No one escapes this novel unscathed--not the individual characters nor the larger societal groups they represent: politicians, artists, journalists. Everyone is lambasted and all of humanity is seen as self-serving, self-deceptive, and lying. This misanthropic pessimism, however, is dished up with such wit, beauty of language, and precision of observation that its seismic cynicism didn’t totally bother me until the catastrophic and nihilistic ending.

The book asks important questions -- Can the art created by an individual override their personal flaws? Can public figures have personal flaws/quirks and still have successful careers? What is the proper role of media? What brings meaning to an individual’s life? Is the way we perceive ourselves accurate?--then answers them with a resounding, disturbing, “There is no hope!”

One uncynical, untainted character representing the moral center and some form of soul-nurturing creativity might have helped this disturbing yet darkly entertaining book leave less of a bad aftertaste.

A pleasure to read, unsettling to contemplate upon.

About a month ago, I was introduced to Ian McEwan through his novel Atonement. I nearly consumed the damn thing, chewed its corners to bits and pieces, scribbled messy notes all over its pages. I was starved for more of his writing, and I ordered On Chesil Beach, post-haste.

On Chesil Beach is FABULOUS. Truly. So fabulous, in fact, that I was worried my husband might become annoyed at my new feelings for an actual LIVING writer. You see, he agreed to all of my dead literary lovers, those who were already crouched in the corners of our bedroom (Cummings, Salinger, Steinbeck, Greene, Hardy, Eliot, White), but he never said okay to any of the living ones.

In truth, I had already been picturing myself in a trendy London cafe with Mr. McEwan, blowing the steam off of my tea, asking him, in a sultry voice, about his taut prose and his juxtaposition. My husband would know it was all for literature (for the dying arts!), and as long as I didn't bump into Ralph Fiennes or Colin Firth while I was in town, I would remain his, forevermore.

But now my London cafe fantasy has morphed into a vision of me in a Starbucks in Boulder eating a low-fat, gluten-free scone.

Boring. Yawn. Painful. How in the hell did Mr. McEwan bring home the Man Booker Prize with this one? Ian, I haven't given up on you, but AmsterDAM, sir, what happened here??

Okay, I should probably start off by saying that I know not how to rate this book, or how to review it. The story itself was very polarising for me; the writing was beautiful, no doubts about that, but the story itself was very lacklustre. True, the prose, the writing of the book, for me, is the most important aspect, but in this case, I guess, I had expectations from the story as well. I've heard many good things about McEwan, and I can see why, he can make you feel. Even in a story that had absolutely no story, he can make you feel. He has this gift of getting you inside the head of his characters, but at the same time, you remain distant, like a spectator that can watch what occupies the faculties of these characters, rather than actually n  ben the character. While I have had the pleasure of watching the movie Atonement, I haven't read the book yet; I bought it recently, and it sits, collecting dust at home. So this is my first McEwan, and it has the distinction of having won the Man Booker.

The themes of the book, especially the "degenerative" disease that kills Molly, and the euthanasia pact, are themes I feel somewhat strongly about, and I'll tell you why. My paternal grandmother died of Alzheimer's when I was eight. Before she died, we had to watch her slow decline from an active, wonderful, kind woman (who also happened to be an amazing cook) to a mere body that could do nothing on her own. We saw nurses come and go, and because I was but a child, I didn't know the implications of this, I didn't know that one day, this would kill her. I kept hoping that she'd get better, and needless to say, her death came as a shock to me. And thus, I understand the fear. The fear that something will destroy your mind before it kills you. Euthanasia, on the other hand, has been a much debated topic in the law circles of India. It hasn't been legalised in India, because the law makers think that avaricious friends and family members would take advantage of the law. Euthanasia in India was brought to the forefront by the infamous Aruna Shanbaug case, which involved the question of mercy-killing the eponymous nurse, who'd been in a vegetative state since her brutal assault and rape in 1973. Aruna died in 2015, of "natural" causes, after 42 years of pain and suffering. The legal standpoint here, has been explained wonderfully in this article. My argument, however, is pro-euthanasia. As a part of the university theatre troupe, I had the privilege of performing in a play on the pros and cons of euthanasia, and during our research, we found ourselves concluding that maybe, just maybe, euthanasia isn't as bad as it has been painted by the media, and, at the cost of disagreeing with my brethren, the judiciary. My point here being, if I am ever diagnosed with a degenerative disease, I'd rather have someone pull the plug on me, than live completely dependent on machines and other people. So in hindsight, I understand the rationale behind the pact. n  'Well, the thing is this. I've had my own little scare lately...' ... 'Probably nothing. You know, the sort of thing that gives you the sweats at night, and by daylight seems like stupidity. That's not what I want to talk about. It's almost certainly nothing, but there's nothing lost by what I'm going to ask you. Just supposing I did get ill in a major way, like Molly, and I start to go downhill and make terrible mistakes, you know, errors of judgement, not knowing the names of things or who I was, that kind of thing. I'd like to know there was someone who'd help me to finish it...I mean, help me to die. Especially if I got to the point where I couldn't make the decision for myself, or act on it. ...'n ... n  'Yes, on one condition only: that you'd do the same for me. V.'n That said, neither of these characters appealed to me; they have an air of 'pseudo-intellectualism' surrounding them, and they live under the impression that this 'trait' excludes them from being human in its literal sense. What's ironic is that they spend a large chunk of the book looking down on the rest of the characters. Don't get me wrong, I like my share of flawed characters. I just don't like conceited, deceitful, contemptuous characters.

