I guess I will have to admit that the ethical questions Ian McEwan raised in this novel - focusing on political views, freedom of choice, sexuality and media coverage - are highly relevant and contemporary still, and the novel deserves to be read as one of the better McEwans.

My neverending frustration with him is perfectly illusrated in Amsterdam, though: I absolutely hate his endings. More often than not they seem constructed, abrupt, somewhat willed.

Maybe my relationship to McEwan novels would be enthusiastic if a caring book gnome ripped out the last 10 pages in his entire works?

As it is, I conclude that ...

I learned that when you let your self-importance get in the way of your humanity you are doomed.

Yet another good read from Mr. McEwan

I had read Atonement and enjoyed it. Amsterdam looked like what I should try out next to see just how much I did or didn’t like Ian McEwan. The GR rating for Amsterdam was intriguing. An award winner, a fairly well-known author, a low average GR rating, as many 2’s as 4’s. I couldn’t help but wonder. And then there was Atonement. I liked Atonement, but didn’t love it the way some did. Maybe Amsterdam would help me to figure out why.

I reached a couple of conclusions. Not answers, perhaps. There is no one to like in Amsterdam, unless you like the despicable. There were no fine, grey lines of morality here for me. I was not confused about how I felt about the characters. Some readers like to read about characters they like or admire, or at least need to have one or two characters in a story that meet those criteria. I am okay with not liking the characters. I often find those I don’t like as interesting as those I do like. So that was not a reason for me to not like Amsterdam. In fact, I really liked Amsterdam, more so than Atonement, and one of the reasons was because the characters were so easy to dislike, and yet so well drawn they were easy to imagine.

Another similarity I noticed between Atonement and Amsterdam: there were aspects of the unbelievable mixed with a story that otherwise seemed very realistic. I noticed from the reviews that this really bothered some. Both novels break the believability spell, at least for me. If you are reading something that seems not dissimilar to the world in which you live and then at some point characteristics are introduced that make it unbelievable, how do you react. That is very different from reading something that intended from page 1 to be a different world or that is expecting you to stretch your imagination throughout. It feels almost mixed genre, and some like their genres straight.

So where does that leave me and this book. I thought story and the characters were great. I was flipping pages. I liked this crash of morality issues that leaves you wondering if there was a message and if so what it was. Now that I have a little better grip on the mix of the realistic with the hard to swallow I at least know what I feel I am reacting to and why. It is a technique. I admire its use. It's intriguing to me. I think I will leave it at that for now.

"Amsterdam" is a story about ethics, friendship, betrayal, and mortality. These might sound like heavy themes, but there are also some surprising events and cynical humor. The book opens at the funeral of Molly Lane--a beautiful woman and a talented writer/photographer--who had died of a rapidly progressing degenerative disease. Her husband was not happy when three of her former lovers--Clive, Vernon, and Julian--show up to pay their respects. Shaken by Molly's death, Clive and Vernon promise to help the other with assisted suicide in Amsterdam if they faced a debilitating terminal illness.

Vernon is a newspaper editor who faces the moral dilemma of whether he should publish embarrassing photos of the British Foreign Secretary in drag. He would like to cut this politician's career short, but there are privacy issues. Also, how will his liberal readers and the board of directors react?

Clive has been commissioned to compose a symphony for the end of the millennium. He's working out the chord progression in his head as he's hiking. Nearby, a man and a woman are having a violent struggle. Should he check on the woman, or write down his vibrant musical ideas before they evaporate? This is his chance to compose a "melody of piercing beauty that would transcend its unfashionability and seem both to mourn the passing century and all its senseless cruelty and celebrate its brilliant inventiveness."

Author Ian McEwan writes realistically about the newsroom, politics, and freedom of the press. He also shows the emotional feelings of a composer when the ideas are flowing, and the frustrations when the muse has left. He shows how the wrong ethical decision can lead to great complications later. The ending was unexpected and improbable, but the rest of the book was an interesting read. 3.5 stars.

