Well that was depressing.

I wonder if you’re supposed to pick sides in ‘On Chesil Beach’; I definitely did anyway, and judging by the end of this story I think McEwan expected me to pick the opposite. I can’t explain who or why without giving away the ending and that is something I definitely don’t want to do.

On Chesil Beach is a beautifully written novella and a great character study; more than anything else, it drove home to me how important communication is in any relationship, especially communication surrounding uncomfortable and embarrassing subjects. McEwan’s writing is gorgeous, as I thought it was in Atonement, and I am really looking forward to picking up more of his work.

4 / 5

Nice, short story, fully focused on the moment things go wrong between two young, naive people on the threshold of their real life, namely during their wedding night. The culprit is their different expectations with regard to the physical act of making love. While reading this story I was initially charmed by the humor: the naivety, the bumbling and trudging, the ambiguous psychology alternating between fear and care (let us be honest: all very recognizable, hence the humorous feeling); but gradually this turned into a sense of dismay and tragedy. And after the short epilogue I was above all left with a feeling of sadness, because two lives were really wasted. I haven’t had such a sad feeling after reading a book, since "Stoner" by John Williams.

I notice a slight naturalistic accent in this book: Eduard and Florence are "prisoners of their time", the early ' 60s, when the sexual taboo was still standing and young people were still as good as ignorant (though I perceive much scepticism on this in the reviews on Goodreads, I tend to follow McEwan on this). On top of this both Eduard and Florence are also prisoners of their still fledgling personalities; Florence is anxious and unsure about physical intercourse (there are hints of the author towards the cold mother and an ambiguous treatment of the father); and with Eduard it's the impetuosity and impulsiveness (maybe due to the rigid regime that his father imposed on him and the ' absent ' mother?). McEwan doesn't judge them and leaves lots of room for interpretation, and that's nice!

In short: this a remarkable, neat and accomplished story, both literary and in content. I'm hesitating to give it 3 or 4 star-rating, so let's make it a 3.5!

The Young Man's Ego: A Heartbreaking Torpedo?

"This is how the entire course of a life can be changed: by doing nothing."

This is my first McEwan novel; it's almost a 5 but not quite. I must say, if this short novel is any indication, McEwan is a master of tightening the circles, bit by bit, to mounting tension and then to the Moment, the place and time when opposing forces collide, when choices must be made, and courses must be altered or not.

He delicately weaves in the backgrounds of newlyweds Florence, a talented classical string musician, and Edward, a history student without any clear direction for his future but seems earnest nonetheless, as they spend the afternoon and evening of their wedding in a hotel at Chesil Beach on the Dorset seashore. By their backgrounds and internal dialogues on the day of, the reader can see the baggage and expectations each carries: Edward, with his self-centered male ego concerning sex, and Florence, a fear of sex (possibly arising from being sexually abuse as she reached puberty). Use of the term "possibly" arises from ambiguities, which must be a McEwan staple in which he intimates but does not say.

I was unsure where this would lead, but was awed by McEwan's tightening and fine-tuning tension in the conflict, like the strings on a violin.

I enjoyed the novel. I found it rather self-revelatory and poignant and heartrending. Looking back, I detest the male ego I had when I was in my 20s (give or take a few years both ways), when it came to matters of, or relating to, sex.


"It is shaming sometimes, how the body will not, or cannot, lie about emotions."

Florence, una virtuosa violinista, y Edward, estudiante apasionado de historia, son dos jóvenes que acaban de contraer matrimonio y se enfrentan a su noche de bodas, donde ambos son inexpertos. La pasión de él se confronta con la inseguridad de ella, a la vez que van lloviendo los recuerdos de su familia y sus sueños.

Se trata de una historia visualmente preciosa, donde es fácil sentir cada latido de los protagonistas y seguir los motivos que explican su actuación. Es especialmente recomendable asistir a sus aspiraciones y ver como se proyectan en las del otro. Adicionalmente, nos da para pensar en qué hay más allá de lo que creemos pleno y perfecto, al margen del embrujo de la belleza y la cordialidad. El final le tiene a uno en vilo.

OK, seriously, Ian McEwan, you wrote Saturday. Saturday! You wrote f*ing Saturday! With its introspection and good and evil and everyday life and drama and mundane-ness and life and death and brain surgery and racquetball all wrapped up together in one ponderous experience of a book.

So, Ian McEwan, what the hell is this crap???

It could have been good -- it was a promising premise. If only your characters hadn't been completely despicable, pathetic, mean creatures. I just want to find these two people (who would be in their 80's now) slap them both in the face and scream "Get over yourselves!"

This is my third McEwan novel and I loved Saturday best; Atonement was also pretty good. I realize that he writes books where most of the action is in the minds of the characters... that's OK. But this book goes beyond introspective and launches the reader right into disgustingly narcissistic navel-gazing. It's just not healthy. And honestly, Ian McEwan, it's a bit insulting for you to think we actually care what happens to these characters' sex lives once you've revealed them to be the nasty petty selfish things they are.