The overall air of the book is despondent, gloomy, even. We have our characters reminisce about what was, and their lives have come to a standstill of sorts. A midlife crisis? Perhaps. But, more. It is, rather, a work that delves into how a single event can be that lynchpin that changes the way we perceive life. A single person can mean many things to many people. A single event can make them act in ways that they perhaps, would have avoided had the circumstances been different. Vague? A review can only be as vague as the book, is what I think.

Strangely, this is all I have to say about the book. Was it an easy read? Yes. Will I be reading more by McEwan again? At least the ones I've bough so far, yes.

Amsterdam is a dexterously crafted novel that delves into the complex and ambivalent psychological nature of friendship.

Ian McEwan'a Booker Ödülü'nü kazandıran kitabı Amsterdam'da Düello yazardan okuduğum ilk kitap. Yazarla tanışma kitabı mıdır pek emin değilim, kitabın herkesin ayıla bayıla okuyacağını da sanmıyorum. Çünkü okuyucuda genel olarak konuya göre kitabı yargılama güdüsü mevcut. Bunun haksızlık olduğunu düşünüyorum açıkçası. Okuyucuya ters ya da rahatsız edici gelen bir mevzu anlatıldığında kendi hayatında tasvip etmediği konuya göre kitabı yargılamaya düşüp eleştiri boyutu negatif yönde ilerleyebiliyor. Amsterdam'da Düello da buna benzer bir yapıya sahip bir roman. Konusu ikiyüzlülük. Belki de yavşaklık.

Clive dönemin başarılı bestecilerinden bir sanat insanı, Vernon ise saygın bir gazetenin genel yayın yönetmeni. İkisi eski dost, ikisi de Molly ile daha önce ilişki yaşamış. En son da Molly'nin cenazesinde bir araya geliyorlar ve kitap başlıyor. Molly'nin oldukça muhafazakâr Dışişleri Bakanı'yla kurduğu ilişkide elde edilen bir takım sırlar bir süre sonra seçim dönemi kullanılacak malzeme haline gelir. Bu durumu kendi fikir ve etik anlayışına ters düşmesine rağmen kullanan Vernon ile değer yargıları ve eşitlik hakları üzerine söylemlerde bulunan, yeri geldiğinde Vernon'un yaptığının yanlışlığını çekinmeden söyleyen Clive, kariyer pahasına bu görüşlerine tümüyle ters düşen bir olayın içinde bulur kendini. Öte yandan dönemin Dışişleri Bakanı var. Saçma ve bir o kadar iğrenç politik fikirlerini utanmadan savunuyor. Fakat bu karşıtlığı kendi özel hayatında bastırılmış duyguların asıl sebebi.

Yazar çok sağlam bir konuyu çok sağlam bir dil ile kaleme almış. Ben oldukça beğendim. Tanışma kitabı olduğu için de ayrıca farklı bir deneyim oldu. Edebiyat severler için tavsiyemdir. Bunun yanında tavsiyelere de açığım.

İyi okumalar.

Antra mano skaityta šio autoriaus knyga. Žinau, kad jo kūryba daug kas žavisi. Ir aš mėginu susidraugauti, bet negundo, nors tu ką. Nėra blogai, bet ir neužkabina. Tai toks nei šioks, nei toks vidurys - 3*.

اگه بخوام صادقانه بگم، من بلد نیستم آنچنان که شایسته است برای چنین رمانی ریویو یا نقد بنویسم. پس سعی میکنم دلی بگم.
اول اینو بگم که به نظرم مترجم سواد بالایی داشته، چون با توجه به چند صفحه ای که تطبیق دادم و زبان نویسنده و اصطلاحات به کار رفته و... مهارت و سواد و تجربه نسبتا بالایی نیاز داشته ترجمه این اثر. مشکل اصلی این ترجمه به نظرم کم بودن تعداد پانویس ها و توضیحاته. البته میشه اینجور تعبیرش کرد که، این رمان برای مخاطب آنچنان آماتور نیست و ترجمه اش هم، برای طیف مخاطبین خاص تر که با اصطلاحات و عبارات بیشتری، به خصوص در زمینه ادبیات و موسیقی و هنر، آشنا هستند، مناسبه.

