Amsterdam

Por Ian McEwan

Molly Lane ha muerto a los cuarenta y seis años de edad. Era una mujer muy libre, muy seductora, y en su entierro se encuentran presentes los cuatro hombres más importantes de su vida: Clive Linley, músico famoso; Vernon Halliday, periodista y director de uno de los grandes periódicos del país; George Lane, su poderoso y multimillonario marido, y Julian Garmony, un notorio político de derechas, actual ministro de Asuntos Exteriores y candidato a primer ministro. Clive y Vernon son amigos desde los lejanos y felices años sesenta, y ambos fueron amantes de Molly cuando todos ellos eran jóvenes, idealistas y pobres. George, el marido, entró mucho más tarde en la vida de la fascinante mujer y jamás pudo poseerla del todo, excepto en el terrible período final, de descenso a los infiernos de la pérdida de memoria y la desintegración mental, en el que se convirtió en su implacable cuidador y carcelero. Y con respecto a Garmony, representante de la derecha más pura y dura y de todo lo que Vernon, Clive y Molly odiaron durante toda su vida, ni el periodista ni el músico pueden explicarse qué era lo que Molly veía en él, qué extraña relación les unía. Pero lo descubrirán pocos días más tarde cuando George, el marido, le ofrece a Vernon unas espectaculares fotos del futuro primer ministro vestido con unas excitantes ropas de mujer. Fotos tomadas precisamente por Molly y que serán el disparo de salida de esta feroz, cínica, mordiente fábula moral.

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Editorial Anagrama
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 1 sept 1999
• ISBN: 9788433933799

Ian McEwan

Ian McEwan (Aldershot, Reino Unido, 1948) se licenció en Literatura Inglesa en la Universidad de Sussex y es uno de los miembros más destacados de su muy brillante generación. En Anagrama se han publicado sus dos libros de relatos, Primer amor, últimos ritos (Premio Somerset Maugham) y Entre las sábanas, las novelas El placer del viajero, Niños en el tiempo (Premio Whitbread y Premio Fémina), El inocente, Los perros negros, Amor perdurable, Amsterdam (Premio Booker), Expiación (que ha obtenido, entre otros premios, el WH Smith Literary Award, el People’s Booker y el Commonwealth Eurasia), Sábado (Premio James Tait Black), En las nubes, Chesil Beach (National Book Award), Solar (Premio Wodehouse), Operación Dulce, La ley del menor, Cáscara de nuez, Máquinas como yo, La cucaracha y Lecciones y el breve ensayo El espacio de la imaginación. McEwan ha sido galardonado con el Premio Shakespeare. Foto © Maria Teresa Slanzi.

Vista previa del libro

Índice

Portada

I Parte

Capítulo 1

Capítulo 2

II Parte

Capítulo 1

Capítulo 2

Capítulo 3

Capítulo 4

Capítulo 5

III Parte

Capítulo 1

Capítulo 2

Capítulo 3

IV Parte

Capítulo 1

Capítulo 2

Capítulo 3

Capítulo 4

Capítulo 5

Capítulo 6

V Parte

Capítulo 1

Capítulo 2

Capítulo 3

Capítulo 4

Capítulo 5

Capítulo 6

Notas

Créditos

Para Jaco y Elisabeth Groot

Los amigos que aquí se conocieron y abrazaron ya se fueron, cada cual a su yerro;

W. H. AUDEN, La encrucijada

I

1

Dos antiguos amantes de Molly Lane esperaban fuera de la capilla del crematorio, de espaldas al frío de febrero. Todo se había dicho ya, pero volvieron a decirlo:

–Jamás supo lo que le vino encima.

–Cuando lo supo ya era demasiado tarde.

–Empezó tan de repente.

–Pobre Molly.

–Mmm...

Pobre Molly. Todo empezó con un hormigueo en el brazo, al levantarlo a la salida del Dorchester Grill para llamar a un taxi. Una sensación que ya no la abandonaría hasta su muerte. En cuestión de semanas, Molly se las veía y se las deseaba para acordarse del nombre de las cosas. Parlamento, química, hélice... quizá no la preocupaban tanto, pero no así cama, nata, espejo... Fue tras la desaparición temporal de acanto y bresaiola de su vocabulario cuando decidió buscar consejo médico, con la esperanza de que la tranquilizaran. La enviaron a hacerse análisis, en cambio, y, en cierto sentido, ya nunca regresó. Cuán rápidamente la batalladora Molly se convirtió en prisionera enferma de George, su taciturno y posesivo esposo. Molly, mujer espléndida y de ingenio, crítica de restaurantes, fotógrafa, audaz jardinera, que había sido amada por el ministro de Asuntos Exteriores y era aún capaz de dar una voltereta lateral a la edad de cuarenta y seis años... La rapidez de su descenso a la locura y el dolor llegó a ser la comidilla del momento: su pérdida de control de las funciones fisiológicas y, con ella, de todo sentido del humor, y su gradual caída en una vaguedad jalonada de episodios de ahogados gritos y vana violencia.

