me pareció atroz, no sólo porque la familia no la analiza y ninguno pega el grito en el cielo en su momento, sino también por la naturalidad con que lo toman ¿Nadie piensa en su humillación? No sé distinguir entre la poca importancia que pudo haberle dado el autor y la construcción adrede de esa situación. Quiero imaginar que es lo segundo.

Diese Geschichte deckt genau einen Tag im Leben des Neurochirurgen Perowne ab und es passiert nicht extrem viel, aber wie Ian McEwan die Gedanken der Romanfigur beschreibt, die vom Hundertsten ins Tausendste abschweifen, das ist schon eine Klasse für sich. Da wird auf hohem Niveau über Politik, Krieg, Terror, Menschen, Beziehungen, Familie, Krankheiten und noch einige Sachen mehr aus der aktuellen Situation heraus philosophiert, und wenn ich auch meist nicht einer Meinung mit mit der Romanfigur bin, so kann ich dennoch die Meinungen, Gedanken und Gefühle der Hauptfigur extrem gut nachvollziehen.

Alleine wie McEwan beschreibt, dass jene Personen, die Flugangst haben, eigentlich die Normalen sind und nicht jene, die sich wie Lemminge ohne zu Murren ins Schicksal fügen ist wirklich köstlich. Außerdem hab ich wirklich was Existentielles gelernt. Die Beschreibung der innigen Liebe eines Mannes während seiner Midlifecrisis zu einem toten Objekt, wie z.B. einem schönen Auto hat mich als Pragmatikerin umdenken lassen - hab meinem Schatzl gleich ans Herz gelegt, sich in diesem Falle bitte nicht zurückzuhalten und die Karre einfach zu kaufen. Ich kann diese Liebe zwar noch immer nicht fühlen, aber viel besser verstehen.

Der Punkt Abzug (eigentlich sollte es nur ein halber sein) kommt daher, dass doch manchmal in der zu ausführlichen Beschreibung einige Längen entstehen. Auf jeden Fall lesenswert!

Ik weet niet meer wanneer en wie het zei, maar bij sommige boeken wil je, nadat je het boek uit hebt, beste vrienden worden met de schrijver. Ze gewoon even kunnen opbellen. Nou...

Dat heb ik dus NIET bij Ian McEwan.

3-3.5 (rewrote this a little bc my english was trash the first time 'round)

okay, so. this book wasn't boring, but it really wasn't very fast-paced either. the book is set to play out in 24 hours, so i knew going in that it was likely going to be lots of contemplation and Thoughts. i like getting into character's heads, and maybe this is where the whole i'm an eighteen-year-old girl and this is about a fifty-year-old guy comes into play again, because while i really didn't mind being in perowne's head all the time i was also wishing i could get a bit of distance from his old man thoughts after 20 pages.

in general, my thoughts about henry perowne ranged from dude really? to just don't care one single bit to sort of an okay guy throughout the book (not specifically in that order). he thought his kids were great and supported them and so did i so we bonded over that.

the way the last 60(?) pages were handled saved this book imo. it didn't get trope-y, which is what i was sort of afraid of. well done book.

all in all not my fav but also no Disgrace so that's always a plus.

TINY SPOILER but that moment??? when he suddenly becomes sherlock holmes and in literally a split second deduces that this guy that's about to punch him in the freaking face has huntington's disease? .... right.

Ok. I usually force myself to finish each novel I start. (with the two exceptions so far being Catch 22 and Atlas Shrugged).. I do this (1) to at least get my moneys worth, and (2) because I know somewhere in there, there must be a part worth waiting for.

This book fell into the (2) catagory. It was an impossible bore throughout most of the novel, with one interesting fight in an alley due to a fender bender.... until you hit the last 50 pages. For me, hitting those last chapters was like breaking the surface of the water after holding your breath for an uncomfortably long time, and getting that first great gasp of cool, refreshing, life-continuing air!!!!

I would really not recommend this book to anyone who isnt willing to be bored to sleep whilst reading. (Which happened to me quite often). I can read a book in a matter of days, this one was dragged out for almost 2 weeks. I just couldnt stay awake long enough to complete it.... (Yawn)!

Rare is the author who can write a compelling story in clear prose. Rarer still is the author who can create fine and distinct layers of meaning while maintaining that clear narrative. Ian McEwan is one of those authors.

In the tradition of "Mrs. Dalloway," "Saturday" traces the ordinary activities of an ordinary man, neurologist Henry Preowne. Against the backdrop of a huge anti-war march in London, Henry goes about his daily activities -- a squash game, checking in on his patients at the hospital, getting ready for a dinner with family. Much as the world changed irrevocably after September 11, this day is one that will never be forgotten. A minor car accident with a neurologically impaired man has cataclysmic effects for Henry, his family, and the man himself.

