Sinister: Enduring Love

[Kieran Devaney]

Enduring love?
Well, yes, of course and no, not at all. ‘Enduring Love’ is also a book 
(notice the single speech marks around those two words, that denotes that 
I’m referring to the book and not to the noun and adjective – I remember 
writing in an essay once that “Macbeth is a play…” my English teacher quite 
correctly scribbled green ink in the margin to the effect of “Macbeth is not 
a play, ‘Macbeth’ is a play, Macbeth is a character in the play ‘Macbeth’” 
and I understood everything). ‘Enduring Love’ (again the book), isn’t very 
good, Ian McEwan is to blame, being the author. Clever? Well yes and no, he 
can certainly turn on the style when he wants to, but is ‘the style’ what we 
really want? Well yes and no, or to be more precise, no. What made the book 
annoying was the type of plot that, were it a TV movie, Channel Five would 
gladly screen it, mixed in with overly scientific, often ugly prose relating 
to the psychologies of each situation in the book. This mainly focussed on 
the largely dull, ageing (but to quote John Peel: “Show me someone who 
*isn’t* ageing…”), male type and his on/off/sort of off/on/sort of on/sort 
of off/on/ambiguously ending relationship with a lady called Clarissa. 
McEwan's knowledge of science and psychology is enviable, precisely what 
makes the book annoying, for this is the style we don’t want him to turn on. 
I wont spoil it for you but if you only read one book about a religious 
stalker who falls in love with the hero of the story during a freak hot air 
ballooning incident this year *don’t* make it ‘Enduring Love’. I think it 
was Dorothy Parker (I hope so anyway, how awful it would be to have a quote 
falsely attributed to you), that said:
“This isn’t a novel to be tossed aside gently, it should be thrown with 
great force.”
I’m paraphrasing inevitably, but the sentiment is there.

I was also going to write about people who start their newspapers at the 
back. But I realise I haven’t much else to say on the matter, and that such 
a phrase would be better kept back and used as part of a larger description 
of someone. For example: “He was standing right in front of me, deliberating 
whether or not to purchase a Feeder album or not, I cursed him inwardly 
because I wanted to look at Fall records, but he was in the way; I reasoned 
that he was probably someone who started his newspaper at the back - Feeder 
fans generally are. This made me feel better, and I went to look at 
something else for a bit – some Dylan CD’s I think it was, and by the time I 
got back to the ‘F’ section he had moved on. I never found out whether he 
bought that Feeder album or not.”
In a purely fictional situation like that the phrase works, gives something 
to the otherwise drab words and is the most interesting thing about the 
passage. I wonder though, how much of what I say is a quotation then, 
quoting myself. Storing up words inside you to recontextualise, or change 
for a different audience, perhaps to pass off as spontaneity seems callous, 
but I do it all the time. *cut* *change track* How our inflections and 
mannerisms change the shape of our thoughts in the space between our brain 
and our voice so that they come out as something quite different. Does this 
really matter? Are the perceptions people have of us not as true a 
reflection of our personalities as what we feel inside? Well, yes and no. 
It’s too big a question to answer with anything concrete really. It’s one of 
those novelty questions we ask to make ourselves feel better and less 
insignificant: “If I keep questioning then I shall find answers.” Except, 
comfortably, conveniently we wont. It’s like talking about cultural 
differences but only alluding to the differences in spelling between 
‘colour’ and ‘color’ or the contrast between ‘elevator’ and ‘lift’. Doesn’t 
get us anywhere, but it’s nice to think about it sometimes, and occasionally 
some truth might be got at, or some semblance of it at least. I’m rambling, 
inevitably; but isn’t the noble interaction between man and machine 
comforting! Words transformed from brain to keyboard to screen, it’s 
incredible really. Evolution in full flow, synapses triggering motor 
neurones (please correct my biology here, I'm almost inevitably wrong, I 
didn't deserve that 'B' at GCSE; I feel such a fraud), the whole of science 
and language and art and literature coming together. If I felt the need I 
could just tap at these keys with my stream of consciousness all night and 
feel a kind of plastic wholesomeness. When I was in primary school, and we 
had RM Nimbus 5’s (isn’t wallowing in nostalgia almost too easy to be fun?), 
and the very act of seeing what I had typed up on the screen, a screen which 
was tangible, but the words not, was fascinating. Intangible words on a 
tangible screen. Somewhere, in that mess of stubby prose there could be a 
metaphor for out times - something spurious about having the technology but 
not being able to control it.

Enough doe-eyed wonder interspersed with melodramatic vitriol I think.
I’ll write something proper soon, I’m building myself up to it by going 
through it in my head over and over, very therapeutic.
Peace and love
- Kieran


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