Ahora, la visión de George saliendo de la capilla hizo que los amantes de Molly se alejaran aún más por el sendero de grava plagado de malas hierbas. Se adentraron en una zona de ovales parterres de rosas, presididos por un letrero que rezaba: «El Jardín de la Remembranza». Cada una de las plantas había sido salvajemente podada hasta escasos centímetros de la tierra helada, una práctica que Molly solía deplorar. El retazo de césped estaba lleno de colillas aplastadas, pues se trataba de un lugar donde la gente solía demorarse a la espera de que deudos y amigos del difunto salieran del edificio principal. Mientras iban y venían por el sendero, los dos viejos amigos reanudaron la conversación que, de formas diversas, habían mantenido en el pasado media docena de veces y que les procuraba harto más consuelo que entonar el himno de la nostalgia.

Clive Linley había sido el primero de los dos en conocer a Molly. Su amistad se remontaba al 68, cuando siendo estudiantes habían convivido con un caótico y cambiante grupo juvenil en el Valle de la Salud.

–Una forma horrible de morir.

Contempló cómo el vaho de su aliento se perdía en el aire gris. La temperatura, en el centro de Londres, era aquel día –11º. Once grados bajo cero. Había algo gravemente erróneo en el mundo cuya culpa no podía atribuirse a Dios ni a su ausencia. La primera desobediencia del hombre, la Caída, una figura que se desploma, un oboe, nueve notas, diez notas. Clive poseía el don del oído absoluto, y podía oír aquellas notas descendiendo desde el sol. No necesitaba ponerlas por escrito.

Continuó:

–Me refiero a morirse de ese modo, sin conciencia, como un animal. Verse sometida, humillada, antes de poder arreglar sus cosas, o incluso de decir adiós. Le sobrevino así, sin más..., y luego...

Se encogió de hombros. Estaban llegando al borde del hollado césped. Se dieron la vuelta y volvieron sobre sus pasos.

–Seguro que habría preferido matarse antes que acabar así –dijo Vernon Halliday. Había vivido con Molly un año en París, en el 74, cuando él trabajaba para Reuters (su primer empleo) y Molly hacía algunas cosas para Vogue.

–Cerebralmente muerta y en las garras de George –dijo Clive.

George, el triste y rico editor que la adoraba y a quien, para sorpresa de todos, Molly no había dejado nunca, pese a tratarlo a baqueta. Miraron hacia la capilla: George, de pie ante la entrada, recibía el pésame de los asistentes a la ceremonia. La muerte de Molly lo había rescatado del desprecio general. Incluso parecía haber crecido unos centímetros; su espalda se había enderezado, su voz se había hecho más grave y una nueva dignidad había encogido un tanto sus ojos suplicantes, codiciosos. Cuando la enfermedad se cebó en ella, George se había negado a internarla en una residencia, y la había cuidado personalmente. Es más: en los primeros días, cuando la gente aún seguía queriendo verla, seleccionaba cuidadosamente a los visitantes. A Clive y Vernon se les «racionaban» estrictamente las visitas, pues al parecer Molly se excitaba en demasía, y luego, al verse en tal estado, caía en una depresión profunda. Otro varón «clave», el ministro de Asuntos Exteriores, era también considerado «no grato». La gente empezó a murmurar; en un par de columnas de cotilleo aparecieron algunas referencias implícitas. Y luego ya no importó, porque fue de dominio público que Molly ya no era –y de un modo terrible– ella misma. La gente ya no quería ir a verla, y era un alivio que George estuviera allí para impedir que fueran a visitarla. Pero Clive y Vernon, que le detestaban, disfrutaban contrariándolo.

Volvieron a dar la espalda a la capilla, y entonces sonó un teléfono en el bolsillo de Vernon. Éste se excusó y se apartó hacia un lado, dejando que su amigo continuara caminando. Clive se estrechó el abrigo en torno al cuerpo, e hizo más lento su paso. Debía de haber unas doscientas personas vestidas de negro fuera del crematorio. Pronto empezaría a parecer descortés no acercarse a George a darle el pésame. Había «conseguido» a Molly al fin, cuando ésta ya no pudo ni reconocer su propia cara en el espejo. Nada podía hacer respecto a sus pasadas aventuras amorosas, pero al final era enteramente suya. Clive estaba perdiendo la sensibilidad en los pies, y al golpear con ellos el suelo el ritmo le devolvió la figura que se desploma y sus diez notas, ritardando, un corno inglés, y, alzándose suavemente contra él, en contrapunto, como en una imagen especular, unos chelos. Y en esa imagen, el rostro de Molly. El final. Todo lo que ahora deseaba era la calidez, el silencio de su estudio, el piano, la partitura inconclusa, llegar al final. Oyó que Vernon decía al despedirse:

–Muy bien. Reescribe el artículo y pásalo a la página cuatro. Estaré allí en un par de horas. –Luego se volvió y le dijo a Clive–: Jodidos israelíes... Tendríamos que volver al grupo.

–Supongo que sí.

Pero en lugar de volver dieron otro paseo por el césped, porque a fin de cuentas estaban allí para enterrar a Molly.

Con un visible esfuerzo de concentración, Vernon logró aislarse de las preocupaciones de su trabajo.

–Era una chica encantadora. ¿Te acuerdas de la mesa de billar?

En 1978 un grupo de amigos alquilaron un caserón en Escocia para pasar las Navidades. Molly y el hombre con quien salía entonces –un Queen’s Counsel¹ llamado Brady– escenificaron un «número» de Adán y Eva encima de una arrumbada mesa de billar; él en calzoncillos y ella en bragas y sostén, con un soporte para tacos a modo de serpiente y una bola roja a modo de manzana. La historia que había trascendido, sin embargo, la que había aparecido en una nota necrológica y era recordada por todos –incluso por algunos que habían presenciado realmente el episodio–, era que Molly, «una Nochebuena, en un castillo escocés, había bailado desnuda sobre una mesa de billar».

