Lip Lit: What Book can’t you put yourself through reading again?
There are two novels I hold in reverent esteem. I could write pages on how brilliant they are technically, and how powerfully they represent the human condition. I recommend these novels to people by clutching their forearms and locking their eyes and telling them, ‘No, really. You HAVE to read it. Promise me you will? PROMISE?!’
But I would never put myself through reading them again.
The two novels in question are Atonement by Ian McEwan and We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver.
Exit this now if you’ve heard barely anything about the two novels mentioned. Go borrow them. Trust me, someone you know will own at least one. Don’t allow yourself to potentially be spoiled by any of my raving and ranting, because the books are truly worth reading.
Why?
Let’s start with Atonement. Ian McEwan, in everything he writes, is a master of suspense – the man could make boiling an egg gripping. Atonement begins beautifully, everything is so luscious and languid – then the wind gets knocked out of you for the first time (oh, believe me, those wind knocks keep on coming).
You spend the majority of the novel with a character — Briony — who makes an accusation out of confusion, jealously, insolence. The accusation is one with serious consequences, and as a result, lives are changed. As the title conveys, she spends many years wishing to atone for this. But by the time she tries to, the foundation and fabric of the lives she’s affected, have been changed to such an extent that she’s not able to make things right.
And if being in this regretful world wasn’t enough, the last few pages not only pull the rug out from under your feet, but also the floor and earth. When I finished the book, I went straight into my mother’s room, laid on her bed, cuddled into her, and said,
‘Why did you let me read that? But, honestly, thank you.’
And then there is We Need to Talk About Kevin. It’s harder for me to write about this one as reading it is one of the most visceral experiences I’ve ever had. It’s suffocating, stifling, claustrophobic. Reading it makes you forget to breathe. Shriver creates characters that are intensely unlikeable, intricately flawed and unmistakably real. She handles the gigantic theme of evil with such subtle grace and care, that it’s easy to see the thousands of shades of gray. You begin to understand people you find reprehensible, and this is why the book is so affecting.
Are there any books you love, but aren’t able to put yourself through the emotion of reading again?
