Hello everybody,
I'm Henry Perowne and welcome to a day in my life... a Saturday to be precise. I'm a good natured sort of chap, if I were famous I'd probably be saddled with the tag of "thinking women's crumpet", but personally I take myself much to seriously to acknowledge that kind of thing. I'm a successful neurosurgeon who enjoys long, descriptive and adjective laden games of squash with my erudite and debonair colleagues. Today, for once in my incredibly lucky and wealthy life, I had a spot of bad luck and pranged my top of the range Merc. This led to an encounter which can, at best, be described as unpleasant. The thugs in the red BMW gave me a bit of a pasting which left me with a cracking haematoma over my sternum. However, my extensive medical knowledge allowed me to diagnose one of my attackers with a genetically inherited degenerative disease on the spot. This allowed me to escape, quick-smart, while they brooded over their own mortality.

Later, after welcoming home my improbably talented and successful 16 year old Blues Musician son and my improbably talented and successful published poet daughter there was another small altercation. This time however the ebb and flow of violent modern day life breached the walls of this englishman's pricey Georgian Castle and things took a turn for the worse.

Needless to say, my calculating surgeons mind and spirited, courageous family pulled together to best the simian-like thugs. Ironically it then fell to me to save said thug with an emergency neurosurgical procedure. Life's funny that way. I wrapped up the whole day the way it began; by making love to my improbably talented and successful wife and then having a little bit of a wistful ponder about my own mortality while considering it in perspective against a backdrop of modern foreign policy.

Henry Perowne is a busy 48-year-old London neurosurgeon. Saturday, in 2003, two years after the 9/11 attacks and as the invasion of Iraq ears, is a single day in his life. We peek in at every thought that crosses this fellow’s mind over the course and react with him to the events that occur, such as seeing a flaming plane cross the London sky, getting mugged by a trio of toughs, losing a squash match to his buddy.


Ian McEwan - from his site - Photo Credit: Annalena McAfee

Saturday is no one’s notion of an action yarn, and I found myself pining for something more to occur, something to take us out of this guy’s skull. But I guess remaining inside it is the point. Later, the toughs invade his home, force his daughter to strip. Not hard to see a 9/11 reference in this. He tries to think through a plan, manages to distract the main antagonist and gains some time until other hands jump in. Later he is faced with a choice about whether or not to help the crook (Baxter). How does one handle oneself under stress; the stresses of modern life; the range of considerations in making moral choices, seeing one’s children growing up and becoming their own people? Contemporary life in the head of an intelligent, thoughtful man. If not exactly thrilling, ultimately, I felt it was a smart, worthwhile read.

You can find out more about McEwan and his many other works at his site.

I have read Ian McEwan before and I know he is known for his beautiful prose but I could just not get into this book. It was boring....a day in the life of Neurosurgeon, Henry Perowne. Ian McEwan's writing is so descriptive to the point of being over descriptive! Every thought, movement, sight is described in 'minute' detail. I must confess I skimmed this book near the end.

The majority of this novel is a masterclass in how an authorial voice can get in the way of a solid story.

McEwan leads us through the Saturday of the neurosurgeon Henry Perowne. It was written in 2005, and set on the eve of the British invasion of Iraq. I mention all this as Perowne spends the majority of the novel quietly weighing up and underlining how it's really overall quite a good thing Britain is going to war. An interesting perspective, but coming from the position of an author in 2005, I can't for the life of me understand the rationality of positing this position to a reader and thinking they'll agree with you. Then again, this was prior to the eventual "realisations" that there weren't any WMDs in Iraq, or that the UK and the US hadn't invaded for humanitarian reasons, or that this didn't benefit the already shaky power structure of the middle-east in any way.
I guess one benefit to McEwan's profile of Perowne is the preservation of that benign, half-hearted craving for war that had infected the western mindset post-9/11. However, one portion of this dialogue with the reader that felt off was that it seemed utterly aimless. There are points in which Perowne gets pushed for his apathetic nod towards war, and he has no real care for the potential ramifications of the invasion, and nothing comes of it. He continues on in his happy guarded life, unhurt by the action that is completely alien to him. It's just something he postures on and talks around in such a way that it can further support his mindset. It felt like less of a character trait and more that McEwan was attempting to explain himself and his take on the subject at the time.

There were also a few points in which the plot became ridiculously contrived. At one point, Perowne is able to diagnose a man with Huntington's disease within seconds of being accosted by him, as well as towards the end, give that same man life-saving emergency surgery. Also, the emotional climax ran ridiculously close to the ending of Enduring Love in which the scientifically minded main character's love interest (her being the more literary of the pair) was held at knife point by a man with a dangerous emotional imbalance formed by a mental disorder, and after said madman is dealt with, they are sectioned to a mental facility and life goes back to normal for the science boffin and his literary wife/family.