---
PS: OH, and, um thanks for the Christmas present... really, I was going to read it anyway so... :-S
PPS: I just saw someone else on Goodreads, giving it a positive review, recommended it for "those of us who enjoy whining about the complexity of heterosexual relationships these days." That is EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

The following situation took place somewhere in an English pub.

-Say lad, you know the newest joke?
-No mate, bring it on.
-So there's this guy and this girl and they're having sex. Aftwerwards she turns over to her side and begins to speculate: "he was so silent today, I must have put on some pounds, or maybe it's that witch from the second floor, yes it must be that witch and her long, red hair, that damn hair I knew I should have dyed mine, it turns him on when I wear red, bla bla bli bli bla..."
And he rolls over to his side, lits up a fag and thinks: "damn, Liverpoll lost, but at least the sex was good"

Passing the two noble gentlemen is Ian McEwan going for a piss, hand over his zipper, and the writer suddenly finds himself thinking: "Now there's an IDEA!".

Three months later On Chesil Beach hits the shelves.

Το έχω τελειώσει εδώ και μέρες και παρέλειψα να γράψω κριτική. Είναι νομίζω από κε��να τα βιβλία που σαν αναγνώστης μπορείς να πάρεις αρκετά πράγματα διαβάζοντας το και ταυτόχρονα και τιποτα. Όλα είναι θέμα οπτικής. Κεντρικό θέμα η ιστορία ενός ζευγαριού άπειρου ερωτικά και η μη ολοκλήρωση της πρώτης νύχτας του γάμου τους σεξουαλικά. Εκείνος λίγο διστακτικός και ανίκανος για πολλές πρωτοβουλίες και εκείνη ψυχρή και αρκετά εγωκεντρική. Ο συγγραφέας λοιπόν καταπιάνεται να μας παρουσιάσει το πλαίσιο μέσα στο οποίο αυτοί οι δύο άνθρωποι και ξεχωριστοί χαρακτήρες χάθηκαν στην πορεία, να σκιαγραφήσει το σεξουαλικό πρόβλημα που αντιμετωπίζουν, το χρονικό πλαίσιο γύρω από το οποίο εξελίσσεται η ιστορία όπου μάλλον δεν έχει φτάσει ακόμα η περίφημη σεξουαλική απελευθέρωση.
Προσωπικά μου κέντρισε το ενδιαφέρον όλο αυτό. Μια ιστορία δηλαδή που δε θα διαβάσεις για τον απόλυτο έρωτα, για στιγμές ηδονής και αχαλίνωτου σεξ και έζησαν αυτοί καλά και εμείς καλύτερα. Αν μη τι άλλω ο συγγραφέας σε βάζει στο τρυπάκι να ενδιαφερθείς να μάθεις και να διαβάσεις τη συνέχεια. Μέχρι εδώ καλά. Αλλωστε κατά γενική ομολογία ο Μακ Γιουαν είναι καλός γραφιάς παρόλο που δεν αγαπώ πάντα τον τρόπο που επιλέγει να κλείσει τις ιστορίες του.
Κάτι τετοιο έπαθα και εγω. Νιώθω αν μπορώ να το πω έτσι λίγο εξαπατημένη από το φινάλε το οποιο γράφτηκε μέσα σε 5 σελίδες και το βρήκα βιαστικό και απότομο. Δε με ενόχλησε τόσο η κατάληξη αυτή τη φορά όσο ότι θεωρώ ότι υπήρχε ένα χάσμα και έλλειψη πληροφοριών σε σχέση με την αρχή του βιβλίου όπου ο συγγραφέας φώτισε αρκετές από τις πτυχές του παρελθόντος και του παρόντος των δύο ηρώων. Επίσης κάτι άλλο που δεν είμαι απόλυτα σίγουρη αν μου άρεσε είναι ότι κατά την άποψη μου ο συγγραφέας παίρνει ξεκάθαρα το μέρος του άνδρα ήρωα παρουσιάζοντας τη γυναίκα ηρωίδα εντελώς ψυχρή και αντιπαθητική πράγμα το οποίο δε θα με ενοχλούσε διόλου αν εξηγούνταν στο χαρτί λίγο περισσότερο από την εύκολη επιλογή να γίνει ο εύκολος διαχωρισμός θύτη και θύματος.
Σε γενικες γραμμές για να μη σας κουράζω συμπαθητικό βιβλίο, διαβάζεται γρήγορα και κάποιους θα σας ευχαριστήσει. Αν όμως αποφασίσετε ότι θέλετε να διαβάσετε λίγο πιο πίσω από τις λέξεις τότε σίγουρα θα υπάρχουν σημεία που θα σας δημιουργήσουν ερωτηματικά και απορίες.

I've been in a relationship with Ian McEwan for less than a month now, and, let me tell you. . . he's driving me CRAZY!

I wonder things about him, like. . . does he have a particularly magical keyboard that only types out the right words?

Does he even bother with an editor, or do his manuscripts sprout wings and fly independently to the publishing house, where they are lovingly pressed into clever books?

Has he been in every complicated, interpersonal entanglement?

