The Quarterly Conversation Issue 21
A Note on Links
More Essays by Milan
Speaking of Distraction
The Shallows by Nicholas Carr
Another Review of The Novel: An Alternative History
The Orange Eats Creeps
The Unconsoled and the Annihilation of Plot
Apparently Ian McEwan’s latest book–a satire on climate change–flopped and he’s blaming climate change fatigue:
McEwan blamed American apathy for the negative reviews afforded to Solar, his satire about global warming.
I think, though, that I caught America in a mood of profound boredom about climate change. They just didn’t want to hear about it any more, they were sick to the teeth. I think there was a strong element of that.”
I have grave doubts about how tired Americans are of reading about climate change, but even if that was the case, McEwan’s argument holds no water. Since when has a novel’s trendy subject-matter driven or killed sales for anyone but those novelists like John Grisham, Michael Crichton, et al.?
One of this year’s biggest novels thus far was about the Vietnam War, one subject that Americans have certainly heard far more about than global warming. Last year Nicholson Baker had brisk sales for a novel about a poet writing an introduction to a poetry anthology–talk about your unsalable premises.
And, of course, the list goes on and on. Don’t blame climate change fatigue–after two lackluster novels, U.S. readers have grown tired of Ian McEwan.
The Names by Don DeLillo (1982)
The Box Man by Kobo Abe (1973, English 1974)
Head in Flames by Lance Olsen (2009)
Agaat by Marlene van Niekerk (2006, English 2010)
The Weather Fifteen Years Ago by Wolf Haas (2006, English 2009)
It was the many bad reviews that killed this reader’s interest.
Just finished this book and loved it. It actually got lots of positive reviews. I wasn’t interested in it at first — thought a novel about global warming sounded pedantic. It’s not at all. It’s farcical and funny and makes very effective points at the same time.
I probably would’ve liked the book much more if it’d had more to do with global warming. Instead it’s just a story of a bloated jerk farting around, messing up people’s lives. And then it ends. I had really looked forward to reading it, and expected something more from McEwan, so it was pretty disappointing. I definitely didn’t recommend it to anyone, and I wouldn’t be surprised if friend-to-friend recommendations were few and far between.
This was definitely the least of McEwan’s last few novels. I just didn’t think it was very funny. I wrote about my 20-year relationship with McEwan’s work here: http://guiltyfeat.com/2010/07/23/me-an-mcewan/. I’d love to get your feedback. Cheers.