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Atonement
 
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Atonement [Format Kindle]

Ian McEwan
4.3 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (11 commentaires client)

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Descriptions du produit

Amazon.fr

Atonement is Ian McEwan's ninth novel and his first since the Booker Prize-winning Amsterdam in 1998. But whereas Amsterdam was a slim, sleek piece, Atonement is a more sturdy, ambitious work, allowing McEwan more room to play, think and experiment. We meet 13-year-old Briony Tallis in the summer of 1935, as she attempts to stage a production of her new drama The Trials of Arabella to welcome home her elder, idolised brother Leon. But she soon discovers that her cousins, the glamorous Lola and the twin boys Jackson and Pierrot, aren't up to the task, and directorial ambitions are abandoned as more interesting preoccupations come onto the scene. The charlady's son Robbie Turner appears to be forcing Briony's sister Cecilia to strip in the Fountain and sends her obscene letters; Leon has brought home a dim chocolate magnate keen for a war to promote his new "Army Amo" bar; and upstairs Briony's migraine-stricken mother Emily keeps tabs on the house from her bed. Soon, secrets emerge that change the lives of everyone present... The interwar upper-middle-class setting of the book's long, masterfully sustained opening section might recall Virginia Woolf or Henry Green, but as we move forward--eventually to the turn of the 21st century--the novel's central concerns emerge, and McEwan's voice becomes clear, even personal. For at heart, Atonement is about the pleasures, pains and dangers of writing, and perhaps even more, about the challenge of controlling what readers make of your writing. McEwan shouldn't have any doubts about readers of Atonement: this is a thoughtful, provocative and at times moving book that will have readers applauding.--Alan Stewart

