Amseterdam - Ian McEwan

Besides, in Vernon's life lately there was so much to think about, so much of the real world that thrilled, that mere fantasy could hardly compete. What he had said, what he would say, how it went down, the next move, the unraveling consequences of success... In the accumulating momentum of the week, practically every hour had revealed to Vernon new aspects of his powers and potential, and as his gifts for persuasion and planning began to produce results, he felt large and benign, a little ruthless, perhaps, but ultimately good, capable of standing alone against the current, seeing over the heads of his contemporaries, knowing that he was about to shape the destiny of his country and that he could bear the responsibility. More than bear--he needed this weight, his gifts needed the weight that no one else could shoulder.
-Pg 109

So thinks the Vernon the unremarkable newspaper man, who until the political scandal he is helping to stoke came to light, was described as an empty vessel of a human being whose position as an editor of a failing newspaper was a matter of chance and coincidence rather than any real ambition or skill. His hubris is notable only in that it is the unconvincing peak of his character's arc, and is the ham-handedly given key to this ham-fisted morality tale of an entertainment. Vernon, like the other main character in the book, Clive, a successful composer who falls short of his own aspirations to genius, is petty. In fact every other character in the book is petty, each armed with the commonplace instinct to disregard any idea of moral fortitude in the quest to get ahead. And in the end, although the two main characters suffer for their sins (the punishment brought about by an extremely unconvincing deux ex machina), the theme is not that the righteous will prevail, but that two awful men brought down by their own actions are merely representative of a society peopled with other, equally detestable human beings.

Is it funny? Perhaps, but not particularly so, as the humor is undercut consistently by the sense that reading the book is an utter waste of time. What it reminds me of is a Boccaccio story that has been stretched so as to make it long enough to be publishable as a novel (aided by a large type that indicts the publishers of this book with the same cynicism that is embodied by the books characters), which by being overly lengthened distributes the weight and heft of the tale in a diffuse, inefficient way. It seems like the whole point of the book was to introduce the cute trick that ends it, and although McEwan has a good grasp on the vicissitudes of newspaper men, artists, and politicians alike and can use his fluid prose to present the story in a painless way, the whole thing is undermined by the feeling that much of the detail included about the characters was introduced as needless filler, mealy potatoes added to the gristly meat in a watery, all-too-common stew.