The Silence of the World

Ian McEwan is the best writer of our generation, and it's a shame it's taken me this long to figure it out. People know him for his novels, particularly "Atonement" and "Amsterdam," but it's his short fiction that just blows me away, books like "First Love, Last Rites" and - now - "Inbetween the Sheets." Tonight I read the first story in the latter collection, called "Pornography." It's the most wrong, twisted, perverse thing I've read in ages, and it's also the most beautifully written, so you're torn between utter horror at what happens at the end, and this sense of awe at his command for the language, and the way he's toyed with you along the way. The whole time you sense something bad is going to happen, and then when it's finally revealed, it's beyond your fucking wildest dreams where he's taken it to.

I know I'm prone to hyperbole. When I'm introduced to something for the first time, whether it's a work of art or a girl or just the crispy tacos at Nick's, I get overcome with excitement, and can't contain my enthusiasm. It's always harmless, it's always exaggerated, but it's also something I refuse to change. I just read the most brilliant story and I'm on a high as a result of it, and I offer no apologies here.

Tomorrow, I'll read another story in the collection, and perhaps it will be even better. But for tonight, for right this minute, I can calmly say, this is why I'm a writer, to be exposed to such genius, and I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world.