How
Modern Tradition Is : Sweet Music & the Remix
What
One Talks about When Reading a Genre
If there is travesty in Ian McEwan’s novel Sweet Tooth (2013), it is manifested in
the realm of the tone. If there is a correlation between characterization and
the tone, it is of a very specific nature. If there is an interconnectivity
between the two and the plot, it is certainly in the service of the message.
Speaking of the tone in
this peculiarly conventional narrative is to unpack the submerged sphere of the
storytelling flow. Tackling this knot within which traditional narration meets
contemporary quandary is to dive into the darkish shades of characterization
deployed in the form of contours rather than fully fledged images. Penetrating
that conundrum is to let the sequences comprising the plot constitute the
message : borne out of the seeming cacophony and its not infrequently
demonstrated capacity to bewilder and mesmerize.
The manner in which the
tone carries the narration is parallel to the way characterization empowers the
crocky characters with a restrained impact on the storyline, thus delineating
the very specificity of this literary element. Namely, what makes it so
singularly intricate is, dare one say, the vitality of the tangential, which is
not to be mistaken either for centrality or marginality. More precisely, the
character of Serena From is sketched so its narrating maneuvering is sovereign
enough to keep the reader’s allegiance, and yet, sufficiently seductive to
allow for possible wandering along the erratic pathways engendered by the
echoed characters such as that of Jeremy, Tony, Max, Tom, or other--named and
unnamed alike.
The peculiarity of such
a narration lies in its relying on mediation. And yet, the manner in which the
message is conveyed is somewhat incomparable with the literary procédé
implemented in other books of McEwan’s. Specifically, the narrator in Sweet Tooth is certainly very different
from the one in Black Dogs (1992). Its incapacity to contain the
narrative (that weird beauty of weakness) is portrayed through the use of
epistolary form, and yet, the afflicted totality of the reliability upon such
narration is surely disparate from how the storytelling device in question is
incorporated in Enduring Love (1997).
What is submerged in the unuttered is part of the thematic regarding the
reflections about philosophical tensions such as that between the public and
the private, which features a discrepancy in comparison with the treatment of
the issues in Amsterdam (1998).
And yet, not everything
is so very diverse in the novel Sweet Tooth. If there is a
thread that ensures a continuum throughout the oeuvre of this twentieth &
twenty-first century bard, it is imbued in the significance that the surface
layers of the narrative have for the message emerging from the hidden depths.
To say this is to inevitably relativize the notion of the surface. It is also
to invoke the relevance of the persistence of the themes such as human
relationships and communication. To acknowledge this is nothing short of
recognizing language as an epitome of the power of weakness : erroneous,
imperfect, elusive, and yet abundant in the sources for recuperating
imperfectness through disclosing the very limits of it. Like humans.
If there is a node
holding the web of McEwan’s storytelling by and large, it might be the subtlety
with which seemingly minor scenes are woven. One of them is the farewell pub scene
(or, so it seemed at that moment) showing Serena and her friend--soon to be a
former colleague, since she is just about to be fired—Shirley. It is not the
conversation between them that carries the narrative line, but rather the
adjacent scene depicting the band gradually occupying the stage. The suspension
of the confidential messages presumably to be exchanged before Shirley leaves
MI5--the same agency Serena works for--is suggested through a slightly delayed
emergence of the band on the stage. Like a frozen moment between the soundcheck
and the concert.
The tension suspended
across the elusiveness of the semi-decipherability of the withdrawn words is
dissolved by the establishment of the sovereign presence first of the drummer
(132), then of the bass player (134). The encounter between the two colleagues /
friends in the pub demarcates the intensification of the conspiratorial,
bewildering flow within which introjection and projection between and among the
characters generates similar intersections with other narratives, notably those
by T.H. Haley. Shirley expects to hear from Serena the secret that would
illuminate her being sacked. Serena anticipates to be given the explanation for
being under suspicion and, consequently, being spied on. The shared experience
of being under surveillance entices hopes for the unknown to be revealed.
However, neither has the information the counterpart needs. Instead, the
mounting confusion is sabotaged by the opening chords of the track coming from
the stage hosting the band assembled. Shirley disappears without saying
goodbye. Serena stays sipping the remnants of the drinks, then she goes home. A
hazy cab ride and a tipsy afternoon mark the beginning of her enhanced learning
how to read the prose of Thomas Haley. Or, simply, learning how to read.
If it constitutes the thread upon which the
nodes within the web of Ian McEwan’s storytelling are based, it is most vividly
suggested through the nexus between the aforementioned frozen moment and the
passion McEwan infuses in the depiction of the artistry of guitar playing in Saturday (2005). Almost oxymoronically,
typically colliding emotions characterize the wonder of Theo’s wizardry: ”At
the heart of the blues is not melancholy, but a strange and worldly joy” (28).
If there is a travesty
in Sweet Tooth, it is to be sought
along the lines suggested in this mesmerizing observation about the genre. If
the travesty is manifested in narrative fabric, it is at least twofold. If the
reader seeks the thrill in the vertiginous euphoria of spy novel and/or any
akin genre, it might disable digging the concealed connection between the
surface and profound realms of the story. Or, some such relation.
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