After I put down the book, two thoughts immediately crossed my mind. These thoughts had begun to form while reading, but they remained hesitant and unfocused, and only really solidified afterwards. One was a general sense of unpleasantness mostly centered on the characters, primarily their selfish disregard for others, their inability to acknowledge their own faults while at the same time being quick to respond to perceived slights and faults in others. They were always capable of justifying their actions or inactions as it might be (for example, Linkley's decision not to intervene in what turned out to be a rape situation in order not to loose the melody in his head). They can make sense of it, and maybe, for a moment, so can the reader. They have their justifications, their motivations, but understanding does not equal acceptance. A sense of unpleasantness remained, and certainly not unintended, the archconservative politician emerges as the most unscathed. And the oft-cuckholded husband, who really only had control over his wife when she had lost control over her body, got everything he wanted. Maybe he even planned it?
The other was a vague Hitchcockian element. The assisted suicide pact segmenting into a double murder reminded me a bit of 'Strangers on a Train'. But even beyond, and I am not sure why, I kept thinking of 'Marnie', not so much in regard to plot, but just the atmosphere that McEwan creates.
And Molly. I wanted to know more about this woman at the center of it all. On the other hand, I am glad that she remained as elusive as she did. I enjoyed putting a picture together of her and her relationships with the men in her life, who seemed to untethered and without guidance now that she had passed on.
A good book, but not my favorite of his, that is and will probably always be 'Atonement'.