New from the bestselling author of Atonement and The Children ActTrudy has betrayed her husband, John. She’s still in the marital home—a dilapidated, priceless London townhouse—but John’s not there. 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 … 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.
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This is an oddly compelling story told from the POV of an eight and a half month fetus…very strange.
A book in the voice of a fetus–what more needs to be said. Quite the unique point of view–and McEwan’s skill in story-telling and characters is entrancing.
When my book club pals suggested we read Nutshell, the selling point was “you won’t believe the point of view.” Our club has read books that tell stories from the point of view of a dog, a dead girl, a drunk, and a madman, so sure, I was game to read this book. The other selling point was the author was Ian McEwan whom we love with a deep readers’ passion for his elegant, breathtakingly beautiful story Atonement. We were all in for the ride.
I suspect the point of view for Nutshell was decided on a dare from other writers, over drinks. “Bet ya can’t find a new point of view no one has ever done before.” And McEwan, being the talented award-winning author he is, said, “Hold my beer.” He tells a story of marital discord from the point of view of a fetus. Yes, a fetus. He has done far more with this story than readers might expect simply because he is a masterful storyteller. There are a few cheats, places in the story in which the main character knows things he could not. And this fetus has McEwan’s vocabulary. I had to look up the meaning of lambent (glowing), cludgie (bathroom), and exequy (funeral rites). Thanks for that. But as a book lover, I had to suspend my disbelief with both hands, high overhead, page by page to the bitter end.
This is my least favorite McEwan book. The literary critics will no doubt hail it as brilliant, groundbreaking, mind-expanding prose. Which will inevitably lead to imitators, heaven protect us. Just as Anne Rice revived interest in vampire stories, should we expect more stories told from in utero? Or will the millennial authors go one step further with stories told from the perspective of inanimate objects, possibly a murder weapon or a pen? Please, no more explorations of life from a womb. Let’s all agree it’s been done and move on.
I admire McEwan’s talent so much I will read his next book, and try to forget about this one for reminding me with every page that the writer was at work.
This book pays homage to Hamlet, but from the mind of a fetus. That was taking a well known trope and making it original! Well done!
Loved it!
I would recommend this book for the language alone. Pick any paragraph and it’s worth reading aloud. Also, the story, characters, wit, social commentary, and particularly the narrator will knock your socks off!!!
I never thought I’d give an Ian McEwan novel less than five stars. Atonement, On Chesil Beach, The Children Act. Amazing, amazing amazing. All five-star. Not so much this one, for me. Trudy and Claude were utterly unlikable and a good deal of the writing was inaccessible. I am able to suspend disbelief quite easily, but there were inconsistencies between the fetus as omniscient narrator and as a point-of-view narrator that kept getting in the way. As for the latter, it seemed a strained attempt to legitimize the impossibility of it all by extrapolating from plausible sensations. Two high points of Nutshell: the descriptions of life inside the womb (symbiotic fetus/mother relationship) and the police investigation at the end. Thankfully, this novel is short and I persevered to the end, which is quite suspenseful and raised my rating from one to two stars.
As a McEwan fan, this short book enthused and irritated me by turns. It’s an extraordinary premise, a domestic crime narrated by an unborn, and a retelling of a Shakespearean tragedy with a comic flair.
Our narrator, physically uncomfortable inside the womb and awkwardly worldly whilst not yet in it, is privy to a plot. His mother and uncle plan to kill his father and leave his own place fragile. Yet this is not the Danish court but St John’s Wood, home to the middle classes; poets, property developers and pretty girls in summer sandals.
As our hero is confined to his in utero existence, the reader is confined to the house. The various floors, the waste, the dust, the dilapidation take the role of proscenium arch, upon which the action plays.
Trudy and Claude want John dead, so they can inherit the crumbling 7K worth family home. She’s pregnant and heavy in the London summer heat. He’s dull and stupid but eminently practical.
Our narrator, whose turn of phrase and panoramic perception comes apparently from listening to radio and podcasts through the wall of the womb, has elder statesman opinions and an innate self-interest.
The plot unwinds with more or less plausibility, the voice convinces more as author than character, but the stage action absorbs through character, quirk and hothouse environment. You leave this book with the sense of leaving the theatre – the director delivered an experience, just not one you might have expected.
A bit like being born.
Unusual point of view!