The Life and Times of a Navy Husband

I put down The Comfort of Strangers last night, reluctantly, at about midnight. I only had twenty-five pages left, but I was exhausted. So this morning, before getting out of bed, before coffee, I finished it.

This is a short, mean little book. It’s less than 130 pages long, so many readers could polish it off in a day (although not me; I’m a slow, slow reader). I don’t mean for the adjectives to cast the book or the story in a negative light. I really liked it. I just mean that it’s impressive how much suspense McEwan has managed to cram into such a short novel.

And it’s not all muscle and plot, either. There’s a fair amount of thinking and philosophy here, and real characters.

It’s, basically, about Colin and Mary, a couple from England who are on holiday in (presumably) Venice, Italy. They settle into a kind of boredom, but then they meet Robert, a strange, forceful man who befriends them.

I’ll stop there with the description. If you’ve never read McEwan, you should. I read Amsterdam, which won the Booker prize, first, then Saturday. Saturday, despite some negative reviews, was a wonderful book–more thrilling and suspenseful than anything James Patterson or Stephen King or John Grisham can concoct. After reading The Comfort of Strangers, I’d say it’s as good a place as any to start.