خود داستان که به نظرم تا به نزدیکای انتها، محشره. زبان شعرگونه و در عین حال مدرن نویسنده و در کنار عمق بینش روانشناسانه اش به مسائل ذهنی انسان عصر حاضر، به شدت دلپذیره. پایان ساده، کلاسیک طور و نسبتا قابل پیشبینی رمان به نظرم بعضیارو ناامید میکنه اما منو نه خیلی. به نظرم نویسنده از قصد چنین پایانی رو به کار برده تا سبک مینی‌مالیستی و رئالیستیِ ضمنی خودشو تقویت کنه. به نظر داستان آمستردام بین خطوط اش هم حرف برای گفتن زیاد داشت؛ نویسنده کل حرف رو با زبون بی زبونی در خلال روایت داستان اش زده. تعلیقی که نویسنده ایجاد میکنه به نظرم بی نظیر و خاصه. به نظرم باید این اثر رو خوند تا واقعا بشه گفت چه حسی میده خوندنش، حرف زدن بیشتر من بی فایده اس...

Brilliant writing & sharp wit. Clash of the narcissists!

Ian es un escritor inglés que me gusta mucho, pero este libro en particular es el que menos me ha encantado.

La anécdota es atractiva, una mujer muere y a su entierro llegan varios amantes y por supuesto el esposo, a partir de esto arranca la narración.

El tema es que los protagonistas tienen personalidades insufribles, están cerca de la vejez, tienen vidas cómodas y aún así son personas desgraciadas, un músico, un director de un diario y un ministro del gobierno, inmersos en sus melodramas, aunado a esta muerte, se vuelven miedosos, resentidos y egoístas, las descripciones de lo que hace cada uno son aburridas y no se logra conectar con ninguno de ellos; el desenlace se prevé mucho antes del final, y pareciera que todo es un pretexto para alargar y distraer, logrando asombro al final, pero realmente lo que sentí fue alivio que terminara.

Pero eso no significa que Ian sea malo, sigue siendo un gran autor, pero con un mal libro, todo según mi punto de vista.

خواندن "آمستردام" مانند کشف رویدادی است که لذتش مانع از هر کنشی میشود.بسیار سر راست اما با پیچیدگی هایی که در بطن افراد و روابطشان جای دارد."مالی" از نظر تاثیری که غیبتش بر اطرافیانش میگذارد نزدیکترین شخصیت به ربکا ی افسانه ای دافنه دوموریه است.

"There really wasn't much else to do. Make something, and die."
- Ian McEwan, Amsterdam



It won the Booker, but wasn't my favorite Ian McEwan. Similar to The Children Act in its use of classical music (one of the main characters is a classical composer), it is almost too clean, too moralizing, too easily tied up. But really, those are my only major complaints. I found it fascinating at parts and love love love it when Ian McEwan writes fiction about composing or music.

There are a few writers I've read recently who do a fantastic job of incorporating classical music into their stories. I'm thinking of William Gass and Middle C, Julian Barnes and The Noise of Time, Richard Powers and Orfeo, William T. Vollmann also gets a nod with parts of Europe Central. Anyway, I love it. It reminds me of reading DFW when he is riffing on Tennis or Pynchon when he is riffing on physics. There are certain realities that a great prose stylist can almost lift off the page. For me, McEwan's writing about music in this book is what keeps it at four stars and doesn't drop it to three.

This sly little dark comedy – an unusual Booker Prize winner – examines aging and ethics in turn-of-the-millennium London.

A woman’s death irrevocably changes the lives of three of her former lovers: a composer, a newspaper editor and a politician, each one staring down middle-age and mortality with varying degrees of acceptance and equanimity.

McEwan’s prose is impeccable, and he’s clearly done his research. His depiction of the newspaper world, in which editors are under the gun to get that scoop and increase circulation (especially among a younger demographic), is dead on. (If the book were published today they’d be worried about getting clicks, views and increasing their social media presence.)

He also gets deep into the smug, narcissistic mind of a celebrated composer who’s trying to finish a grand commission called The Millennium Symphony before a fast-approaching deadline. I get the feeling McEwan’s a serious music lover. His writing about music is some of the best I’ve read in a contemporary novel. And one section in which the musician hikes through the Lake District pokes fun at the tradition of English musicians drawing on nature for their work.

Oh yeah, and there’s a scandal involving photographs that brings up lots of intriguing moral issues.

It took a while for me to grasp the book’s tone. Perhaps it’s a British thing. I think there’s a longer tradition of satire there (think of someone like Evelyn Waugh).

McEwan’s characters here are deeply flawed and unlikeable, and that’s fine, but I wanted a bit more backstory about them – especially in their history with the deceased woman. That way we’d be able to contrast what they WERE with what they BECAME.

Also: while the clever plot is carefully set up, and I admire the way McEwan plays with chronology, the result is a tad unsatisfying, especially the conclusion.

Then again, think satire – dark laughs, chuckling – and you’ll be fine with the finale.