–Una chica encantadora –repitió Clive.

Recordaba cómo Molly le había mirado a los ojos mientras simulaba morder la manzana, cómo le había sonreído procazmente mientras hacía como si masticara, con una mano en la cadera proyectada exageradamente hacia fuera, como parodiando a una puta de music-hall. Clive lo interpretó como una señal –el modo en que ella mantuvo fijamente la mirada–, y, en efecto, volvieron el uno con el otro aquel abril. Ella se mudó a su estudio, en South Kensington, y se quedó todo el verano. Fue más o menos la época en que la columna gastronómica de Molly empezaba a acreditarse (incluso fue a la televisión a acusar a la guía Michelin de no ser sino el «kitsch de la cocina»). También él, por aquel tiempo, tuvo su primera oportunidad –Variaciones orquestales– en el Festival Hall. Era, pues, la segunda vez que estaban juntos. Ella, probablemente, no había cambiado. Pero él sí. En los diez años transcurridos había aprendido lo bastante como para permitir que ella le enseñara algunas cosas. Él siempre había pecado de exceso de vehemencia. Ella le enseñó el sigilo sexual, la esporádica necesidad de la calma. Quédate así, quieto, mírame, mírame de verdad. Somos una bomba de relojería. Él tenía casi treinta años (su desarrollo había sido tardío, según las pautas actuales). Cuando ella encontró un sitio donde vivir y se puso a hacer las maletas, Clive le pidió que se casara con él. Ella le besó, y le citó al oído: Se casó con ella para evitar su partida. / Hoy la tiene delante todo el santo día. Y tenía razón, porque cuando Molly se marchó él se sintió más feliz que nunca al quedarse solo, y escribió Tres cantos de otoño en menos de un mes.

–¿Llegaste a aprender algo de ella? –le preguntó de pronto Clive.

A mediados de la década de los ochenta, durante unas vacaciones en una finca de Umbría, Vernon tuvo también un segundo affaire con ella. A la sazón era corresponsal en Roma del diario que ahora dirigía, y estaba casado.

–Nunca puedo recordar el sexo –dijo al cabo de una pausa–. Seguro que era estupendo. Pero la recuerdo enseñándome todos los secretos de las setas boletus: cómo cogerlas, cómo cocinarlas...

Clive lo tomó como una evasiva, y decidió que él tampoco le haría confidencias. Miró hacia la entrada de la capilla. Tenían que volver. Se sorprendió diciendo con absoluta brusquedad:

–¿Sabes? Tendría que haberme casado con ella. Cuando empezó a caer por la pendiente la habría matado con una almohada, o algo parecido... Y la habría librado de la compasión general.

Vernon reía mientras conducía a su amigo fuera del Jardín de la Remembranza.

–Se dice fácil... Te veo escribiendo esa especie de himnos que los presos cantan en el patio, como esa..., ¿cómo se llama? La sufragista...

–Ethel Smyth. Yo haría cosas muchísimo mejores.

Los amigos y conocidos de Molly habrían preferido sin duda no tener que asistir a una incineración, pero George había dejado claro que no iba a haber ningún funeral. No tenía el menor deseo de oír cómo tres antiguos amantes de Molly exponían públicamente sus reflexiones al respecto desde el púlpito de Saint Martin’s o Saint James’s, o intercambiaban miradas mientras él pronunciaba su discurso. Al acercarse, Clive y Vernon empezaron a oír el confuso parloteo habitual en todo cóctel. No había bandejas con copas de champaña, ni paredes de restaurante que devolvieran el sonido, pero, si hacían abstracción de ello, bien podían encontrarse en la inauguración de alguna exposición o en algún lanzamiento mediático. Tantas caras que Clive no había visto nunca a la luz del día... Caras de aspecto horrible, como de cadáveres que se irguieran de un brinco para dar la bienvenida a los recién muertos. Vigorizado por esta inyección de misantropía, se abrió paso con brío entre el confuso murmullo, hizo caso omiso al oír que le llamaban por su nombre, retiró el codo cuando se lo asían y siguió andando hacia donde George hablaba con dos mujeres y un viejo con sombrero de fieltro y bastón.

–Hace demasiado frío, tenemos que irnos –oyó que alguien decía en voz muy alta. Pero de momento, al parecer, nadie podía escapar a la fuerza centrípeta del evento. Había perdido de vista a Vernon, que había sido requerido por el dueño de una cadena de televisión.

Al fin Clive estrechaba la mano de George en un razonable despliegue de sinceridad.

–Ha sido una ceremonia espléndida.

–Muy amable de tu parte al haber venido.

La muerte de Molly lo había ennoblecido. La gravedad apacible no era en absoluto su estilo, que siempre había sido menesteroso y adusto, ávido de gustar pero incapaz de ejercer con naturalidad la simpatía. Una pesada carga de los inmensamente ricos.

–Permíteme... –añadió–. Te presento a las hermanas Finch, Vera y Mini. Conocieron a Molly en sus tiempos de Boston. Éste es Clive Linley.

Se estrecharon la mano.

–¿Es usted el compositor? –le preguntó Vera o Mini.

