On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan

I’ve found a new novel to love, a slim volume called On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan.

This is a psychological novel in the classic tradition, like Washington Square by Henry James or The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot. McEwan walks us through the forbidden thoughts, logical formulas and (often) utter delusions that fill the minds of his characters, two forlorn young British virgins named Edward and Florence, as they approach each other in dread and excitement on their wedding night. They come together and blow apart in a cataclysm of fear that is, in McEwan’s telling, terribly sad but also sweetly wistful.

I admire the tight focus of this small book, and I enjoy the warmly funny interludes with waiters and remembered family members as the nervous star-crossed lovers attempt (unsuccessfully) to avoid a spectacular disaster on their long-awaited night of love. I thought of Henry James and John Updike often as I turned these poignant pages, but mostly I felt the spectre of T. S. Eliot and his doppelganger J. Alfred Prufrock in every word of this book. On Chesil Beach is, in fact, almost a novelization of that great poem, though the era is transposed and the gender roles are different (here, the woman is much more frightened than the man). What reminds me most of Eliot’s Prufrock is the concept of sexuality as a spiritual and psychological explosive, a cosmic trigger. Prufrock is a young virgin (I disagree with those who think Prufrock is middle-aged) who daydreams of sex and wonders if he could have the nerve:

to have squeezed the universe into a ball

Edward kisses his bride and:

As he looked into her eyes, he had an impression of toppling toward her in constant giddy motion. He felt trapped between the pressure of his excitement and the burden of his ignorance.

I’m not exactly sure why, but I’m fascinated by that conflation of sexual dread and existential wonder, that high-pitched keening yearning for the (impossible) ecstasy of contented togetherness, that drives both Eliot’s poem and McEwan’s novel.

T. S. Eliot liked to contrast the sexual anxieties of his characters with the political anxieties of his age, and Ian McEwan plays on the same equations here, making much of the Cold War/nuclear age furor that was the hottest global issue in the summer of 1962. McEwan maintains a stately pace throughout this book, introducing his themes and symbols in a neat sequence, one after another: an analysis of Florence’s identification with classical music, a chronicle of Edward’s parental trauma, a whole lot of gentle comedy involving unwanted plates of roast beef in the honeymoon suite. It’s a delicious and simple story, though it will not appeal to anybody who doesn’t like this kind of thing. If you can’t stand Henry James and John Updike, there’s no reason for you to even look at this book.

I had been treated to an early look at this book last year, but when I wrote that summary I had no idea how much I’d be impressed by the whole work. The only other McEwan book I’ve read is Atonement (which is rather similar to On Chesil Beach in its essential plot, though it has many more characters, not to mention the battle of Dunkirk), but I’ve just been told I need to discover Black Dogs, and I know I’ll be reading much more from this quaintly classical but thoroughly modern writer very soon.

4 Responses

  1. ThenI liked your review of

    I liked your review of McEwan’s reading back in the fall and I like this more complete review now. (You must have caught the book as it flew off the presses.)

    Sounds like I need to find it and read this book and then his others.

    Thanks, Levi.

  2. Sounds GoodI think I’ll check
    Sounds Good

    I think I’ll check it out.

    By the way, you have touted Updike a lot in these pages. I read Rabbit, Run, and it didn’t do anything for me. Is there a better entry point in the reading of Updike?

  3. Absolutely, Doc — in fact I
    Absolutely, Doc — in fact I don’t care for the Rabbit novels much at all, because in these books Updike is impersonating a character much less educated and expressive than himself, which does not bring out his narrative best.

    The Witches of Eastwick is another one to avoid, this one on account of cuteness.

    I’d recommend: Couples, Marry Me, Too Far To Go (the Maples Stories), Of The Farm, any of his short story volumes, any of his criticism. Of his recent books, Gertrude and Claudius is my favorite.

  4. I think I’ve commented on my
    I think I’ve commented on my dislike of Updike here before. Oh, well …

    I thought I’d liked the Rabbit books but when I tried Rabbit Run again recently it seemed just as pretentious, mannered, and silly as his other fiction. I have not read his non-fiction.

    My conjecture is that he’s compensating for being a schoolteacher’s son from rural Pennsylvania (Nothing intrinsically wrong with that – so am I.)

    I like two Updike books: Bech: A Book, and Bech is Back. (I haven’t read Bech at Bay.) In these books about a New York Jewish literary writer Updike seems to not need to be a Great Literary Writer but is having some fun.

    My recommendation: Try the Bech books. Otherwise don’t bother with Updike – there is a slew of great literature out there that will reward one’s time far more.

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Litkicks will turn 30 years old in the summer of 2024! We can’t believe it ourselves. We don’t run as many blog posts about books and writers as we used to, but founder Marc Eliot Stein aka Levi Asher is busy running two podcasts. Please check out our latest work!