I actually finished this Ian McEwan novel a couple weeks ago and have been putting off writing about it because I’m just not sure what to say. When writing about Trollope novels there is always so much material. I can get many words out of a bare bones plot summary, then pick out a couple themes to bring out and have a respectable post. I’m going to have to find something else to do with Enduring Love.
It’s a short novel and the plot can be summed up in a few sentences. Joe Rose and his girlfriend Clarissa witness a terrible ballooning accident in which Joe attempts to help. One of the other would-be rescuers is Jed Parry. Following the accident, Joe and Jed share a brief interchange. Apparently, during these few words, Jed falls hopelessly in love with Joe. Sort of.
The remainder of the novel is the playing out of Jed’s obsession with Joe. For some time, McEwan keeps us in suspense as to whether this is real or not. Clarissa (and, I think, most readers) begin to suspect that Jed and his stalkerish behavior may be a figment of Joe’s imagination. Joe seems suspiciously obsessed with Jed’s obsession and there are no independent witnesses to Jed’s overtures. This leads to a near total break between Joe and Clarissa.
As it turns out, Jed is entirely real and is afflicted with something called de Clerambault’s syndrome, a condition in which the sufferer (if, indeed, he suffers) is convinced that a particular person (usually one with higher social standing) is infatuated with him. The slightest gestures of the desired will be interpreted by the de Clerambault’s patient as evidence of undying affection. Inevitably, Jed becomes violent and is committed to an asylum. The book ends with a letter written by Jed to Joe, showing that he is still convinced that they are destined to be together.
The title, “enduring love,” seems mercilessly cynical. Are we to infer that the only truly enduring love is pathological? The relationship between Clarissa and Joe goes through ups and downs and at one point seems to shatter entirely, though they are eventually reconciled. The relationship between Joe and Jeb, on the other hand, is unchanging and unchangeable. At one point Joe theorizes that even if he accepted Jeb’s view of reality, it wouldn’t really change anything.
Jeb has one distinguishing characteristic that sets him apart from the average de Clerambault’s patient. In addition to his obsession with Joe, he has an intense religious devotion. He speaks continually of God’s will and sees himself as being charged with saving Joe from the dangers of scientific secularism. Should we assume that McEwan views a belief in God as pathological? It is interesting that while McEwan gives us a healthy case of love in Joe’s relationship with Clarissa, he shows us no instance of healthy spirituality. The only God in the novel is the one in Jeb’s head.
It almost goes without saying that the novel is beautifully written. McEwan is in top form and very much in his element with the overall creepiness of the story. He keeps us in suspense from the very beginning. The novel opens with this passage:
The beginning is simple to mark. We were in sunlight under a turkey oak, partly protected from a strong, gusty wind. I was kneeling on the grass with a corkscrew in my hand, and Clarissa was passing me the bottle—a 1987 Daumas Gassac. This was the moment, this was the pinprick on the time map: I was stretching out my hand, and as the cool neck and the black foil touched my palm, we heard a man’s shout.
From these few innocent sentences, the reader knows that something terrible is about to happen, and McEwan takes his time letting us in on the secret and then stunning us with harsh reality of a man falling to his death. This pattern continues in the main storyline, with the danger posed by Jeb gradually growing. Still, we feel that we know him and what he is capable of. Then he has a knife at Clarissa’s throat. McEwan is a master at playing with our expectations and the effect is fascinating.
The novel ends in as happy a way as it could, with Joe and Clarissa reunited and with Jeb receiving the psychiatric care that he needs, but one is still left with a bad taste. It’s a bleak novel, questioning not only the value of religion, but also the de facto modern religion of romantic love.