Friday, August 6, 2010

On Chesil Beach

On Chesil Beach
Author: Ian McEwan
ISBN: 978-0-099-51279-0
Published: Vintage Books
2008
Book Quote:

“They were alone then, and theoretically free to do whatever they wanted, but they went on eating the dinner they had no appetite for.”

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Chesil Beach is authored by a writer with the highest credentials, and has enjoyed many glowing reviews. It is also faultlessly crafted, delicate, and, in some ways, memorable.

I did not enjoy my reading experience one bit. The story pivots on the wedding evening of Florence and Edward. Careful flashbacks narrate their previous courtship and some of their juvenile lives – their ‘backgrounds’. The evening ends in disaster – but we only get to this near the end of the book. By this time, I posit we are so tired of the whole gamut of dislikeable, unremarkable characters that we would be inclined to conclude reading the book was a disaster as well.


Florence is interested only in playing in her quartet and her love-life takes a very, very, in-the-dark backseat. The narrative implies that the backseat is for the physical side of love, but the undeniable conclusion is that music is her love and humans are really merely an intrusion. Edward is simply dull – no spark of anything except for perhaps a mild and boorish bonhomie. This is of course not to say that the characters are not believable – indeed, they’re exquisite. Perfect… like Chinese Water Torture. Who would want to spend time reading about such people?

Likewise, the character depiction is in complete harmony with the picture of the age in which it is set – the 50s in the UK. Oh, so believable. All the most awful bits. No, not those, I’m talking social repression, bad food, with all the accompaniments. Ugh.


Why the author wrote this is a mystery. The absolute and palpable lack of joy resonating through the volume is not just an exploration of pain or introspection or embarrassment. It feels like a beautifully crafted Frankenstien’s monster, put together for some artistic purpose and now imbued with life but oh so very wrong and miserable. And through the pages of the book, one gets the impression the author knows this.

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