The Innocent

Ian McEwan has stumbled onto my radar once again with the novel that marked his departure from the short story to the long, The Innocent. Published just after the Fall of the Berlin Wall it reflects on the special relationship between England and America during the post-war years, the loss of cultural naivety and, of course, innocence. We follow Leonard, the hapless Brit who's posted in Berlin under the guidance of his American superiors, as he discovers his adult self through a blend of new-found independence, financial accountability, and love. His relationship with the beautiful Maria, a German, encapsulates not only his definitive shift from boyhood to manhood, but also the coming together of nations previously at odds, embodying the future of a unified Europe. McEwan's story-telling remains his emphasis, but the prose lacks the concentration of his later works. We're reminded more of Atonement with its sweeping landscapes, heartbreak and loss of innocence, more so than we are of On Chesil Beach, with its relentless focus on character and true romantic love. As is the case with many of McEwan's works, the narrative hinges on a single moment, whether the false accusation of a child, or the fumbling of a marital night. Here, however, the crux is condensed to a single sentence, denoting at once the beginnings of tragedy, but also the inevitable.

Just then, Maria burst into flames.

The power of this description belies its simplicity. The underlying metaphor of despair, corruption, and the possibility of harmony between people, cultures, nations, is lost. The innocence laid before us during their earliest exchange between the sheets is shattered. Now we face the prospect of forced maturity, unsteadied by urgency, in place of the gradual growth of character. McEwan's insight into the nature of innocence is absolute perfection. Here, when Leonard admits his virginity:

Maria's blushes were brought on by shame at the laughter she knew Leonard would misunderstand. For hers was the laughter of nervous relief. She had been suddenly absolved from the pressures and rituals of seduction. She would not have to adopt a conventional role and be judged in it, and she would not be measured against other women. [...] She was free, they both were free, to invent their own terms.

Nothing prepares the reader for the unfolding scenes, and the closing moments bring about a feeling of total dismay, clouded by uncertainty and stalwart possibility. I highly recommend it.