In Ian McEwan’s Atonement (2001), aspiring writer 13-year-old Briony Tallis glimpses a world of opaque “adult emotion”. Holding a pen and blank paper before her, she feels a powerful impulse to write in order to impose order and meaning on adulthood’s slippery uncertainties.
Earlier on that hot summer’s day in 1935, she had witnessed a perplexing scene of seeming “ugly threat”. Her older sister, Cecilia, undressed in front of their cleaning lady’s son (and fellow Cambridge graduate) Robbie Turner. She then plunged, in her underwear, into an ornamental fountain.
Briony’s urge to write is triggered when she reads the private note she had been tasked with delivering from Robbie to Cecilia. Within, she is shocked to discover Robbie’s desire for Cecilia, expressed through use of the unutterable “c” word. Later, looking through the door of their darkened library, Briony mistakenly believes she sees Robbie committing a violent assault on her sister.
This article is part of Rethinking the Classics. The stories in this series offer insightful new ways to think about and interpret classic books, films and artworks. This is the canon – with a twist.
McEwan’s novel presents a privileged English country house setting that descends into a chaos of mistakes, class resentment, educational ambition and sex, expressed both as desire and power. The latter is evident in the rape of Briony’s cousin Lola.
Convinced that she has seen, and now read, the truth about “evil” Robbie’s “disgusting” obsession with her sister, Briony believes he is the culprit. She is confident that her writing will expose a “maniac’s” guilt. However, her urge to write upon the blank page is stronger than her sense of what precisely to say.
In fact, what she writes at this crucial moment – “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly” – feels entirely strange. But just as the old lady of the nursery rhyme fatally bites off ever more that she can chew in swallowing a fly, a spider, a bird, a cat, so Briony’s tragically mistaken ideas about Robbie ends in his incrimination and incarceration.
Robbie is free only when released to fight for the British Expeditionary Force in France in 1940. He strives to return to Cecilia via the horrors and heroism of that most resonant of British stories, Dunkirk.
Life stages, ageing and creativity are important themes in Atonement. It is as an older lady writer herself that Briony atones for the incriminating stories that her juvenile writer self swallowed and multiplied.
Read more: Dunkirk survivors’ terror didn’t end when they were rescued
Creativity in later life
Putting age and later life front and centre urges the reader to reassess McEwan’s renowned “twist”. That is, the moment readers discover that key scenes in the novel – meetings between Briony, Cecilia and Robbie following the latter’s evacuation from Dunkirk – never happened.
As we are told on the penultimate page, the truth is that Robbie died of septicaemia in the dunes of Dunkirk and Cecilia was killed in the direct hit of a bomb on the Balham tube station in 1940.
At this moment, we realise that what we have been reading is the final draft of the atoning conclusion to a work by now 77-year-old Briony. Like so many late stylists (a writer who, in later life, returns to earlier preoccupations and themes), Briony, an established author with a reputation for “amorality”, revisits her early work on her 77th birthday party. It’s an event that brings her back to the estate of her childhood, now converted into a hotel.
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Briony’s later life shapes the closure of the story, but McEwan’s imaginative engagement with ageing affects every aspect of the novel. He presents readers with story-shaped anticipations of mid- and later life, even when the character will not live to see that age.
Robbie, working-class protégé of Mr Tallis’s educational philanthropy, with a first in English literature from Cambridge, consciously awakens into his unacknowledged love for Cecilia while thinking about his age and future.
The feelings coincide with his developing aspiration to train in medicine, and his imaginary anticipations of his life course.
He thought of himself in 1962, at 50, when he would be old, but not quite old enough to be useless, and of the weathered, knowing doctor he would be by then, with the secret stories, the tragedies and successes stacked behind him"
These will be embodied in books – more writings – “possessed in the thousands”. Briony and Cecilia’s migraine-suffering mother Emily, meanwhile, sees her ageing self grow “stiffer in the limbs and more irrelevant by the day”.
Through the character of Briony, McEwan contests the ageism and invisibility that can be the fate of older women. McEwan may take her to the brink of a terminal neurological decline in 1999 – she is diagnosed with vascular dementia – but Briony resists the othering that ageism imposes on older people: “we may look truly reptilian, but we’re not a separate tribe”.
The end of the novel presents readers with a view of active, meaningful later life as a creative time of collaborative, curatorial story telling.
Readers become aware of the “sources” of the dramatic story of Robbie’s trek across northern France in the company of Corporals Mace and Nettle. Seventy-seven-year-old Briony donates the “dozen long letters from old Mr Nettle” to the archives of the Imperial War Museum, where she has been researching.
This act of memory preservation returns readers to the meaning of the horrors, carnage and heroism of the Dunkirk evacuation which McEwan presents through that powerful central episode in the novel. The evacuation of more than 300,000 troops from Dunkirk, including a small proportion of volunteer boats, makes Dunkirk a nationally resonant story.
Briony’s collaborative, later-life storytelling captures the heroism and sacrifice inherent in the perspectives of the wounded evacuee combatants. But so, too, their more sceptical, critical accents.
They “were bitter about the newspaper celebrations of the miracle evacuation and the heroism of the little boats. ‘A fucking shambles,’ she heard one of them mutter.” Or more precisely, the older lady recalled hearing, and then wrote.
Beyond the canon
As part of the Rethinking the Classics series, we’re asking our experts to recommend a book or artwork that tackles similar themes to the canonical work in question, but isn’t (yet) considered a classic itself. Here is David Amigoni’s suggestion:
Paul Bailey, who died in October 2024, was an excellent but under-acknowledged writer who deserves to be more widely read.
His writing went against the grain is subtle ways. He was experimenting with ways of writing about later life at the beginning of his career in 1967, with the publication of At the Jerusalem, set in a home for older women. He was then in his early 30s.
The Prince’s Boy (2014) was written when he was 77 – the same age as McEwan’s fictional Briony Tallis when she completes Atonement. It revisits key themes in Bailey’s earlier work: sexuality (he was a gay man), love, Proust, Romania and Europe.
David Amigoni received funding from RCUK (now UKRI) for his work on ageing and late-life creativity. He is affiliated with The Conversation UK as Chair of its Editorial Board.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
