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2 Methodology In the following attempt to chart the position of genetic criticism within literary criticism, it will be necessary to discuss a few controversial theoretical issues and get past a number of -isms and so-called “fallacies” such as positivism and intentionality, the Scylla and Charybdis of literary theory. But the Joycean advice that the longest way round is the shortest way home urgently calls for a digression—here to Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement (2001), which lays out the terrain in a helpful and arresting way. The painful precision with which McEwan describes the characters and the environment in the first and longest part of this literary triptych has a similar effect as the pounding migraine of Emily Tallis. On a hot summer day in 1935, the mistress of the house is taking a rest in her darkened room. With her overimpressionable senses in this camera obscura, she registers everything that goes on around the house in the sweltering heat, shimmering of unexpressed assumptions and expectations. Her eldest daughter, Cecilia, has just graduated and seems to be waiting aimlessly for whatever the future has in store. The youngest daughter, Briony, is thirteen and cannot wait to be an adult. The entire house is waiting, notably for the elder brother, Leon, and his friend Paul Marshall. En attendant, Briony is rehearsing one of her own plays together with her cousin Lola and Lola’s younger twin brothers. From her room, Briony sees how her sister Cecilia wants to fill a precious Ming vase in the fountain. She is in the presence of the cleaning lady’s son, Robbie. Cecilia and Robbie are the same age and grew up together. Robbie has studied English literature, thanks to the support of father Tallis, and he is on the verge of studying medicine as well. At the fountain, he tries to help Cecilia fill the vase, but inadvertently snaps off two triangular pieces of china. Irritated, Cecilia suddenly undresses, climbs into the fountain, picks up the pieces of china from the bottom, takes off and leaves Robbie dumbfounded , confused, and excited. He has been feeling ill at ease and acting strangely the last few days. To try to find an explanation for what is going on in his mind, he writes a short letter to Cecilia. But he needs more than one version to put his con- Methodology / 25 fused thoughts down on paper. When he is on his way to Cecilia, he meets Briony and asks her if she wants to give the letter to her sister. Of course, Briony cannot resist the temptation to open the envelope and have a secret glance at its contents. What she reads has such an impact that she interprets and reinterprets all the events of that day in a totally distorted way. A few moments after her reading of the letter, she witnesses an erotic scene between Robbie and Cecilia in the library. Briony misjudges the situation and thinks her sister is being raped. After supper, when the whole family is outside looking for the twin cousins, Briony finds her cousin Lola in the bushes, apparently assaulted by a dark figure. From a distance, Briony sees the figure running away. She cannot possibly discern who it is, but she “knows” it is Robbie. This certainty is based on her interpretation of the envelope’s content , which becomes a crucial item of evidence when the police are called in. All persons present eventually get to read the letter. That very same night, Robbie is charged with attempted assault and arrested. Given the enormous consequences of Robbie’s letter to Cecilia, the crucial question is of course: what was its content? To reveal this, McEwan relates its genetics: First drafts: Imagine Robbie sitting down at his desk in his room. He feeds a sheet of paper and a carbon into the typewriter, types the date and the salutation , and formulates a conventional apology for what he calls his “clumsy and inconsiderate behaviour,” continuing: If it’s any excuse, I’ve noticed just lately that I’m rather light-headed in your presence. I mean, I’ve never gone barefoot into someone’s house before. It must be the heat! (McEwan 2001a: 85) He is not satisfied with the “self-protective levity” of these sentences, flicks the return lever and writes a second version: It’s hardly an excuse, I know, but lately I seem to be awfully lightheaded around you. What was I doing, walking barefoot...

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