• Non è che mi abbia tanto convinta

• Bene, scrive bene eh

• Ma la storia insipidella, i temi tutti incentrati sull'egocentrismo, l'egoismo e la bassezza delle persone sono portati avanti senza particolare slancio

• Il finale è affrettato e inconcludente

• Ci hai provato Mc

2 stelle e mezzo

Runners-up in artistic prizes often go on to eclipse the winner - I mean it's definitely a thing, right? I'm thinking A Month in the Country (Booker Prize runner-up, 1980) or McEwan's own Atonement (runner-up, 2001), Ennio Morricone's score to The Mission (no Oscar in '87), or One Direction (no X Factor in 2010). I could go on.

All that being so, it doesn't bode well for Amsterdam, which did win the Booker in 1998. Why, I regrettably found myself wondering.

How?

Well, to be fair, the prose is possessed of all the trademark fluency we'd expect from McEwan. And the two central protagonists, Clive Linley the composer and Vernon Halliday the newspaper editor, both come to life beneath his pen. At the halfway mark, as the pages fluttered by, I was certain I'd stumbled on my favourite McEwan. By this point in the plot, the pair have been mourning the passing of their ex-lover, Molly Lane, and have found themselves entangled in a salacious scandal with the Foreign Secretary - another former lover of Molly's.

So far so good.

The novel, however, unravels in the final quarter.

An argument flares up between Clive and Vernon and the two protagonists descend rapidly into antagonism. Destiny, bitterness, and misunderstanding draw the two together in Amsterdam for an insincere reconciliation. At this point, the prose moves out of McEwan's trademark precision and incisiveness into a kind of dream state. Out goes the Virginia-Woolf-like micro-dissection, where McEwan describes every shade and nuance of a character's thinking, and in comes a woolly, imprecise style. It's during this phase that a strange double-crime is committed, each antagonist becoming both perpetrator and victim. But the description of the double-crime is so vague that the whole thing passed me by. I had to stop and think to figure out what had happened. And the worst thing is, I found myself not massively caring. It was like a joke where the punchline has to be explained.

And then I realised why McEwan's prose had changed gear so dramatically from his usual precision to a kind of magical-realist wooliness: because the motivation behind the double-crime, and the precise circumstances of it, were so utterly implausible, it would never have stood up to the scrutiny of his own prose.

Pfff.

And so the book collapsed like a souffle.

To make a more generalised point, I did also find myself wondering about the world that the modern literary greats inhabit. The godless universe they paint seems so relentlessly cynical - all the characters are so unremittingly self-centered and miserable. You sometimes feel you're being asked to watch bugs crawl about on the forest floor, dung beetles going about their business in the dense undergrowth, quite oblivious to the cathedral trees above them.

I digress.

The truth is, I did enjoy The Children Act by McEwan, a much more grown-up novel (review here). Atonement also gripped me tight - and if I found the ending a smidge infuriating, that's just evidence of how far the novel had reeled me in (review here). So I shan't let this book put me off. McEwan is a master wordsmith possessed of a vivid imagination. I'll take a breather, but I'll come back.

Con estructura clásica y uso impoluto del lenguaje el autor consigue una gran caracterización de personajes en este thriller perfectamente hilado.

El final, quizás algo exagerado, cierra el círculo iniciado con el entierro de Molly donde acuden su marido y sus tres amantes. ¿Qué puede salir mal?

След като неотдавна дадох скромните 3 звезди за "На плажа Чезъл" от същия автор, радвам се, че сега нещата пак си идват по местата. Макюън така влиза под кожата на героите си, че имам чувството, че всичко това го преживявам аз. И магията се случва: жестокото става разбираемо и логично, непознатото ти става близко, съпреживяваш радости и скърби. Колко гениално е предаден творческият акт на композиране на музика например. Освен психологизма, Макюън заплита изкусно интригата, напрежението се натрупва, чак ми се налагаше от време на време да прекъсвам, защото ми беше трудно да издържа. Невероятен майстор, горещо препоръчвам!

