Black Dogs

I have read three of Ian McEwan's novels: Saturday, On Chesil Beach, and recently Black Dogs; as well as seeing the film, Atonement, based on his book. Before Black Dogs, I was disappointed by the promise both Saturday and On Chesil Beach created for me, but never satisfyingly fulfilled, for one reason or another. I was deeply moved by the Atonement film, but who knows how much credit to give to McEwan for that piece... but despite my disappointment from the previous two novels, I obviously wasn't detracted enough not to read a third, and boy am I glad I did. It circles the masterpiece realm, although I think it too intimate a story to truly be called that, however, this story reaches places BEACH AND SATURDAY did not. Perhaps more importantly, it does not overreach, which the publisher's weekly review about it states: "too didactic in the exposition of his theme." Couldn't disagree more. It's presented in a sort of fable style, however, it starts out slow as the characters, their intentions, and the rising action grow more vivid and engrossing, intellectually engaging even, through McEwan's style and exposition, as the story moves along. This is definitely more for those interested in the philosophical, metaphoric, and thematics, but the Black Dogs does carry some thump on the surface too, especially when we get to the scene the story draws its title from. I was already a McEwan fan, but this book gives me hope that not all, but maybe one or two of his others could hit the right spot and achieve a proper balance as Black Dogs did!

McKewan's style begins to take shape in BLACK DOGS. I loved ON CHESIL BEACH and was looking forward to this work, but I found it less impressive than I was hoping.

Still an interesting story and he has a wonderful way of really immersing the reader in each character.

Black Dogs is a skillfully written novel with an interesting and profound topic as its subject. McEwan does a wonderful job describing June, an eccentric old woman, the narrator's mother-in-law. He also handles what could be a very artificial story device in a reasonably natural way. The idea of the book is to explore the conflicts between mystical thinking and rationality, and the narrator is interviewing and writing a memoir on his mother-in-law and father-in-law who represent those views respectively. This passage exemplifies well McEwan's sensitivity and talent as a writer;

"...'Don't you think the world should be able to accommodate your way of looking at things and Bernard's? Isn't it for the best if some journey inwards while others concern themselves with improving the world? Isn't diversity what makes a civilization?'

The last rhetorical question was one too many for June. The frown of neutral attention disappeared in her hoot of laughter. She could no longer bear to be lying down. She struggled up, successfully this time, while speaking to me in gasps.

'Jeremy, you're a dear old fruit, but you do talk such twaddle. You try too hard to be decent, and have everyone like you and like each other... There!'"

I especially like the "hoot of laughter," which shows the vitality and confidence of this old woman. Part of the function of the passage is to convey the "position" of the book, but to do so in a way that it does not sound like an author at the lectern. The narrator's earnestness is apparent, but his sentimentality does not go unnoticed.

Although I have no real criticism of the book and enjoyed thoroughly my time spend with it, I will say that McEwan is not intellectually daring. He might have offered a new and interesting middle road between mysticism and rationality. But he does not. In fact, he actually avoids that conflict by redefining one as an inward journey and the other as an outward journey. Recast that way, the conflict isn't a conflict at all, but two different and unopposed ways of being. Between mysticism and rationalism, belief in purpose and rejection of purpose, there is a real irresolvable conflict that can't be made to go away by saying "diversity is best."

McEwan realizes this I guess, for the argument continues even after June dies. It goes on the narrator's head as he imagines the fighting pair continuing to talk past each other. It's perhaps too much for me to expect this very good novelist to be a very good philosopher too. He tells a story well.

One of his great literary triumphs, Ian McEwan's "Black Dogs" is an engrossing reflection on the thrills of violence and the redemptive power of love, set largely amidst the collapse of the Berlin Wall and a mesmerizing look back at a memorable French summer one year after the end of World War II. McEwan's novel is a most vivid fictional exploration of a marriage torn apart by the diverging political beliefs of husband and wife, Bernard and June Tremaine, as seen by their young son-in-law Jeremy. By mere happenstance Jeremy stumbles upon the rise and fall of the Tremaine's marriage, when he is asked by June to write her memoirs, shortly before her death. A few years later he hears a compelling, quite different, account of that marriage from Bernard himself, as both take a last-minute journey to a jubilant Berlin, its citizenry transfixed by the Berlin Wall's collapse. Always a keen observer of the human condition, McEwan's sparse, descriptive, and quite lyrical, prose presents a compelling portrait of Jeremy, Bernard and June, closing, most memorably, during the bright dawn of the Tremaine's marriage. An idyllic French summer marred by an unexpectedly dark reminder of the recently concluded war's demonic fury.

I love Ian McEwan's writing. His words are pure art on the page. In this 1992 novel, the promise of his future success as a novelist is very clear. This is a small book, a mere 160 pages, and yet he captures the very essence of the post-WW2 world in Europe. Told in the first person, though the eyes of a British writer with a wife and four children, this is the story of his mother and father-in-law, who were a young idealist Communist couple in 1946, and a defining incident in their lives that changed them forever. We first meet the mother-in-law as she lay dying in a nursing home; later, we meet the father-in-law who travels with his son-in-law to Germany to take part in the historic removal of the Wall between East and West Berlin. Always, there is the contrast between highly dramatic lives of his in-laws in the past and his more settled and introspective life in the present.

The prose is so good and Mr. McEwan's skill as a writer is so fine that I quickly got caught up in the story and just couldn't put the book down. Central to the plot is the rift between his mother and father-in law which was set so many years before. They are a couple who loved each other deeply but who separated and engaged in bitter fights all of their lives because of their two opposing philosophies of life. During their honeymoon, the wife has an encounter with two black dogs. What they represent and how this changed her is a metaphor for her future choices and the contrast between good and evil that exists in the world.

Sometimes this was an uncomfortable read and I think the author goes a little too far in his descriptions of long walks in the countryside. But the book certainly makes its point and I definitely recommend it.