–Sí.

–Es un gran honor, señor Linley. Mi nieta de once años estudió su sonatina para su examen de violín, y le encantó.

–Es un placer oírlo.

El pensamiento de unos niños interpretando su música le hizo sentirse ligeramente deprimido.

–Y, también de los Estados Unidos –dijo George–, te presento a Hart Pullman.

–Hart Pullman... Por fin. Puse sus poemas de Furia en música de jazz, ¿se acuerda?

Pullman era un poeta beat, el último superviviente de la generación de Kerouac. Menudo y ajado y con aire de lagarto, torció el cuello con dificultad para alzar la cabeza hacia Clive.

–Hoy ya no recuerdo nada. Ni un jodido recuerdo... –dijo en tono afable, con una voz aguda y vivaracha–. Pero si usted lo dice, será verdad.

–Pero se acuerda de Molly, al parecer... –dijo Clive.

–¿De quién? –Pullman adoptó un semblante grave durante un par de segundos; luego rió socarronamente y agarró el antebrazo de Clive con dedos delgados y blancos–. Oh, sí, claro –dijo con su voz de Bugs Bunny–. Molly y yo nos conocimos en el 65, en el East Village. Me acuerdo de Molly, cómo no voy a acordarme... ¡Ah, amigo mío!

Clive ocultó su desasosiego mientras calculaba. Molly habría cumplido dieciséis años en junio de aquel año. ¿Por qué no había mencionado nunca aquel viaje? Trató de sonsacar al viejo en tono neutro:

–Fue a pasar el verano, supongo.

–No, no. Vino a mi fiesta de Noche de Reyes. Qué chica, ¿eh, George?

Sexo con una menor, entonces. Tres años antes de

Comentarios para Amsterdam

[charlie68_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

An unusual story of unsympathetic characters in an unlikely storyline, but is quite satisfying nonetheless.

[maryreinert · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Beautiful, charming Molly has just died after what seemed like a short illness (perhaps alzheimers). Previous lovers are at her funeral along with her husband, George. Clive Linley is Britain's most successful and famous composer. His best friend, Vernon Halliday is the editor of a major newspaper. Julian Garmony is the Foreign Secretary and his politics are repulsive to both Clive and Vernon. A while after the funeral, George summons Vernon and shows him some very revealing and embarrassing pictures of Julian Garmony. Vernon must make the decision to either publish these photos or not. Clive advises not upsetting Vernon's feelings that the man needs to be brought down for the sake of the country. Tension between the two friends follow as both struggle with the issue. While on a hiking trip, Clive happens to come upon a man assaulting a woman but he turns and walks the other way. As time progresses, Vernon realizes that Clive has seen a serial rapist and did nothing. Due to Molly's impairment, Clive had once asked Vernon to assist him in a suicide if his life became such that he was not in control. Vernon at first was repulsed by the idea. Amsterdam has recently been in the news for having doctors that would help with anyone wanting to kill themselves.As time progresses and the friendship dies, both Vernon and Clive make plans to get revenge on the other in Amsterdam. This isn't a long book but one that has an interesting plot and twist. All of the characters seems very self-absorbed and not particularly likeable, but still are interesting.

[vivl_6 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A pithy little black comedy, well-plotted and engaging.I found this an enjoyable read from first page to last, hence am really surprised by the patchy ratings it has received. Perhaps people expect something a little "weightier" from a Booker Prize winner. Admittedly, I baulked from awarding more stars for what is little more than a very well-written but fairly frivolous romp, so perhaps I kind of, sort of agree.Very impressed by the two Ian McEwan novels I've read so far!

[bragan_8 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Vernon is a newspaper editor desperate to improve his paper's circulation. Clive is a classical composer working on what he is convinced will be the masterpiece of the new millennium. The two men have quite a few things in common, including driving ambition, a long mutual friendship, a history with a woman named Molly (whose funeral starts off the novel), and the fact that they're both about to be faced with an ethical dilemma.I can't say this is my favorite of the McEwan novels I've read (which, so far, includes Solar, The Comfort of Strangers, Enduring Love and On Chesil Beach). Compared to most of them, it feels pretty slight, and the ending, while entertaining in a pleasantly tragicomic way, is both easy to guess and difficult to believe. But I do like McEwan's writing, which as usual pulled me effortlessly along. And while his characterization may not be particularly deep here, comparatively speaking, I don't think he's capable of doing characterization badly, even if his characters are often bad (or at least unlikeable). So, even if it's not his best, I did find it enjoyable. "Not McEwan's best," after all, still leaves quite a lot of room for quality.

[peirastic_1 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Not a super big fan of Amsterdam, but I do love McEwan in general. The ending was slightly dissatisfying and at times I felt that it was a chore rather than a pleasure to read. A chore in that I lost interest pretty quickly.so/so.

