Atonement: Imagery 3 key examples

Although Cecilia is not yet introduced by name, this instance of juxtaposition is the first time she's mentioned in the narrative. The imagery of the big sister's cluttered room, a metaphorical stew, is the complete opposite of Briony's metaphorical shrine. Nevertheless, the reader's first impression of the younger sister is not necessarily more favorable than that of the older, as the diction of "possessed" and "demon" make Briony's preference for order seem overzealous. In fact, the imagery of the miniature animals all lined up perfectly can almost feel disturbing. This uneasy impression extends to the description of Briony's dollhouse, where the dolls are positioned as though they were "a citizen’s army awaiting orders." The narrator goes on to connect Briony's love of order to a lack of secrets: "Her wish for a harmonious, organized world denied her the reckless possibilities of wrongdoing." This will become important, as Cecilia's more chaotic tendencies come to be associated with her rich and complicated inner life. It also foreshadows Briony's looming wrongdoing.

In the second chapter, the narrator focuses on Cecilia, confirming the impression the reader has already formed: "Cecilia knew she could not go on wasting her days in the stews of her untidied room, lying on her bed in a haze of smoke." It appears that Cecilia is fully aware of her mess but doesn't mind it. What bothers her is familiarity; she longs to escape the comfortable order of her home life. As she stands by the fountain, for example, the view down the drive gives "an impression of timeless, unchanging calm which made her more certain than ever that she must soon be moving on." And later in the first part, when she helps the twins get dressed for dinner, a vague resolution enters her thoughts: "she had to get away." In this chapter, order and familiarity take on a negative connotation. Cecilia feels confined and stifled by the harmony of the Tallis household.

Order and disorder continue to play a central role in the novel, especially in Robbie's experiences from the war and Briony's experiences at the hospital. Moreover, McEwan suggests that Briony's penchant for order is her reason for writing, as storytelling is a way for her to create order in a tumultuous world. In fact, the novel ends with an elderly Briony instilling order in her life, as she prepares for sickness, memory loss, death and the end of her story.

In the days before arriving at the beach, Robbie, Corporal Nettle, and Corporal Mace have been walking through the French countryside, first in the direction of Dunkirk and then in the direction of Bray Dunes. Though tedious, these days are shaped by a very clear objective: making it to the coast alive. On the last day, the three men end up in a column of vehicles, soldiers, and civilians going in the same direction. Their movements and thoughts blend with those of the crowd as they walk for hours.

McEwan's minimal use of imagery or other figurative language in this part—besides to evoke destruction and despair—simulates the relentless experience of walking in the column. The second part is not divided up into chapters, and the steady stream of long, heavy paragraphs mirrors the seeming endlessness of the road ahead. During this part, the stark diction and heavy mood emphasizes Robbie's experience of gradually losing his sense of self: "the humdrum element that told him where he was in his own story, faded from his use, abandoning him to a waking dream in which there were thoughts, but no sense of who was having them." 

When they finally make it to the outskirts of the resort at Bray Dunes, the soldiers suddenly lose the aim that has been steering them for many days. The forward movement that drives the second part is replaced by an aimless wandering as thousands of soldiers wait on the beach. This exhausted aimlessness evokes a dreamlike atmosphere, which McEwan bolsters through gleaming imagery.

When they glanced along the alley they had run down, they saw figures moving in the half-light outlined against the last gleam of the sea, and far beyond them and to one side, a darker mass that may have been troops on the beach or dune grass or even the dunes themselves.

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In this haunting passage, McEwan captures the hypnotic beauty of the falling daylight over the beach. Earlier in the second part, the narrator describes the landscape more in relation to the soldiers' practical needs, people's movements and suffering, and Robbie's interior monologue. By dwelling on the aesthetic effect of the light, the narrator seems to signal that Robbie is able to take in his surroundings in a different way, now that he has made it one step closer to crossing the Channel.

In this description, McEwan uses a simile to compare the pouches of blood and plasma to exotic fruits. The medical images and jungle images come together in a stomach-turning clash, as the reader would prefer not to visualize the blood and plasma as food.

A similar mixture of registers continues in subsequent passages. In fact, this is not the only place where elements of the body are compared to fruit. In one instance, the narrator compares a stitched wound to bunches of red grapes:

The wound was eighteen inches long, perhaps more, and curved behind his knee. The stitches were clumsy and irregular. Here and there one edge of the ruptured skin rose over the other, revealing its fatty layers, and little obtrusions like miniature bunches of red grapes forced up from the fissure.

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The narrator also compares the patient's same leg, which is "black and soft," to an overripe banana. Through these similes, the reader gets a sense of how nurses like Briony remain calm and composed. While there is certainly something off-putting to the similes, it also gives insight into how the nurses engage with the injuries in front of them through a filter of abstraction. By recognizing the bodily fluids, wounds, and body parts as something else—such as fruit—they prevent themselves from dwelling on what is actually in front of them, which helps them do their job with the efficiency that is required of them.