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I always have a problem with Ian McEwan's novels. On the one hand, I am impressed by the expert writing, the elegant flow with never the least snag in the language to trip me up. On the other hand, I cringe from his stories, full as they are of treacherous snags to trip me up at every turn. I read them with a terrible anxiety hovering near my heart. Am I the only one who is so sensitive to their exaggerated aura of menace? Friends who like McEwan's writing don't feel this at all. Why have I read so many ? Partly because of the critical acclaim that welcomes each new novel, partly in the hope that this time the story will be as satisfying as the writing. I continue to live in hope...