[pilgrimjess · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

This is the second book by Ian McEwan that I have read and the second one that I have been disappointed with. Makes me wonder whether or not it was a very poor year when this won the Booker prize.Firstly the book is beautifully writen and it is obvious that the author has done his homework but is really little more than a novella and the writer's knowledge rather deadened the plot for me rather than add to it.Molly Lane dies of some (thankfully) unspecified disease and two old lovers and friends meet outside the crematorium and make a pact which will change their lives. Yet in truth it seems that these two lovers are the ones with the disease, that being self-obsession and an ignorance to the feelings and needs of society around them. Vernon Halliday wants to ruin the Foreign Secretary and increase the sales of his broadsheet newspaper with little thought to how it will affect others while Clive Linley is so interested in finishing his symphony and achieve greatness that he overlooks an attempted rape. But in truth I found little to like about any of the books characters (although I did have a sneaking admiration for Garmony's wife). Perhaps the present revelations about the News International 'phone-hacking' saga so much in the news over here clouded my judgment although this is something we will never know for sure. All in all I found this book fell a little 'flat' with no real spark to the story but others obviously think differently

[bellafoxx · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

It is ridiculous how enamored I have become of borrowing e-books. Going online to pick out a book, then you get an e-mail, and going back online to download the book. Then it is in my e-reader for 21 days, that’s if I get it from the eNYPL. This book was on my list of books to read and so when I saw it on the eNYPL website I requested it.Ian McEwan has a way of creating characters that makes them live in my head, whether I love them hate them or feel indifferent about them. He also throws out tidbits of thought and ideas that at the time seem insignificant but later on you have an ‘AHA’ moment. All the little threads are drawn together. When I realized what was going to happen in Amsterdam, it was a laugh out loud moment.Listed as a morality tale the dilemma is presented, and the characters actions are shown good, bad or otherwise with no judging, just a here it is, make your own judgments. This is the third Ian McEwan book I have read, so you can guess I am a fan of his work and would recommend this book.

[lovinglit · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

This book was exciting and engaging and wonderfully descriptive almost all the way through. It was the ending that let it down. It was rushed and worse than that....I saw it coming thanks to the image on the cover of my edition. If the ending had been written longer, with more feeling, I could have really loved this book. It describes the friendship of two well-to-do London men. Both in high positions in their fields, and both formerly in love with a recently deceased woman. The two men both find themselves with a moral dilema and can only pick fault with the way the other friend acted. Their bitterness an anger with each other reaches fairly high stakes and the high drama takes place in the Amsterdam of the title.

[stef7sa-1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

A story that develops like clockwork written in an impeccable style, funny with several surprise turns. The end is somewhat disappointing at first but then the aftermath takes you by surprise again. Great read.

[mariannehusbands · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I read this book on a Sunday afternoon in utter bliss by a roaring fire under my fur throw. I have been wanting to read Ian McEwan for a while and the marketing people did a good job on me with this one. I was drawn in by the eerily atmospheric front cover of duelling men from a bygone age and the flyleaf tempter of the story to come - a racy woman with several lovers and a funeral - perfect for this racy woman and the month of death and decay. It's a short novel so time investment is minimal and I am glad of that as for a Sunday afternoon piece of light entertainment it did a job. However, somehow I felt a little short-changed by the whole thing considering I am after all reading a Booker prize winner. There was no gasp or moment of revelation for me - knowing what we know of the world and how it works in the media and politics these days nothing came as a surprise - maybe we were a little more naive back in the late 90's about such things when the book was written. The motivation for the two main protagonists Clive and Vernon in bringing the novel to it's climax was for me far-fetched and pretty thin. Certainly a scathing commentary on the viler aspects of human nature that live within each of us during our working lives but at the end of the day - we already know that politicians and the press are a back-stabbing loathsome bunch and that the middle and so called upper middle classes of society are so full of themselves and their own importance that to them anything outside of their sphere of mememe world is irrelevant - so nothing new here and not tackled in this novel in anyway that shakes my perspective on the way it is. That said there were passages in the book which resonated with me and I wanted to carry on reading so in that it did the job of entertaining me for a while although I doubt I will be giving it much after thought as I have done with other books I have read.

[technodiabla · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A quick read, this novel has some of the best passages I've seen from McEwan. He's just brilliant. It's essentially a tale of greed and self destruction. None of the characters are likable whatsoever. Although the book is may years old, I did find the moral discussions around Garmony so be extremely timely. I highly recommend this book, but do not expect anything lighthearted, humorous, or endearing.

[ttaisi5editor · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Brilliant -- funny and sharp.

