Word: beardã
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...Michael Beard??s life is a series of contradictions. He is a Nobel Laureate, but also a scientific fraud. He is the chief of a climate research center, but doesn’t believe in global warming. Riding on the coattails of his own youthful contribution to Einstein’s groundbreaking work, Beard is thoroughly dissatisfied with his life and disillusioned with the society that continues to laud him for the sole professional achievement he made decades ago. Ian McEwan’s latest novel introduces Beard just as his fifth marriage is dissolving, when an accident...
...Beard is neither a champion of alternative energy nor persuaded by the dire warnings about rising seas and melting ice. Beard refuses to be won over by the emotional appeals and mass hysteria about a phenomenon that has little immediate impact on his daily life. As one of Beard??s mistresses laments, to take action against global warming “would be to think about it all the time,” something that “daily life would not permit.” But when he is presented with the opportunity to regain his former...
...mask his irrelevance” and is “well aware of the singularity by which the tiny vehicle of his talent, a child’s tricycle say, had hitched a ride behind the juggernaut of a world historical genius.” Beard??s whole life has been spent unsuccessfully trying to surpass his youthful self who captivated the world with his brilliant achievements...
...futility inherent to Beard??s personal quest for fulfillment and professional crusade against global warming is personified in his own bodily decay. Beard, the lifelong womanizer, neglects his body against his better judgment and the repeated urging of his doctors. Repeated resolutions to lose weight, exercise, and cut back on his daily drinking fall by the wayside as the vinegary scent of potato chips, cool sensation of a scotch-on-the-rocks, and plush comfort of a hotel bed overwhelm Beard??s reptilian brain. This subtle allusion to the problems inherent in collective action against global...
...group of middle-aged men and women had claimed our table. Jim intervened and we stood nearby and crossed our arms. Waitresses pushed past with trays of vegetarian pizza and pitchers of water. The opening act—a man with a page-boy cap and a full beard??picked the strings of his guitar. He sang about Austin, Texas, about fairy tales, about a sun so hot it burned holes in your skin. We gave up on our table and Jim pointed to another. We sat and ordered beer. We felt out of place...