
She "runs" a writer who is secretly funded by a government-sanctioned though clandestine operation whose mission to create and spread a kind of cultural literary disinformation and thus influence public opinion. (Unlike Hollywood, it understands its intentions and results, though both can be dim sometimes.)
She and the writer she works have an affair, fall in love, and both are disingenuous about their functions and purposes, also. They are like hit men married to each other - or are they the characters from The Getaway or The Thomas Crowne Affair?
The writer's short stories are retells of some of McEwan's own. The books' narrative is actually the writer's narrative narrated by Sarah, his female protagonist. Got it yet? Hope I haven't spoiled it for you. So I say no more, but it's a delightful, intelligent read, after which you can respect yourself, unlike the literary shower you will need if you choose some of the other best-seller faux thrillers on the list.
I did't feel sheepish after this, unlike the expensive cheap thrill of mediocre reads (Baldacci, current Bosch, Joe Reacher, that alphabet female detective series, that croissant-laden Canadiana detective series, etc.) that insomnia has caused me to purchase on my friendly Kindle.
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