[thewanderingjew_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Reading this, I was reminded of P. F. Sloan’s song, Eve of Destruction, for that was the outlook of Vernon Halliday, editor of a failing newspaper, The Judge, charged with the responsibility of bringing the tabloid out of its growing place of obscurity. The book begins with Vernon and his friend Clive Linley, talking together at their friend Molly Lane’s funeral. Molly had been a powerful figure in the world of Vogue. She was a free and modern spirit who chose to live by her own rules. She and her husband occupied separate apartments, so she could practice her own kind of individuality, which meant living with abandon, disregarding housekeeping, being a bit unfaithful, but, nevertheless, always appearing well groomed in public and in the company of whatever male companion was of the moment. Clive was a world renowned composer commissioned to write a symphony for the coming millennial celebration, although it was still years in the future. Molly’s husband George was a financier, aware of and accepting of, her somewhat wanton lifestyle. Neither Clive nor Vernon could fathom what she saw in him. They both disliked him intensely. Molly only moved into her husband’s apartments, when she became ill, quickly deteriorated and could no longer care for herself. Her husband George was a controlling figure of means, with many investments, including a stake in Vernon’s newspaper. He strictly monitored and controlled visitors and access to his wife as she lay dying, in opposition to what Molly probably would have wanted. Clive and Vernon were very resentful. As two of her former lovers, they were never able to give her a proper good-bye, although they had remained great friends even after her marriage. Following the funeral, both Clive and Vernon were at loose ends, wondering about the fragility of their own health. Clive decided that he didn’t want to die frail and helpless the way Molly did. He asked Vernon to make a pact with him to help him end his life if his time was approaching, so he didn’t die as ignobly as he perceived the death of his friend Molly to be. Vernon agreed so long as Clive would do the same for him. This agreement, or unofficial contract of sorts, proved to be the seed that was a major turning point in both of their lives.Present at the funeral also, was another close friend, Foreign Secretary, Julian Garmony, a rather pompous, self-serving politician who was also disliked by Vernon and Clive. Politically, he was anathema to Vernon who believed he would be the death knell for Britain.When George phoned Vernon asking him to meet with him, he sounded like it was quite urgent. Although it was an uncharacteristic invitation to a former lover, Vernon consented to see him. George proceeded to shares risqué photos with him that could bring down the Foreign Secretary. Vernon was enthralled. This was quite possibly the tool he needed to save his country, his newspaper and his own ego. Thus the worm turned, and the plot was truly set in motion. Although the book was written almost two decades ago, it still seems relevant in today’s world. Corrupt politicians, media bigwigs and influentially wealthy people, in abundance, are still alive and well, operating in the theater of the absurd, pulling our strings with abandon. The reader will witness a display of hypocrisy and betrayal, vengeance and retribution, justice and injustice as ethical and moral concerns are raised, abused and ignored. The choices made by the self-absorbed characters were, thus, very self-serving, putting all decisions concerning themselves, their needs and egos, above all else. Their belief in their own magnificence was often beyond the pale, lacking in judgment, and, therefore, brought about outcomes which often backfired from their original intent. I wondered in the end if the moral of the story could be that it was a “comedy of errors”.This is a tale with a sinister sense of justice and humor. Most of the characters seem preoccupied with achieving power for themselves at the expense of others. They are preoccupied with thoughts of death and dying. They cheat, lie, and frame each other with moral turpitude. Although the tale takes place several years before the twenty-first century begins, the time and place could be juxtaposed to any large city and country of influence today, for our world leaders, newsmen and women, corporate heads and unions, and men and women of power and influence, are still serving the needs of shallow people, and themselves. I wondered when I finished the book and returned my thoughts to the current day, have we simply lost our moral compass?There were no wasted words in this less than 200 page, simply told tale, and yet, the pathos of the characters came through loud and clear. In my mind, I pictured actors and actresses playing their roles. A rather benignly defined seemingly lesser character arises in the end, holding all the cards. He alone, essentially, engineered the perfect crime, called all the shots, and emerged victorious, as the last man standing.

[wester_1 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

The story is OK, but I really hated the ending. Maybe because I'm Dutch, and it really paints a cynical picture of the Netherlands, but I just can't stomach the view of human beings in general emanating from this book.

[lilywren · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I have to say I finished Amsterdam before I realised I'd started it! It's quite a quick read and I found McEwan's style of writing easy to follow. However, for me, there is something missing from the book and I'm not quite sure what. I found the characters a little thin and not very likeable and the story just plodded along. However, it won the Booker award so who am I to argue?The story centres around old friends, Clive and Vernon, who were at one time both lovers of a recently deceased woman (although not at the same time I hasten to add, or maybe they were? I wasn't really paying attention at one point). The book begins where we see them at her funeral where her husband and another former lover are in attendance. Molly had a lot of lovers it seems. The other characters are, whilst important, mainly peripheral to the story as McEwan focusses on the deteriorating friendship of Clive and Vernon. I don't really want to say much more about the story as I would run the risk of giving some serious spoilers.Ego is the key to this story I think. All the characters portrayed here aren't very likeable, sympathetic or nice. They have big egos and are extremely self-centred. I suppose that is the way it's meant to be, however, I just couldn't connect and for that reason always felt a bit detached from it. That said, I finished it, read it in good time and didn't actually hate the book so it gets 3 stars from me.

[ldvoorberg · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Not at all what I expected.
The book is very easy to read. I wish I knew more about music, because there's so much about composing and listening and such that I'm sure it adds layers to the story that I do not catch.
If the bookw as not so acclaimed, I might have dismissed it as popfiction fluff, but there really is a lot here for discussion and contemplation.

[michellech_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

A bit predictable with a bunch of unlikeables. An amazingly beautiful and charismatic woman dies of an unnamed disease that is so quick that she becomes almost immediately helpless and dependent on her pathetic, martyr husband. At her funeral her lovers sigh and remember her perfect moments - oh yes, and all through the novel as well. But alas, she has left behind some photos that are damning and can be used to totally thwart the evil and right-wing foreign secretary (who of course was also her lover)and can destroy his career. And so on and so forth. Not really that interesting, at least to me, and too neat of an ending for my taste.

Loved the film Atonement based on McEwan's book, so will read more of his work.

[johngrant1 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I've enjoyed previous McEwan books I've read, so when this one floated to the top of one of my many to-be-read piles I seized on it.

At the London funeral of Molly Lane, four men interact, these being her publisher husband George and three of her lovers: Vernon, who edits a national broadsheet newspaper, a "quality" which he's trying to make more tabloid; Clive, a somewhat pretentious composer who's been commissioned by the government to produce a Millennium Symphony; and Julian, a cutthroat rightist politician who's currently Foreign Secretary but is aiming higher. The three latter are pretty vile, self-centred specimens, even though Vernon and Clive (who are our main focus in what follows) would regard themselves as quite the opposite.

