Trudy has betrayed her husband, John. She's still in the marital home – a dilapidated, priceless London townhouse – but not with John. Instead, she's with his brother, the profoundly banal Claude, and the two of them have a plan. But there is a witness to their plot: the inquisitive, nine-month-old resident of Trudy's womb. Told from a perspective unlike any other, Nutshell is a classic tale of murder and deceit from one of the world's master storytellers.
Ο Ίαν Μακ Γιούαν γεννήθηκε το 1948, σπούδασε στα Πανεπιστήμια Sussex και East Anglia και δημοσίευσε την πρώτη του συλλογή διηγημάτων, με τίτλο "Fist Love, Last Rites", το 1975, αποσπώντας μάλιστα το βραβείο Somerset Maughman, και τη δεύτερη με τίτλο "Between the Sheets", το 1977. Το 1987 κέρδισε το Whitbread Award (και το Prix Femina Etranger, έξι χρόνια μετά), για το μυθιστόρημά του "Child in Time". Έχει γράψει αρκετά μυθιστορήματα και σενάρια για τον κινηματογράφο. Τρία μυθιστορήματά του συμπεριλήφθηκαν στις τελικές υποψηφιότητες για το βραβείο Booker ("Έμμονη αγάπη", "Άμστερνταμ", "Εξιλέωση"). Το βραβείο τού απονεμήθηκε, τελικά, το 1998, για το "Άμστερνταμ". Η "Εξιλέωση" (2002), επίσης, έχει τιμηθεί με τα εξής βραβεία: W.H. Smith Literary Award (2002), National Book Critics Circle Fiction Award (2003), Los Angeles Times Prize for Fiction (2003), και Santiago Prize for the European Novel (2004). Για το μυθιστόρημα "Σάββατο" τιμήθηκε το 2006 με το βραβείο James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
Hometown:
Oxford, England
Date of Birth:
June 21, 1948
Place of Birth:
Aldershot, England
Education:
B.A., University of Sussex, 1970; M.A., University of East Anglia, 1971
So here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and wondering who I’m in, what I’m in for. My eyes close nostalgically when I remember how I once drifted in my translucent body bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my thoughts through my private ocean in slow-motion somersaults, colliding gently against the transparent bounds of my confinement, the confiding membrane that vibrated with, even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of space to myself, knees crammed against belly, my thoughts as well as my head are fully engaged. I’ve no choice, my ear is pressed all day and night against the bloody walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I’m troubled. I’m hearing pillow talk of deadly intent and I’m terrified by what awaits me, by what might draw me in. (Continues…)
1. There are many allusions and references in the novel to Shakespeare, Hamlet in particular. Cite them all. Which resonated with you the most?
2. It’s not easy to empathize with Trudy. But give it a try. Discuss her character, her dilemma, and the ways in which you identify with her.
3. At one critical point John gives a soliloquy, the story of his love affair and marriage with Trudy. How surprising was that to you? What does it say about romantic love? Did you feel differently about John and Trudy after reading this?
4. Does Claude have any redeeming qualities? If so, what are they?
5. There are numerous mentions of fine wine, music, literature, and current geopolitics that suggest an unexpected worldliness in our narrator. A fetus has no business knowing about such things. How does McEwan pull it off?
6. In what ways is the ending inevitable? Surprising? Satisfying?
7. If Nutshell were made into a film, who would you cast in the roles of John, Trudy, and Claude?
8. In Atonement, we meet one of McEwan’s most unreliable narrators, Briony. In Nutshell we meet his most reliable narrator. Or is he? Should we trust him just because he hasn’t yet been spoiled by the outside world?
9. What other Ian McEwan novels have you read? Discuss the arc of McEwan’s writing career: his themes, his literary tropes, his plots and characters. Where does this novel fit in that arc? And where does it all point?
10. McEwan has said elsewhere that many novels are over-long. In your opinion what are the virtues of the shorter novels that McEwan often delivers? How, in general, do longer novels fall short?