Starting with the exceedingly delightful and clever Nutshell, followed by the unequivocal work of perfection that is On Chesil Beach, this is the third Ian McEwan book I've gobbled up in a matter of weeks. This is also the 1998 winner of the Booker Prize.

I was hopeful that this would be the third in a sequence of ascending steps, each one that much more fine, each one defying writerly logic more than the one preceding it. But alas.

This Booker winner, while still full of writing that brings one to one's knees (I'm not worthy, Mr. McEwan), is my least favourite of the three. It had a promising beginning. But it's a story that I liked less and less with every page, every advancement of plot.

The plot. What a weird one it has, indeed! Two great friends, who happened to be lovers of the same woman at different times in their lives, are at her funeral. They are both traumatised about how she died so young and without dignity, they make a pact not to let that happen to each other. And then, all sorts of strange things happen, things that I found myself reading as a more distant observer with every passing word, feeling more detached and indifferent until I finally reached the end. (At least it was a short novel - a truly redeemable feature which saved it from a far harsher review.)

The best part of this book for me was with the character of Clive, the composer. McEwan writes such lyrical descriptions of music and the creative process (again, I genuflect). And Clive's story - the choice he makes in order to chase the elusive spark of creativity and finish his symphony - now *that* was interesting, and to me, could have been the pivotal story in the book. Far more interesting than the odd tumbling of events that actually occurred.

Also, the title - yes, I realise that the story ends in the city of Amsterdam. But it seems to me a really weak title, for a rather hum-drum story, written by a genius.

Fatico a credere che si tratti di un libricino di appena duecento pagine; durante la lettura sembrava di tenere tra le mani un grande romanzo. “Amsterdam” narra una storia di amicizia e di rivalità, una guerra tra amanti che condividono un sentimento intenso e passionale per la stessa donna, una “lotta mentale”, perché si combatte attraverso la ragione (non le armi), professando il proprio e personale concetto di giustizia. I personaggi sono uomini di successo consumati dalla loro professione - che arriva a privarli di ogni traccia di empatia ed umanità - il cui unico obbiettivo è quello di accrescere il proprio ego, ottenere il rispetto e il riconoscimento che sentono di meritare da parte della società. Tuttavia l’ambizione, i pregiudizi, l’odio e la rivalità annichiliscono la loro quotidianità e li abbandonano soli, consumati dalla sete di vendetta e l’inevitabile fallimento morale e lavorativo. Una storia breve e dal ritmo incalzante come un perfetto articolo di giornale, o una travolgente sinfonia musicale, che si chiude ad Amsterdam, in un epilogo grottesco e singolare, dopo uno scontro di ideali tra grandi personalità, sedicenti “geni”.

-This book was very odd. The story begins with the death of Molly. Molly who was the friend of several men, and the lover of several others even though she was married. Two of her previous lovers, Clive and Vernon, attend the funeral and pay their respects. Then they go off and continue to live their lives, but they have both been changed as a result of the loss of their mutual friend. I am still trying to figure out what the plot was. Is jealousy the main theme or friendship gone array? Is it the continuation of life after the death of someone very close? Life that follows a depressing path. I don’t have the answer to these questions. I found the writing to be a bit too wordy. I also found the ideas to be choppy and scattered. This is the first McEwan book I have read and I have to say, I am not impressed.

A bit like Salman Rushdie: who is a writer that for one reason or another I simply haven't got on with, I might have to except that Ian McEwan also is just not the writer for me. Two of his novels I've abandoned, and of the others I have read he hasn't left me with the feeling of looking forward to the next one. I barely managed to scrape my way through this if I'm honest. I still think about characters from a few Muriel Spark novels I read weeks ago. Here, Clive and Vernon will be forgotten by tonight. Not that I have any interest whatsoever in it, but I was surprised to learn that Amsterdam bagged the Booker Prize.