“It is 1962, and Florence and Edward are celebrating their
wedding in a hotel on the Dorset coast.
Yet as they dine, the expectation of their marital duties become
overwhelming. Unbeknownst to them both,
the decisions they make this night will resonate throughout their lives. With exquisite prose, Ian McEwan creates in On Chesil Beach a story of lives
transformed by a gesture not made or a word not spoken.”
As a fan and student of British Literature, I particularly
appreciate Ian McEwan’s works. I believe
this is the third book of his that I’ve read (the others being Atonement and The Children Act) and it was right on par with my expectations for
his ability to cram extremely deep emotion and complex characters into a
relatively short amount of writing. I
will admit that I was initially attracted to this book because of its film
adaptation; not necessarily because I was desperate to see it in theaters, but
more because I wanted to see what made this book so special that it would be
transformed for the screen (like Atonement
was (which I loved, despite the intense bout of sobbing and heartbreak) and The Children Act will be (which, I
didn’t realize until after I’d finished reading it, was also being made into a
film)). Given this lens of knowledge, I
was left wondering just how it was going to be made into a successful film which
accurately and effectively developed the characters, who, in the book, are
created much through flashbacks and internal monologues and musings. How was this going to be conveyed and still
stay true to McEwan’s artful storytelling?
As I have yet to see the movie, I suppose all of these questions will
just have to wait for answers.
The book, itself, is relatively short. I should have learned from The Children Act that, despite the
number of pages, I am always left moved and contemplative after finishing
anything by this author. One thing about
McEwan’s style that has always left me in awe is his ability to play with
time. Rarely can an author transcend
time and place as easily as he can draw out a single day or night to make it
feel as if a lifetime has passed (and not lose pacing or reader’s interest). We
get to know so much about the characters and their lives in such a short span
of time that it is truly masterful to behold.
It didn’t feel like the length of the story technically took place in a
matter of a couple of hours; it felt as if I watched the characters grow up in
their respective households, deal with their respective upbringings and develop
their own quirks, then I witnessed the development of their relationship, all
culminating in that disastrous wedding night.
The more I learned about the characters via their internal musings, the
more I understood their behavior and reactions.
Surprisingly, I also learned a great deal about societal expectations
and mores in 1960s England. Somewhat
stereotypically, Florence and Edward were reserved and extremely uncomfortable
during their first physical encounter as man and wife – I say stereotypical
because one conventional understanding is that the British are remarkably
reserved and uneasy showing a great deal of exuberance or affection. This feels so foreign to a modern American
audience, and yet, McEwan managed to make me understand why this was – the
society in which the young lovers grew up and how they each developed their own
attitudes. If only they could really express
themselves! I was endlessly frustrated
by their inability to communicate. Each
of them said the right things in their own heads, but didn’t seem capable of
voicing those ideas. This kept me
reading and waiting to see how it would all turn out. There were moments of such intensity that I
even found myself holding my breath! I
found this story to be commentary on the expectations of outward propriety and
staid attitudes expected of the English during this decade. Even more so, I believe it was intended to
expose just how catastrophic those mores can be to individuals and couples who
are supposed to be in an open, communicative, and trusting relationship. There’s something to be said for gritting
one’s teeth and bearing it, but what happens when such a lack of expression and
communication threatens to absolutely destroy a relationship before it can even
really begin in earnest?
This book provided a very intimate look into the characters’
lives, histories, and societies without feeling poorly-paced or
uninteresting. It was social commentary
along the same vein of Austen (if darker and more serious and explicit);
exposing the shortcomings of societal norms as they influence, shape, and
(potentially) destroy those who practice them.
This would be a great book to teach in a modern British literature
course if one wants to analyze the interplay between society and literature.
This book will be well-liked by anyone who is a fan of
McEwan’s often-tragic stories and powerful style. He presents such rich analyses of society and
human nature; it’s impossible to not be drawn into his vivid stories. This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I
think it’s short enough to give it a go even then. Though I was left frustrated by the
characters, this is a book that begs for examination and creates the perfect
mentality for self-reflection (and reflection upon one’s personal
relationships). How much do we harm our
loved ones (and even ourselves) by leaving the most important and difficult to
say things unsaid?
