Having made his name as the master of the macabre with novels such as The Cement Garden and The Comfort of Strangers, McEwan allowed an emerging humanity to supplant his fascination with the sinister as long ago as A Child in Time. But this wise, deserving winner of last year's Booker prize is a revelation. It follows the contrasting fortunes of several men, including two friends, united by having all had affairs with the mercurial Molly. Although the novel opens at her funeral, she remains its presiding consciousness. Friendship and betrayal, deception and particularly self-deception and moral cowardice lie at its heart. Brilliantly observed, very human and unexpectedly enjoyable, its genius rests in its wry honesty and sharp characterisation. It is also beautifully written; never has McEwan's invariably precise prose possessed greater clarity and ease.