Quite frankly, this is the weakest novel from Ian McEwan I've read so far. The only thing that saved it from a one-star rating was an incredible passaged tucked in amongst the crap in which Perowne visits his mother who is in the final stages of dementia. The book finally opened up for me and I felt myself actually getting lost in the genuine emotional weight of the mother that Perowne had lost and yet still had to care for, from there he moves to watch his son's blues recital and loses himself in the talent and beauty of the music.

So my suggestion is read pages 158-173 of Saturday. That way it is no longer a meandering, apathetic, armchair-philosophical, navel-gazing novel; instead it becomes a beautiful short story of a man comparing the slacking of age and the spring of youth at the centre of his life.

My second book by Ian McEwan and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. Like Atonement, McEwan's prose and pacing throughout this book is fantastic. He can add tension and dilemma to ordinary thoughts & events.

Henry Perowne seems to be in the middle of just about everything in his life: he’s middle aged, in between children (his kids are grown & there are no grandchildren yet), he’s between generations (his & his wife’s parents and his kids), he lives in the middle of London, etc. Also, the world is in the middle, caught between 9/11 and the beginning of the Iraq war. It’s a time of pivot and change, it seems.
And change it does. In the course of a day, Henry has to face many of his thoughts & ideas after a confrontation puts his family into jeopardy.
The book takes place in Henry’s minds, with all its minutia and wandering thoughts, its worries, prejudices, ideas. It’s a fascinating look at one man’s inner life, thoughts and reasoning. Henry Perowne is his own man and yet he’s every one of us, too.

I guess it speaks volumes that many days have passed since I finished Saturday and I really didn’t have too much to say about it. It was very well written—the story pulled me swiftly along until the end (once I finally committed to starting the novel). I liked the main character, Henry, well enough.

Saturday made me realize what privileged lives we lead in the developed world. What passes for a bad day for Henry (minor car accident, bad squash game, visit to his mother with dementia, disagreement with his daughter, etc.) is really a pretty excellent day compared to most people in the world. He has a job that he loves and that pays well, he has a wife and two children that he loves, and he lives very comfortably. I have said before and will say again that many pets in North America live better than the majority of humans in the world. Now, there’s nothing wrong with providing good lives for our animals, but it should give one pause, should it not?

Consumerism is the worm in the apple—as we exploit resources and contaminate the world where everyone has to live, can we really expect that there will be no resentment? When we “enjoy” capitalism and individualism and by doing so seem to devalue societies that are based on communal values and on having “enough”? Plus, there is great inequality within our own society—I heard on the CBC radio this morning that the top 1% of richest people will in 2015 own more than all the rest of us 99% all put together. And really, as Baxter, the criminal in Saturday, could attest, all the money in the world cannot give us some things—like our health.

If I have come away with anything from Saturday, it is the determination to be less focused on things and more focused on the people in my life. For years, I’ve been giving tickets to events as gifts when possible—experiences, rather than something that needs to be stored or dusted. I’ve been down-sizing my life & my needs for years and this book just encourages me to keep pursuing that path.

I guess I had more to say about this book that I thought I did.

Because I have enjoyed their work, I have a list of authors who I have designated for return visits. Ian McEwan is on that list. It is Saturday, February 15, 2003. Henry Perowne, a neurosurgeon in London, has just woken up very early; it's a day off after an exhausting week. He finds himself in an unusual mental state. He goes to the window and observes a jet headed towards Heathrow with an engine on fire. So begins Henry’s Saturday, which will be filled with the normal and the very strange.

In the near background the United States, Great Britain and other nations are close to declaring war against Iraq and Saddam Hussain. In the immediate future Henry’s daughter, Daisy, is coming home for a visit that evening, the first time in six months. A reconciliation between Daisy, who is about to have her first book of poetry published, and her grandfather, a famous poet, is part of the evening plans.

Events are told from Henry’s perspective; we experience the entire day and all its details with him. Henry is very analytical, and a healthy portion of the narrative is reflective and introspective. There is much consideration given to what is the correct moral choice in various situations, from the forthcoming war with Iraq to unexpected encounters Henry has throughout the day. Reading the book would have benefited from having someone to discuss these choices with, but even in my own head I found it challenging to decide on which side I come down. To his credit, McEwan offers no easy answers but instead shows us the different perspectives.

I enjoyed this reading experience. I feel like I am just beginning to understand the writer, Ian McEwan; I will be coming back for more to further that understanding and for pure enjoyment.

I was inundated with information of no use to me because I don't know anything about:

1. Neurosurgery, including the tools used and the technical/Latin names of brain parts
2. Blues Guitar, including technique, songs and performers
3. Modern Art, including the names of painters as if I'm familiar enough with them to understand a metaphor

There were also scattered instances where I had to re-read sentences because McEwan used what looked to me to be a noun's possessive form, but was in reality a contraction of the noun and the verb is. I don't necessarily mind re-reading sentences: sometimes my mind wanders, or sometimes I think perhaps what is being conveyed is more important than my attention has given it, or sometimes, because it is just plain beautiful. I do mind having to re-read when the author's prose lacks clarity.

