The diabolical nerdiness of Ian McEwan
This is the secret of Ian McEwan’s success: He’s playing us. In his novels he manipulates us into thinking we know what’s going on, only to turn on the lights and reveal something else. Using techniques out of horror stories and thrillers he tweaks our nerves until the tension becomes unbearable — try putting that book down then. He withholds vital information only to spring it on us at the very last minute — unforgivable in other authors, but in McEwan another demonstration of his narrative skills.
These manipulations are executed in prose so gorgeous it makes you weep. When all is revealed, your reaction should be “How dare you,” but what comes out is “Wow.” Thank you for fooling us. Consider his finest work, Atonement, whose last page reveals a secret that turns the world upside down. Can he do that, is that kosher? And you may protest at this deceit, but you know you wanted it. These lovely people who have been through so much — you wanted them to be happy. You agreed to be played.
There is nothing lovely about Michael Beard, the protagonist of McEwan’s new novel, Solar. Beard is middle-aged, egotistical, dishonest, unfaithful, fat — a physicist who won the Nobel Prize for work he did in his 20s, and has done nothing since. Women flock to this repulsive man, which may seem incredible until you recall your friends who are drawn to losers. “I can fix him, he needs me” is their mantra, and in Beard’s case “loser” is raised to the power of “genius.”
In short, we do not like this protagonist. He brings suffering to many people. We want him to get his comeuppance. But he might save the world. Do we want to be saved by that?
After his personal life hits nadir, Beard focuses his long-dormant intellectual powers on a problem much larger than his own: global warming. Drawing on — ripping off—the ideas of his late associate, Beard figures out the ultimate cheap, sustainable energy source. The sun. The sun is nuking the earth, we are literally on fire. Well that sunlight is a virtually unlimited power source. Plants use sunlight to synthesize their food through the process known as photosynthesis.
Could artificial photosynthesis be the solution to the world’s energy problem?
I’ve always enjoyed the sheer nerdiness of McEwan’s novels, the amount of hard research that goes into them. In Saturday the protagonist is a neurosurgeon, and there are marvelously graphic descriptions of brain surgery (Which brings up another reason we are addicted to McEwan: his way with the macabre, the corpse cemented in a trunk, the dismembered body in the suitcase). Enduring Love contains an appendix — an article on a form of erotic obsession called De Clerambault’s Syndrome that was purportedly reprinted from the British Review of Psychiatry. This article was actually cited by psychiatrists and reviewers until it was revealed that McEwan made it up.
In Solar, the physicist Beard presents the case for harnessing solar energy through artificial photosynthesis. I don’t know if it’s a workable idea, but it sounds fascinating.
“A single photon striking a semiconductor releases an electron, and so electricity is born, as simple as that, right out of sunbeams,” Beard tells his audience. “This is photovoltaics. . .Less than an hour’s worth of all the sunlight falling on the earth would satisfy the whole world’s needs for a year. A fraction of our hot deserts could power civilization. No one can own sunlight, no one can privatize or nationalize it. Soon everyone will harvest it, from rooftops, ships’ sails, from kids’ backpacks.
“There are a dozen proven ways of making electricity out of sunlight, but the ultimate goal is still ahead, and this is close to my heart. I’m talking of artificial photosynthesis, of copying the methods nature took three billion years to perfect. We’ll use light directly to make cheap hydrogen and oxygen out of water and run our turbines night and day, or we’ll make fuels out of water, sunlight, and carbon dioxide, or we’ll build desalination plants that make electricity as well as fresh water. Believe me, this will happen.”
What about the book itself? It’s not one of McEwan’s best. For a satirical novel it’s not that funny. Clever, but no laughs. The beautiful writing is there, it’s what keeps you reading, but despite its skillful plotting Solar feels flat and tension-free. I don’t like Beard well enough to wish for his redemption, but I don’t loathe him enough to hope for his richly-deserved punishment either. Basically I don’t care what happens to him.
The solar energy idea, though, is something to think about.