Extrait

CHAPTER ONEThe play, for which Briony had designed the posters, programmes and tickets, constructed the sales booth out of a folding screen tipped on its side, and lined the collection box in red crepe paper, was written by her in a two-day tempest of composition, causing her to miss a breakfast and a lunch. When the preparations were complete, she had nothing to do but contemplate her finished draft and wait for the appearance of her cousins from the distant north. There would be time for only one day of rehearsal before her brother arrived. At some moments chilling, at others desperately sad, the play told a tale of the heart whose message, conveyed in a rhyming prologue, was that love which did not build a foundation on good sense was doomed. The reckless passion of the heroine, Arabella, for a wicked foreign count is punished by ill fortune when she contracts cholera during an impetuous dash towards a seaside town with her intended. Deserted by him and nearly everybody else, bed-bound in a garret, she discovers in herself a sense of humour. Fortune presents her a second chance in the form of an impoverished doctor--in fact, a prince in disguise who has elected to work among the needy. Healed by him, Arabella chooses judiciously this time, and is rewarded by reconciliation with her family and a wedding with the medical prince on `a windy sunlit day in spring'.Mrs Tallis read the seven pages of The Trials of Arabella in her bedroom, at her dressing table, with the author's arm around her shoulder the whole while. Briony studied her mother's face for every trace of shifting emotion, and Emily Tallis obliged with looks of alarm, snickers of glee and, at the end, grateful smiles and wise, affirming nods. She took her daughter in her arms, onto her lap--ah, that hot smooth little body she remembered from its infancy, and still not gone from her, not quite yet--and said that the play was 'stupendous', and agreed instantly, murmuring into the tight whorl of the girl's ear, that this word could be quoted on the poster which was to be on an easel in the entrance hall by the ticket booth.Briony was hardly to know it then, but this was the project's highest point of fulfilment. Nothing came near it for satisfaction, all else was dreams and frustration. There were moments in the summer dusk after her light was out, burrowing in the delicious gloom of her canopy bed, when she made her heart thud with luminous, yearning fantasies, little playlets in themselves, every one of which featured Leon. In one, his big, good-natured face buckled in grief as Arabella sank in loneliness and despair. In another, there he was, cocktail in hand at some fashionable city watering hole, overheard boasting to a group of friends: Yes, my younger sister, Briony Tallis the writer, you must surely have heard of her. In a third he punched the air in exultation as the final curtain fell, although there was no curtain, there was no possibility of a curtain. Her play was not for her cousins, it was for her brother, to celebrate his return, provoke his admiration and guide him away from his careless succession of girlfriends, towards the right form of wife, the one who would persuade him to return to the countryside, the one who would sweetly request Briony's services as a bridesmaid.She was one of those children possessed by a desire to have the world just so. Whereas her big sister's room was a stew of unclosed books, unfolded clothes, unmade bed, unemptied ashtrays, Briony's was a shrine to her controlling demon: the model farm spread across a deep window ledge consisted of the usual animals, but all facing one way--towards their owner--as if about to break into song, and even the farmyard hens were neatly corralled. In fact, Briony's was the only tidy upstairs room in the house. Her straight-backed dolls in their many-roomed mansion appeared to be under strict instructions not to touch the walls; the various thumb-sized figures to be found standing about her dressing table--cowboys, deep-sea divers, humanoid mice--suggested by their even ranks and spacing a citizen's army awaiting orders.A taste for the miniature was one aspect of an orderly spirit. Another was a passion for secrets: in a prized varnished cabinet, a secret drawer was opened by pushing against the grain of a cleverly turned dovetail joint, and here she kept a diary locked by a clasp, and a notebook written in a code of her own invention. In a toy safe opened by six secret numbers she stored letters and postcards. An old tin petty cash box was hidden under a removable floorboard beneath her bed. In the box were treasures that dated back four years, to her ninth birthday when she began collecting: a mutant double acorn, fool's gold, a rain-making spell bought at a funfair, a squirrel's skull as light as a leaf.But hidden drawers, lockable diaries and cryptographic systems could not conceal from Briony the simple truth: she had no secrets. Her wish for a harmonious, organised world denied her the reckless possibilities of wrongdoing. Mayhem and destruction were too chaotic for her tastes, and she did not have it in her to be cruel. Her effective status as an only child, as well as the relative isolation of the Tallis house, kept her, at least during the long summer holidays, from girlish intrigues with friends. Nothing in her life was sufficiently interesting or shameful to merit hiding; no one knew about the squirrel's skull beneath her bed, but no one wanted to know. None of this was particularly an affliction; or rather, it appeared so only in retrospect, once a solution had been found.At the age of eleven she wrote her first story--a foolish affair, imitative of half a dozen folk tales and lacking, she realised later, that vital knowingness about the ways of the world which compels a reader's respect. But this first clumsy attempt showed her that the imagination itself was a source of secrets: once she had begun a story, no one could be told. Pretending in words was too tentative, too vulnerable, too embarrassing to let anyone know. Even writing out the she saids, the and thens, made her wince, and she felt foolish, appearing to know about the emotions of an imaginary being. Self-exposure was inevitable the moment she described a character's weakness; the reader was bound to speculate that she was describing herself. What other authority could she have? Only when a story was finished, all fates resolved and the whole matter sealed off at both ends so it resembled, at least in this one respect, every other finished story in the world, could she feel immune, and ready to punch holes in the margins, bind the chapters with pieces of string, paint or draw the cover, and take the finished work to show to her mother, or her father, when he was home.Her efforts received encouragement. In fact, they were welcomed as the Tallises began to understand that the baby of the family possessed a strange mind and a facility with words. The long afternoons she spent browsing through dictionary and thesaurus made for constructions that were inept, but hauntingly so: the coins a villain concealed in his pocket were 'esoteric', a hoodlum caught stealing a car wept in 'shameless auto-exculpation', the heroine on her thoroughbred stallion made a 'cursory' journey through the night, the king's furrowed brow was the 'hieroglyph' of his displeasure. Briony was encouraged to read her stories aloud in the library and it surprised her parents and older sister to hear their quiet girl perform so boldly, making big gestures with her free arm, arching her eyebrows as she did the voices, and looking up from the page for seconds at a time as she read in order to gaze into one face after the other, unapologetically demanding her family's total attention as she cast her narrative spell.Even without their attention and praise and obvious pleasure, Briony could not have been held back from her writing. In any case, she was discovering, as had many writers before her, that not all recognition is helpful. Cecilia's enthusiasm, for example, seemed a little overstated, tainted with condescension perhaps, and intrusive too; her big sister wanted each bound story catalogued and placed on the library shelves, between Rabindranath Tagore and Quintus Tertullian. If this was supposed to be a joke, Briony ignored it. She was on course now, and had found satisfaction on other levels; writing stories not only involved secrecy, it also gave her all the pleasures of miniaturisation. A world could be made in five pages, and one that was more pleasing than a model farm. The childhood of a spoiled prince could be framed within half a page, a moonlit dash through sleepy villages was one rhythmically emphatic sentence, falling in love could be achieved in a single word--a glance. The pages of a recently finished story seemed to vibrate in her hand with all the life they contained. Her passion for tidiness was also satisfied, for an unruly world could be made just so. A crisis in a heroine's life could be made to coincide with hailstones, gales and thunder, whereas nuptials were generally blessed with good light and soft breezes. A love of order also shaped the principles of justice, with death and marriage the main engines of housekeeping, the former being set aside exclusively for the morally dubious, the latter a reward withheld until the final page.The play she had written for Leon's homecoming was her first excursion into drama, and she had found the transition quite effortless. It was a relief not to be writing out the she saids, or describing the weather or the onset of spring or her heroine's face--beauty, she had discovered, occupied a narrow band. Ugliness, on the other hand, had infinite variation. A universe reduced to what was said in it was tidiness indeed, almost to the point of nullity, and to compensate, every utterance was delivered at the extremity of some feeling or other, in the service of which the exclamation mark was indispensable. The Trials of Arabella may have been a melodrama, but its author had yet to hear the term. The piece was intended to inspire not laughter, but terror, relief and instruction, in that order, and the innocent intensity w...