Taking on issues of terrorism, war, and duty, "Saturday" is a touching story of the ordinary man trying to do the right thing when "the right thing" isn't clear.

I think that some of the other readers may have had issues with the disparate themes -- brain surgery, al Qaida, war, terrorism, family -- because they are not easily tied together, other than to say that those of us who look like terrorists (i.e., Baxter) may have other, non-apparent reasons for our actions. Terrorism is in the eye of the beholder, and the world is full of shades of grey. Those of us who try to take simple stances on tough questions are guilty of limited thinking.

This book is worth a read -- let it sit with you, and see what connections you make for yourself.

The biggest problem with this book is that it's another take on the James Joyce "Ulysees" style of recording a single man's thoughts through an entire day and a lot of your enjoyment depends on whether you can not only put up with the thoughts but whether you can put up with the person thinking them. Henry Perowne is annoying at times but I found him redeeming in a human sort of way at the end. Not any more heroic than the average person, but someone who wants the best for everyone and isn't quite sure how to give it to them. In this sense, he goes through the panorama human emotions and qualities you find everywhere: generosity mixed with selfishness, empathy mixed with obliviousness, a feeling of self-importance with a knowledge of how little each of is in the grand scheme of things. It was rough going at times but I ended up liking this.

Jonathan sits before his reliable laptop, gathering his thoughts on how to begin a review of Ian McEwan's Saturday. He has already made up his mind as to how he shall write this review, a mediocre attempt at emulating Mr McEwan's third-person, present-tense style, will suffice. Yet he struggles with the concept of how best to begin the review. Shall he mention the plot, the themes or the beautiful writing? He knows at this point that he will refer to why he talks as an omniscient narrator for this review yet he lacks words and ideas to allow him to begin. His fingers hover over the keyboard, waiting for inspiration in order to begin a review different from others previously attempted.

It comes to him now, he will open with a tale of how he came to be reading Saturday. He smiles wryly, the smile sliding to the very corners of his mouth. He certainly had never planned to read the novel. He had not set a reservation for the novel nor had he picked up from the shelf Saturday with the intention of reading it. He had believed the plain covered book to be a version of Ted Hughes' Birthday Letters, compulsory reading for his literature course. It seems to him now so ironic that he could have grabbed Saturday without realising that it was not a poetry collection, although it talks enough about that subject. Jonathan remembers back as to how he decided, upon realising his mistake, to read the novel. He had always intended to read some of Ian McEwan's work, Atonement being a particular novel he had considered, and the fact that the book was on the 1001 books-to-read-before-you-die list (now 1200+ books) convinced him he should actually read it.

And so he had read the book and he had found it entertaining. The prose, he considers, had been particularly beautiful in its simplicity. Though there had been far too many medical terms dished out by the author as unconstrained information. "Here", McEwan had said, "have 'neurologist', 'aneurysm', 'dopamine' and 'biopsy' to keep you company, I don't care whether you understand or care about such terms." Jonathan certainly did understand those terms, yet he wonders whether the way they were flung about would detract other thoughtful readers. Then there was also the matter as to whether other readers would care enough about a novel set on one single day. Would readers want to know about one man's solitary day left separated from the context of a single lifetime? Would other readers care enough about the prose and the entertaining aspects of the novel - would they care about neurosurgeon Henry Perowne and his family, his squash game, his home invasion?

Then, Jonathan questions, would they notice the themes of the novel? The ideas about how languages connect people. The suggestion that poetry could shape the lives about others and as an afterthought the connection between language and music through poetry. Would they see an idea about how our past deeds may come back to haunt us and how it is therefore important to question and challenge what we are doing in the moment? And would they see the idea of how a single day may be both everything and nothing in an individual's lifetime?

Jonathan stares at his laptop and then begins to write. He writes until he has completed his review. He writes until his thoughts are spread out before him like blood pouring from a wound. He looks then at what he has written and asks himself one more question. Have I informed everyone enough about what I think about this novel - that I like it and yet do not consider it a masterpiece - in order to make others consider at least reading this? He pauses for a moment, then he lets out a sigh. He has written a decent review he considers, let potential readers make the decision as to whether they will read this literary text. He scans his work once more and then directs his cursor to the single 'save' button.

So many people strongly dislike this book. I am at the opposite end, due to not only the brilliant writing and many nail-biting scenes, but also multiple areas of personal resonance.

I’ve spent plenty of time working and socializing and participating in neuroscience reading groups with high-powered doctors at the top of their cohorts. It was like a trip down memory lane to be in one’s head for a day, the focus, the skill, the competitiveness, the generosity.