By page 125, I might have given up on this except for the fact that it was the 10th book in a 10-book challenge. So I persevered. It did get a little better - just a little - and enough so that I'll read another McEwan in case others will be more to my liking. Still, I cannot even add a third star, although the last 60 pages pushed it in that direction.

Sábado es el relato de veinticuatro horas en la vida de un sobresaliente neurocirujano, Henry Perowne, cuya felicidad doméstica se ve amenazada por las consecuencias de un encontronazo con tres maleantes a causa de un accidente leve de automóvil, suceso que el protagonista, con sagacidad, acaba resolviendo en principio. Y sólo en principio, porque el estilo de escritura de Ian McEwan nos advierte que es simplemente el anuncio de que algo peor sucederá.

McEwan va dejando pistas que cobrarán sentido en el punto culminante, cuando el más violento de los delincuentes, Baxter, irrumpe en casa de Perowne justo cuando su familia acaba de reunirse. La tensión sostenida durante la escena del enfrentamiento posterior está a la altura del clima de expectación que hasta ese momento ha ido creando McEwan, y que mantiene hasta el final con una habilidad casi marca de la casa.

Otra destreza del autor es el tiempo y su manejo narrativo. La clave de la maleabilidad del tiempo con las que la obra transcurre en las veinticuatro horas de Sábado. El manejo del tiempo es relativo: se ralentiza a través del pensamiento del personaje central y se acelera en los momentos de acción. Es justamente el pensamiento, los procesos del raciocinio, una pieza fundamental en el libro.

El afán de precisión de McEwan, en relación con esto, lo llevó a asistir durante un tiempo a un quirófano durante seis horas al día. El resultado, unas minuciosas descripciones de operaciones cerebrales capaces de competir con el suicidio de Emma Bovary.

En resumen, no es una novela de acción, más bien de flujo de conciencia y de admiración hacia lo que puede llegar a hacer un maestro con la literatura. Por todo ello, un 4,25.

2020 yılı benim için hızlı başladı; fakat bu hız, kitap okumamı olumsuz yönde etkiledi. O sebeple yılın başından bu yana ancak Cumartesi'yi okudum.

Ian McEwan, benim yeni tanıştığım ve bunun için de pişmanlık duyduğum bir yazar. Bundan dolayı, belirli aralıklarla McEwan okuyarak açığımı kapatmak istiyorum. Bu kapsamda okuduğum Cumartesi'yi ise ne yazık ki sevmedim. Bunun temel nedeni Cumartesi'yi gereğinden fazla durağan bulmam oldu. Cumartesi'de bir İngiliz doktorun bir gün boyunca yaşadıkları anlatılıyor. Fonda Amerika'nın Irak'a girişine yer veriyor McEwan. Bu konu, romanın odağında değil; ama roman boyunca buna dair şeyler okuyoruz. Benzer bir durumu Kefaret'te de okumuştum. Roman, İkinci Dünya Savaşı esnasında geçse de Kefaret'i bir "savaş romanı" olarak tanımlamak mümkün değil. Cumartesi de böyle bir romandı; fakat sanırım Irak'taki süreç tamamlanmadığı -belki de hiç tamamlanamayacağı- için "eskimiş bir şey okuyormuş" hissine kapıldım. Bu da beni rahatsız eden diğer durum oldu. Romana dair canımı sıkan bir başka şey ise çeviri oldu. Fark ettim ki ben İlknur Özdemir'in çevirilerinden hoşlanmıyorum ve çevirileri beni okurken zorluyor.

Yıla Cumartesi ile pek de iyi bir başlangıç yapamadım. Umarım 2020 okuma tarihim açısından daha keyifli geçer.

3.5

This book follows a day in the life of neurosurgeon Henry Perowne. He lives in London and his life is mostly going well. He has a satisfying job and positive relationships with his wife and two grown children. There are a few issues – he is feeling his (middle) age a bit, his mother has Alzheimer’s, and his father-in-law drinks too much. On one Saturday in 2003, a chance encounter involving a criminal act disrupts his rather ordinary life.

I found this book extremely engrossing. The author provides just the right level of details and thought processes of the protagonist. I am so impressed that McEwan can make a “day in the life” so compelling. Since the protagonist is a neurosurgeon, a key component of the narrative pertains to neurosurgery and neuroscience, including several mental conditions.

I think the author does an excellent job of portraying how a neuroscientist might think about other areas of life, such as trying to analyze the circumstances of a plane that is obviously in trouble, getting supercompetitive with a colleague in a game of squash, and not relating to his daughter’s love of magical realism in novels. Toward the end, it presents a crisis and several moral issues in a way that enables readers to ponder what they would do in a similar situation. It is a fabulous example of storytelling.

4.5