It is 3.40 in the morning of Saturday February 15th 2003. Henry Perowne is standing at the bedroom window of his smart London home. Wondering why he has woken so early, he sees a plane with one of its engines on fire, streaking like a comet towards Heathrow airport. In a post-September 11th world this fills him with unease: "Everyone agrees, airliners look different in the sky these days, predatory and doomed." This is the opening to "Saturday", Ian McEwan's enthralling tenth novel.
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