The first sentence establishes the rather repellent qualities of the protagonist, Michael Beard. So repellent that it’s hard to remember how clever he is (Nobel prize) and to believe that he attracts so many pleasant women. It’s been a long time since I last read a novel by a man about a man’s life; suddenly I was back in a Y-chromosome world made familiar by Saul Bellow (Herzog, maybe), Martin Amis and early William Boyd. I also remembered radio science programmes some years ago that mentioned the scheme of sending scientists and artists to the Arctic/Antarctic so that they could work together in some way to capture the public’s imagination about global warming. Apparently McEwan went on one such trip; this is his novel about global warming.
It’s about (a flawed plan for) solar energy for a planet that can’t wean itself off over-consumption of energy. And, in parallel, a man who, despite his initial resolution, just can’t reform his diet, his lifestyle and his womanising to live a healthier life. It’s clever, satirical, funny, well-researched and, perhaps, a bit too long.













