I am world's apart from Ian McEwan. At one point his main character, Henry Perowne, criticises Anna Karenenin for being just words, lacking insight. One mustn't invest author's with the beliefs of their creations, yet this is a standout. For me McEwan speaks through Perowne- for me they share interests and motivations. And why have characters say something like that out of the blue when it has nothing to do with the story. I make such a to do of this because it encapsulates what is wrong with Saturday. The book goes on and on with its clever little plot, with its unbelievable twists and turns and in the end says nothing. Anna Karenin is a work of genius- Saturday is work for the reader. After all those words, and there's some inordinate sum of them- precociously self- satisfying- I put down the book feeling I had gained nothing from the exercise. I finished it becauseI started it. The research was impressive- but, as with Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behaviour- impressive research makes for a great thesis but does little for a reader. It's little more than a writer doing cartwheels. The novel is tough,. "Dazzling, profound and urgent" the publisher says on the cover. It is so utterly none of these.