These two have been friends for many years. Having heard the news from the Netherlands that assisted suicide is to become legal there, they make a pact that, should either become terminally gaga, the other will do the merciful thing. They then carry on in their completely self-absorbed fashion: Vernon is determined to "out" Julian, whom he loathes, as a transvestite, no matter how loudly he's told that exposing personal peccadilloes does not constitute political debate; while Clive regards his composition as so important that he declines, because eager to jot down a melody before he forgets it, to intervene to help a woman defend herself from a murderous rapist.

Unsurprisingly, comeuppances are on their way for both men; but the book's denouement, and the plot mechanism whereby it's brought about, seem clumsy and farfetched to me. This isn't the only reason why it seems puzzling that Amsterdam walked off with the Booker Prize in the relevant year: there's some very tedious sub-Wainwrightian padding going on in the overlong lead-up, set in the Lake District, to Clive's avoidance of confrontation with the rapist -- padding that's doubly obvious in what is a fairly short book. All in all, although this is pleasant entertainment, Amsterdam seems to me to be as slight in import as it is in extent.

I've had McEwan's Atonement on my shelves a while; I'm hoping that, when I get round to reading it, it'll prove a bit meatier!

[elpaca · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Never make a pact with someone who is certainly a rival and questionable friend after a funeral. I enjoyed the read, but didn't enjoy the people populating it, they were so flawed that they would have fit nicely into a television mini-series.

[varwenea · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

After reading Atonement and On Chesil Beach, Amsterdam is a disappointment. Make that a BIG disappointment. I wasn’t amused or smiled wily with knowing passages. None of the characters were likeable, not even in a wicked, sly, ‘daaang’ kind of way. The details were not particularly relatable – I liked Clive Linley’s search of that inspiring sound in nature for his symphony, but his other musical writer’s-book was more tedious than revealing. Similar for Vernon Halliday’s journalism tribulations – somewhat informative, but not news (punt intended). There weren’t even delightful sound bites, except perhaps one – “visual pollution of Day-Glo anoraks” during Clive’s hike in Lake District. The story started with Clive and Vernon’s friendship and their common lover, Molly Lane, now deceased. Along the way, they make a promise to each other. As each of them proceed with their lives and the climax of their careers, all hell break loose. (Well, it wouldn’t be a McEwan book if things go smoothly now, would it?) Unfortunately the conclusion is forced, blunt, potentially plausible but poorly delivered. What a dud of a book.Some quotes:On Music – I’m a pretty big fan of “Nessun dorma”, particularly the Pavarotti version, so this was entertaining:“The committee, dismissed by the music establishment as middlebrow, above all longed for a symphony from which could be distilled at least one tune, a hymn, an elegy for the maligned and departed century, that could be incorporated into the official proceedings, much as “Nessun dorma” had been into a football tournament. Incorporated, then set free to take its chances of an independent life in the public mind during the third millennium.”On Being a Manager:“This exercise of authority did not sharpen his sense of self, as it usually did. Instead it seemed to Vernon that he was infinitely diluted; he was simply the sum of all the people who had listened to him, and when he was alone, he was nothing at all.”On Civilization:“But now it appeared that this was what it really was – square miles of meager modern houses whose principal purpose was the support of TV aerials and dishes; factories producing worthless junk to be advertised on the televisions and, in dismal lots, lorries queuing to distribute it, and everywhere else, roads and the tyranny of traffic. It looked like a raucous dinner party the morning after... To watch it mile after mile, who would have guessed that kindness or the imagination, that Purcell or Britten, Shakespeare or Milton, had ever existed?”

[jmoncton_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I picked up this book because I like Ian McEwan as an author and wanted to read a book about the Netherlands before traveling for vacation. Well although this book has almost nothing to do with Amsterdam, it was definitely worth reading. The story starts off with the funeral of Molly Lane which is attended by some of her former lovers. All of them have achieved fame in their own careers, but are at a point in life where they are looking to do one last GREAT thing that will launch them into the history books. But two of the men are faced with a difficult moral dilemma - do they choose fame, even when someone else could get hurt? McEwan has picked an interesting and controversial topic and woven a good story around it.

[msjoanna · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

It was clear from the beginning where this book was going. The writing was excellent, but the plot just didn't work for me. Rather than feel connected to the characters and interested in their twisting friendship, I felt like strangling them. As my husband put it, an excellent book for 9/10ths of the book. I definitely enjoyed On Chesil Beach, the only other of his books that I've read, more than this one. Nonetheless, I liked the writing in Amsterdam enough to want to read more of McEwan's books.

[xicanti_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A black comedy about two friends living in the UK in the mid to late 1990s.McEwan is one of those writers who manages to draw the reader in right off the bat with his gorgeous prose. Each passage travels up and down in the most delightful ways, hitting all the right notes as it thunders towards its inevitable - and fulfilling - conclusion. I ate it up. The writing was so lovely that I think I would have enjoyed this book very much even if it hadn't gone anywhere.The tight plot does move forward, though, in leaps and bounds. The story unfolds via a series of quick scenes that paint the characters in their natural environments, giving us a great sense of who these people are and how they relate to the world. As things gain momentum, McEwan demands some real intuitive leaps from the reader, but he always sets them up in such a way that they feel natural. By the time we reach the conclusion, it feels inevitable.And, as a special bonus, it's hilarious... in a dark way, of course. I initially wondered why this was considered a comic novel, but as things progressed I started to see what everyone was talking about. Events play out in such a way that you can't help but see a certain desperate humor behind it all.Overall, this was excellent. If Margaret Drabble and Robertson Davies had ever written a book together, it might have resembled this one. Highly recommended.

