Ian McEwan

Following in the footsteps of Jane Austen "that supreme master of the moral equation," Ian McEwan uses Atonement, not merely to tell a good story, but to explore "how mistakes may or may not be rectified." His heroine, Briony, plays God and "like God she can never be forgiven," he says. "Like God, she can never truly have atonement." With this book he provides some answers to the troubling questions in life: "What would it be like to have a crime to atone for?" or "How could you forgive yourself?" "I hope the readers will forgive her," McEwan says, because she is a woman with a "profound moral conscience."

Atonement is also a vehicle that gives McEwan's readers a close look at human faces during wartime -- a topic of timelessness. He did not, he says, "approach it with any anti-war notion, although," he adds, "I don't see how anyone could be for war."

Comforting poignancy in a time of tragedy

War of a different caliber sparked his commentaries published in the English newspaper The Guardian the day after the Sept. 11 attacks and a month afterwards -- highlighting yet another facet of this literary virtuoso. Here, too, he strikes just the right note -- "We were trapped in the unfolding of the vent and the knowledge that the huge emotional dam was yet to break …" -- and moved many of his readers to tears. It is not a reaction that this Whitebread, Booker and Shakespeare prize winner often elicits from the dedicated readers of his novels. These reach into other places and touch other emotions -- fear, anger and dismay.

McEwan’s work has trod diverse paths over the years, but there is, particularly in his novels, a vision that runs through them all.

"I think novels are extremely important," McEwan says, "and I don’t think their importance is measured by the mount of fizzing and popping and width of stage." Far more significant is the spur that they can be to self-examination.

"I hope that my readers will reflect,” he says.

Breandáin O'Shea