Along the way the author writes so well about dealing with the news, especially in the aftermath of 9/11, about literature and different types of readers, and of intimacy with those who are so shy of it.

En esta novela McEwan reflexiona sobre el concepto de seguridad, o su reverso que es el peligro. El peligro imprevisible, inesperado. No en vano la acción se sitúa el 15 de febrero de 2003, cuando se produce una enorme manifestación en las calles de Londres contra la guerra de Irak. El autor nos muestra una sociedad aún conmocionada por los atentados de 2001, pero una parte de la cual no quiere buscar una venganza ciega.

La odisea de una familia acomodada durante este sábado quiere ser un reflejo a nivel micro de esta situación global. Henry Perowne es un reputado neurocirujano, con una familia feliz y conservadora. Todos sus miembros destacan en algún campo – la hija es poetisa, el hijo músico – y se disponen a celebrar el ritual de la cena familiar, a la que también está invitado el suegro, un sábado más.

Seguimos a Henry en su rutina sabatina, que incluye una partida de squash con un compañero de trabajo y comprar marisco para la cena, pero un pequeño incidente de circulación abrirá las puertas de su casa a la gente equivocada. Es la irrupción de los desposeídos, gente que convive con ellos en la misma ciudad pero cuya experiencia de la vida y posición en la sociedad no podría ser más diferente.

El tenso encuentro que se produce da pie a muchas reflexiones, principalmente sobre la precariedad de las cosas y de los entornos seguros que construimos – sea la clase media o la civilización occidental.

Como es frecuente en McEwan – por ejemplo El placer del viajero o On Chesil Beach – también aparece la sexualidad como fuerza perturbadora, como una pulsión tenebrosa que cuando sale a la superficie lo altera todo y produce situaciones de una tensión insoportable.

La historia está bien narrada y llena de apuntes realistas que nos sitúan en ese momento histórico. Quizá es un poco morosa – ecos del Ulises? – pero si te dejas llevar te sumerge en la tribulación de esta - por momentos excesivamente perfecta - familia. No me gusta demasiado el final, me parece muy obvio y apropiado para una película de Hollywood, aunque de alguna manera está corroborando la tesis principal de la novela.
3,7*?

Si bien Sábado no es de los mejores trabajos del autor, es puro McEwan. Hay una tensión, incluso bajo la superficie de las partes más reflexivas de la novela, que obliga a leer con interés y emoción la forma en que se desenvuelve la historia. Aquí la trama, que avanza con lentitud, puede parecer sencilla, pero es un dispositivo finamente estructurado que permite el discurrir fluido de una reflexión exhaustiva sobre nuestros días. McEwan es un narrador fantástico. Desde la sugerente visión del avión en llamas al vuelco dramático al final de la novela (un recurso recurrente en sus historias), Sábado se lee con una avidez inusitada para lo que puede parecer: una crónica de un día en la vida un hombre común que ve cómo los conflictos políticos y sociales se infiltran en la inmediatez de su realidad cotidiana.

3.5 / 5

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McEwan smoothly leads the reader into the surgeon's world -- all of his concerns and emotions, from professional to family. You see what he sees. You feel what he feels, including the wrenching pain and disorientatoin of confrontation with random brutality -- incidents that deny and affirm the meaning of his life.

McEwan has the ability to create an entire world in a single paragraph, and without the need for extraordinary events (like Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway walking down the street, only far more engrossing and compelling).

His style reminds me of the old piece of wisdom that every part of the world, no matter how small, implies the existence of the entire universe. For God to create a single rose, He must create everything -- all in its proper place and with all of its past and all of its likely future. When McEwan creates a character or sets a scence, he does so with such rich texture and such palpable reality that it feels like he has created a universe. Reading such a book is pure pleasure.

At one point, McEwan uses the phrase "poised on a hinge of perception" to describe the surgeon's perspective. Time and again the moments described and shown are carefully chosen. Yes this is a "day in the life", but it's a well-chosen day, and the pieces of it shown feel important, even climactic, even though they deal with "ordinary" events (events and emotions that are very easy to identify wth).

The surgeon's world is very different from another "day in the life" of world -- that of Ivan Denisovich (in the book by Solzhenitsyn). Denisovich too introduced the reader to an entire world, in very few pages, but it dealt with circumstances that were hard to imagine, stretching our notion of what can consititute a human life, of the range of possibilities, of the depths to which one can sink and still retain some semblance of humanity, of value systems that should apply everywhere. By contrast, Saturday engages us with the familiarity of the scenes and sensations. Yet it too stretches our perceptions of humanity and values and the meaning of life.