Just finished Ian McEwan's Amsterdam, which slipped down nicely in double-quick time. Beautifully constructed to the point that the contrivance seems so obvious it can easily be mistaken for clumsiness - but it's an inspired sort of clumsiness. The bit where composer Clive Linley is on the verge of creating the great ending to his symphony and witnesses, or rather, chooses not to witness, the rape of a young woman out walking in the Lakes by a serial killer is plain daft, but wonderfully done.
What I like about McEwan is the fact he entertains, in an almost unpretentious manner. And even though you can see the joins it somehow doesn't matter.
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