Atonement by Ian McEwan

Date Started: June 6, 2015

Date Finished: June 6, 2015

Book Acquisition: Cobb County Library Book Sale, Spring 2015

Overall Rating: 3/5

I've read Atonement before, on some airplane a decade or more ago. I don't remember anything from the first reading except that the book was grossly melodramatic and that I sobbed through the ending, attempting to blow my nose on those tiny airplane cocktail napkins.

I picked this book today because I wanted something heavy and beautiful and far away from here and now. And I got that in droves. However, I think my favorite part wasn't the drama, or the intrigue, or the heartbreak (both the characters' and my own). The best part was how delightfully bored every one was before before the Big Dramatic Thing happened. There's a particular quote I wrote down that I think defines it perfectly. "...he made himself think about time, about his great hoard, the luxury of an unspent fortune. He had never before felt so self-consciously young, nor experienced such appetite, such impatience for the story to begin." (86)

PREACH IT, ROBBIE. 

Lately, I've been feeling so damn oppressed by this very happy, if boring, life I'm living. I have a well-paying job that I generally enjoy, three little fuzzy creatures that adore me, a garden with buckets of nearly ripe vegetables, and Daniel and I just bought a Wii. But there's something about turning twenty-five that makes me think I shouldn't take so much joy in these little moment. Perhaps the little moments are making me complacent enough that I'm going to miss out on the big moments - the moments that drive the plot in my life's story. 

I've been working very hard the last couple months at not comparing my life with anyone else's life, but it's been hard to do. I see people I knew from school traveling the world or settling in other countries and I get this hot, angry knot in my stomach. Why didn't I do that earlier? Why did I get cats, a dog, debt? My job has lulled me into the delicious comfort of having enough money to do literally almost whatever I want, so leaving that for something uncertain seems ludicrous. Even the fucking tomato plants feel like a weight. I've named them, loved them, how could I just leave? The other end of the spectrum also makes the angry, jealous knot appear. I see friends with husbands and intentional babies and I feel like I'm behind. I feel like I'm missing out on all this time with the love of my life, because I haven't found the stupid jerk yet. There are so many shared adventures we're missing out on! 

I'm just sitting here, in the middle of those extremes, trudging along. 

The book's melodrama was clearly contagious - this post is far more self-pitying than I meant it to be. I think I'll have to balance it out with something ridiculous. Perhaps it's time to re-read some more Christopher Moore.

EDIT: I spent the half hour after finishing this book sighing and banging around dishes so the world could hear my displeasure. Daniel wasn't home so the claterring was a largely pointless exercise but it made me feel hugely better. Then I went to the symphony and had a delightful tiny adventure and it made me feel perfectly content with the small moments of happiness.