[robinamelia · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

McEwan is a master of the surprise and when you are expecting one surprise--the random incident that changes everything in an otherwise ordinary life (as in Saturday)--he takes you in another direction. I see other readers found it difficult to relate to the characters and it is true that Clive is a rather soulless egomaniac. He is, in other words, an artist and his constant wonderings about whether he is a genius and his obsession with his work were not outside the realm of my experience... I found the synesthetic description of the composition process interesting. I can't imagine writing a symphony. The novel doesn't say how he researched this or whether it is entirely out of his own understanding of the imaginative process. Except words are words and tunes are something very different.

[katie_h_11 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

McEwan is a master storyteller, and as expected, this was finely crafted, but even though it won the Booker, it wasn't his best. Vernon, a successful newspaper editor, and Clive, a renowned composer, are two old friends who reunite at the funeral of mutual friend, Molly Lane, who died of a degenerative disease and who had dated both of the men previously. The friends have a bitter disagreement which escalates over the course of the novel, and ultimately, each man must make a crucial decision about the other. I found both men to be hollow, and I never felt strongly about either one of them. This hurt my overall opinion of the novel, but ultimately, I still enjoyed it. The pervasive theme is allegorical, in which bad decisions can often have severe and unexpected effects on other people and events - a "gift" that keeps on giving, so to speak. The book is less than 200 pages and would be best if read in one uninterrupted sitting.

[sirroger · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Very exciting, and quite funny in places. I couldn't put it down. Ultimately, though, it's a tragedy of human nature.

[sauvik_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Atonement is a really good work by McEwan. But before that he actually won Booker for Amsterdam, a much shorter novel, in 1998.The plot deals with an absent character called Molly who is dead and two former lovers of Molly meet at her funeral. One of them, Vernon, is a newspaper editor and the other is Clive, a successful composer commissioned to compose a Millennium Score. A third character called Julian is the foreign secretary and also a former lover of Molly, who can't get along with Vernon because of the scissor-paper relationship politicians and newspaper editors naturally share.I will not divulge the plot. However, I might say that two moral mistakes are committed by both the lead characters and each of them becomes the other's enemy fighting on moral grounds until they both reach Amsterdam to fulfill a promise they made to each other during their days of friendship.Let me tell that I did not like the closure. The closure has a strange and cunning hint at euthanasia - only the ailment here is not physical but mental and moral. The thing one must know is that Netherlands is the only country to legalise euthanasia and probably that's why the author chose such a place. However, the other part is that non-Dutch are not legally allowed euthanasia. Whatever may be the case, the strange ending will linger in your head and will surely vex you until you find a reasonable argument for the actions, like I have tried to relate it to a form of euthanasia, or will leave a bitter taste.I own a trade paperback edition of this novel and I would not recommend buying it for appx. 350 INR.

[samfsmith_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

A strange little novel, with an unexpected twist at the end. I don’t think I have ever read a novel with an ending like this one. I’ve read about murders, and suicides, and accidental deaths, but nothing like this - don’t worry, I won’t give it away.It is very short. This edition is less than 200 pages, and with large print. It might be 50 thousand words. Yet the author gets his story out there and nothing seems to be missing. Not a lot of words are wasted, obviously.His novel, Atonement, is one of my favorites. This novel is very different, but it’s also finely crafted and a delight to read.

[laphroaig_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Amsterdam is a well crafted book. It avoids the bloat of some of McEwan's later work, maintaining a subtle momentum and a terse narrative. It is undoubtedly well written.Yet it seems oddly joyless, almost clinical. It is populated by character studies, rather than people, and those characters are bourgeois and self-important, sometimes brushing close to caricature.Finishing a good book can feel like a momentous act, its fictional events disturbing, its characters mourned for. Finishing this was satisfying, was interesting, but emotionally it felt like finishing the manual for a DVD player.

[gypsysmom_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I think McEwan is a master of description and character. It's too bad none of the people in this book were likable but maybe that was part of the point of the book.The book begins at the cremation of a woman who was a restaurant critic. Two of her former lovers are discussing the end of Molly's life which came quite suddenly after she first experienced neurodegenerative symptoms. Clive Linley is a composer and Vernon Halliday is the editor in chief of the newspaper The Judge. Another former lover of Molly's is Julian Garmony who is the Foreign Secretary in the Conservative government and said to be the next leader of the party. Linley and Halliday despise Garmony's politics and could never understand what Molly saw in him. When Molly's husband, George, finds pictures of Garmony dressed in women's clothing he contacts Halliday to see if he is interested in publishing them. Linley doesn't think they should be published and the two friends fall out. Ultimately all of Molly's lovers are irreversibly changed by the photographs.Pride goeth before a fall could be the motto for this book. We've all known people who have exceedingly high opinions of themselves without reason. I must say I thought these men deserved their fates.