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 528 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 370 pages
  • Pagination - ISBN de l'édition imprimée de référence : 038572179X
  • Editeur : Vintage Digital; Édition : New Ed (11 mars 2010)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0099507382
  • ISBN-13: 978-0099507383
  • ASIN: B00354YA4A
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.3 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (11 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°22.026 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Commentaires client les plus utiles
5 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 An engrossing read 17 janvier 2004
Par D. Legare TOP 1000 COMMENTATEURS VOIX VINE
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
This book is about how a strong-headed and over imaginative 13-year-old child can tear apart the lives of a whole family in pre-war Britain. Briony’s warped and imperfect perception of the adult world will suddenly alter it forever. Atonement is a pleasantly slow and engrossing read that engulfed me for days.
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3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 chef d'oeuvre ! 23 novembre 2010
Format:Broché
Atonement est un chef-d'oeuvre, absolument remarquable, à la fois une intrigue sentimentale un récit de guerre, une étude sur les moeurs de l'époque,une analyse très fine de la psychologie féminine et surtout une réflexion sur le métier d'écrivain. Tout le monde parle du début du roman où la vie des protagonistes bascule, mais il y a aussi les scènes à l'hôpital à Londres pendant la guerre et surtout la description de la bataille de Dunkerque. C'est un roman extrêmement émouvant, un des meilleurs livres que j'ai jamais lu, sinon le meilleur.
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3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Epatant 14 mars 2008
Format:Poche
Le livre est bien écrit, avec des détails et une bonne vision de l'Angleterre au début de la 2ème guerre mondiale. C'est incroyable comme Ian McEwan arrive à se mettre dans la tête d'une enfant puis jeune-fille.
Surtout, j'ai lu le livre juste après avoir vu le film, et c'est une epérience géniale. On se rend compte comme le metteur en scène a su respecter les dialogues à la virgule près et transformer des descriptions ou des pensées du livre en image. Pour une fois, le livre et le film se marient bien et on peut vraiment aimer les 2 sans être déçu.
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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 pas son meilleur 7 avril 2008
Par LB
Format:Poche
C'est un bon roman, mais pas à la hauteur des autres (Amsterdam, Enduring love, Saturday, Black dogs) de McEwan.
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Fabuleux 2 novembre 2013
Par alexandra
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
J'ai lu il y a quelques mois sur Amazon un commentaire très intéressant : "certains livres ne doivent pas être traduits". Pour moi "Atonement" fait partie de cette catégorie.
J'ai essayé de lire le livre en français l'an dernier, mais j'ai très vite décroché à cause des descriptions et du rythme du livre. Je me suis finalement décidée à l'acheter en anglais, et je ne regrette absolument pas mon choix. Les descriptions passent vraiment bien en anglais, j'aime le rythme et la structure du livre, l'intrigue est poignante, bref je l'adore !!!
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Un petit bijou... 27 juin 2013
Format:Broché|Achat vérifié
Cette histoire est un petit bijou à lire et relire. Très bien écrit, construit avec beaucoup d'intelligence pour ne pas dévoiler une des clés principales de l'intrigue avant la bonne moitié de l'histoire (intrigue qui est d'ailleurs, hélas, dévoilée bien trop tôt dans l'adaptation cinématographique de Joe Wright), ce livre retrace comment Briony Tallis, une jeune fille brillante et imaginative issue de la grande bourgeoisie anglaise, par un acte irréparable, va irrémédiablement bouleverser en une journée le cours de la vie de toute sa famille. Briony va ensuite mettre un point d'honneur à expier sa faute au cours de sa carrière d'écrivain.
Ian McEwan a le don de très peu d'écrivains de pouvoir endosser le caractère de personnages très éloignés de lui et d'exprimer leurs actes et émotions avec une délicatesse et une justesse rares.
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If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated, with two billion voices, and everyones thoughts striving in equal importance and everyones claim on life as intense, and everyone thinking they were unique, when no one was. One could drown in irrelevance. &quote;
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The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse. &quote;
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a story was a form of telepathy. By means of inking symbols onto a page, she was able to send thoughts and feelings from her mind to her readers. &quote;
Marqué par 26 utilisateurs Kindle

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