Reviews for On Chesil Beach

The average rating for On Chesil Beach based on 2 reviews is 4 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2008-09-09 00:00:00 Larry Jacobsen i read this book in one sitting, on a plane from l.a. to nyc, and it just knocked my socks off. and i came up with a scenerio: imagine if i was flying cross country for some kind of mcewanesque purpose … suppose last time i had been in new york I had met a girl, had spent only a few hours with her, but came back changed. i walked around los angeles buzzed, different, everything slightly altered, colored with that feeling… alright, yeah, it sounds stupid, but go with me (and mcewan) on this. what if i just couldn't get her outta my head. i mean what if this girl was just perfect, like so ridiculously smart and funny and beautiful and just had that ineffable 'thing' that only very very few people that you ever meet in your life have... i mean, what if, prick atheist that i am, i just knew that this was something important? does one behave cautiously and cower before the impossibility and impracticality of a geographically-challenged love affair? does one cower before doubt and fear and insecurity and the unknown and the possiblity of failure? or does one shove all that useless stuff aside and burst forward, chest out and fists clenched, and grab one's fate by the throat rather than be content as 'attendant lord'? well… this is the stuff of mcewan's fiction. he's obsessed with that one moment and all the various possibilites which extend outward into time and space --- whether it be a shared glance while hanging from the dangling ropes of a quickly ascending hot air balloon or the reaction to a disastrous night of naïve lovemaking or being attacked by two canine rapists (seriously) or, as in my case, a magical but unrealistic night spent knocking around lower east side bars… and one can't help but wonder, in reading his books, if one were put in the place of one of mcewan's protagonists, how he/she would react… as per my 'imaginary' scenerio: would one go for it? or would it be smarter to think with the mind over the heart (you want what you can't have, grass is always greener, love is a biological imperative necessary for survival of the species), to consider the negatives (3000 miles is a lot of space between), to be practical (plenty of girls in los angeles)… would i go for it? would i jump on a plane for her? would i risk looking like a crazy person? would i risk rejection and heartbreak? would it be the smart (fuck smart) move to get involved with someone i would rarely see in person? would i throw caution (fuck caution) to the wind and make some kind of grand gesture to a girl i've only actually seen in the flesh about 4 days in my life? would i blow off the world and take her down to, say, south america for a week? or perhaps i would -- as so many of mcewan's tragic protagonists do -- take the reasonable route and allow fate to determine my course? hmmm….

Review # 2 was written on 2007-09-16 00:00:00 Chris Lester 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.