How does he do this? How does he take two virgins on their wedding night in 1962, put them in one hotel room and create a captivating novel from that one scene?

How does he make your stomach ache with anticipation and suspense without murder or violence or action. . . merely the psychological tension that exists between two humans?

And how does he manage such taut, sparse prose?!

Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Mr. McEwan. . . I'm sitting up. I'm paying attention. I'm your newest fan. You've shouldered your way into the crowded room of my favorite authors, and I don't think I'm kicking you out anytime soon.

n  n   

“This is how the entire course of a life can be changed: by doing nothing.”

n  n If I had to pick one quote to sum up the theme of this multifaceted story, it would be this one. Both of these characters have a lot of growing (and healing) to do and neither one is ready for marriage, and certainly not ready for consummation of any sort. This exquisitely-written story is lovely, sad, and very real all at once. We are watching two people painfully walk on eggshells around each other. They are inexperienced and their preoccupation with the sexual element of marriage causes great internal conflict in terms of expectation, nerves, haunting pasts, and a complete absence of communication about any of it. On Chesil Beach is literary in nature and has deeper underlying issues that readers will likely only pick up on after reading an interview with the author himself (at least that was how it was with me). An interesting snapshot of how marriage may (or may not) function for this particular couple.

Note: Be sure to read the interview with the author that is attached to this novel. In my opinion, it is crucial in order to gain the full reading experience and character perspective intended by the author. In the audio, it is located after the book ends but it completely changed the way I viewed the characters. I wish I had seen/heard the interview first.

“They were young, educated, and both virgins on this, their wedding night, and they lived in a time when a conversation about sexual difficulties was plainly impossible.” Another stellar opening line to what I think may be a perfect novella. Its core is the night in July 1962 when Edward and Florence attempt to consummate their marriage in a Dorset hotel, but it stretches back to cover everything we need to know about this couple – their family dynamics, how they met, what they want from life – and forward to see their lives diverge. Is love enough? “And what stood in their way? Their personalities and pasts, their ignorance and fear, timidity, squeamishness, lack of entitlement or experience or easy manners, then the tail end of a religious prohibition, their Englishness and class, and history itself. Nothing much at all.” I had forgotten the sources of trauma: Edward’s mother’s brain injury, perhaps a hint that Florence was sexually abused by her father? (But she also says things that would today make us posit asexuality.) I knew when I read this at its release that it was a superior McEwan, but it’s taken the years since – perhaps not coincidentally, the length of my own marriage – to realize just how special. It’s a maturing of the author’s vision: the tragedy is not showy and grotesque like in his early novels and stories, but quiet, hinging on the smallest of actions, or the words not said. This absolutely flayed me emotionally on a reread.

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

The first thing you should know about this book is that, like the other Ian McEwan books I’ve read, it is about the most uncomfortable, awkward, and squirmy thing you’ll ever read. Don’t believe me? What if I told you that the book – which is 200 pages long – only covers about two hours of time: the first two hours of a newlywed couple’s honeymoon in which they fumble to consummate their marriage? And that both of them have very embarrassing sexual dysfunctions?

Well, that’s what the book is about. The reader looks on helplessly and squirmingly as two virgins, Edward and Florence, sit in a hotel room on the beach embarrassed out of their minds. It’s 1962, on the cusp of the sexual revolution, and the pair have neither the presence of mind or even the vocabulary to communicate openly with each other. There is only a handful of words spoken until the very last chapter of the book (it was tough for me not to use the word climax here, but I try to stay classy).

For the first 50 pages or so I was convinced that McEwan was just selling a freak show to us (again) – that he’s a popular author because people like reading about sex and other people’s weirdo sex problems. Who needs a plot or well-executed sentences when we could have incest, brain damage, erectile dysfunction, and a 30,000 word sex scene? Bring on other peoples’ guilt and shame!

But I kept reading and I’m glad I did. Through a number of seamless flashbacks, the history of the couple unfolded before me – so slowly and steadily and adeptly that I am now convinced that Ian McEwan is a genius. A dirty old man genius.

It made me think back to a few years ago when Ben and I were lucky enough to interview Jim Shepard, Ben’s favorite contemporary writer and a visiting author at the University of Montana (visiting because Ben requested him, no less). We sat in the Union Club sipping straight whiskeys and Jim Shepard told us that the truly great books (he was specifically talking about Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping) are books that are constantly revelatory.

And that’s exactly what I though about On Chesil Beach. Everyone – we’re talking about the characters and me – were learning and understanding more and more deeply with each page. It felt like a blossoming or, to be less lame and corny, like a picture very slowly coming into focus. Many times when authors reveal information it seems cheap or as if they were withholding it from you in order to keep you reading – dime mystery book stuff. But McEwan’s real gift is in the natural and subtle ways that he presents information to the reader. In fact, many of the biggest revelations in the book are never said outright, but only seep into the story until you understand each one as truth. It’s really pretty well done.

So – if you can handle cringing non-stop for three or four hours and have a strong stomach, you should pick up this book. And let me know if you can figure out exactly how McEwan does what he does, because I’d like to know about it.