Chesil Beach

Por Ian McEwan

Tienen poco más de veinte años, y se conocieron en una manifestación contra las armas nucleares. Florence es una chica de clase media alta, su padre es un exitoso hombre de negocios y su madre una activa profeso­ra universitaria, y viven en una casa donde se comen quesos franceses y yogur. Edward, en cambio, pertenece a una familia que apenas se sos­tiene en la zona baja de la clase media; su padre es maestro, y su madre, tras un imprevisible accidente, vive desde hace años en una nebulosa. Y en su casa no hay comidas caras o extranjeras, las camas nunca se ha­cen, las sábanas rara vez se cambian, ni se limpian los lavabos. Florence es violinista, y Edward ha estudiado Historia. Y ambos son inocentes, y vírgenes, y se aman, y tras uno de esos largos cortejos de tira y afloja, se han casado. Es un día de julio de 1962, un año antes de que, según Philip Larkin, en Inglaterra se empezara a follar, cuando El amante de Lady Chatterley aún estaba prohibido y no había aparecido el primer LP de los Beatles... Edward y Florence van a pasar su noche de bodas en un hotel junto a Chesil Beach, y lo que sucede esa noche entre esos dos inocentes, esos jóvenes esposos de una clase social y unos años donde hablar sobre pro­blemas sexuales era imposible, es la materia con que McEwan construye su chejoviano, delicadísimo, terrible mapa de una relación, del amor, del sexo, y también de una época, y de sus discursos y sus silencios.

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Editorial Anagrama
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 23 dic 2008
• ISBN: 9788433938275

Ian McEwan

Ian McEwan (Aldershot, Reino Unido, 1948) se licenció en Literatura Inglesa en la Universidad de Sussex y es uno de los miembros más destacados de su muy brillante generación. En Anagrama se han publicado sus dos libros de relatos, Primer amor, últimos ritos (Premio Somerset Maugham) y Entre las sábanas, las novelas El placer del viajero, Niños en el tiempo (Premio Whitbread y Premio Fémina), El inocente, Los perros negros, Amor perdurable, Amsterdam (Premio Booker), Expiación (que ha obtenido, entre otros premios, el WH Smith Literary Award, el People’s Booker y el Commonwealth Eurasia), Sábado (Premio James Tait Black), En las nubes, Chesil Beach (National Book Award), Solar (Premio Wodehouse), Operación Dulce, La ley del menor, Cáscara de nuez, Máquinas como yo, La cucaracha y Lecciones y el breve ensayo El espacio de la imaginación. McEwan ha sido galardonado con el Premio Shakespeare. Foto © Maria Teresa Slanzi.

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A Annalena

1

Eran jóvenes, instruidos y vírgenes aquella noche, la de su boda, y vivían en un tiempo en que la conversación sobre dificultades sexuales era claramente imposible. Pero nunca es fácil. Acababan de sentarse a cenar en una sala diminuta en el primer piso de una posada georgiana. En la habitación contigua, visible a través de la puerta abierta, había una cama de cuatro columnas, bastante estrecha, cuyo cobertor era de un blanco inmaculado y de una tersura asombrosa, como alisado por una mano no humana. Edward no mencionó que nunca había estado en un hotel, mientras que Florence, después de muchos viajes de niña con su padre, era ya una veterana. Superficialmente estaban muy animados. Su boda, en St. Mary, Oxford, había salido bien; la ceremonia fue decorosa, la recepción alegre, estentórea y reconfortante la despedida de los amigos del colegio y la facultad. Los padres de ella no se habían mostrado condescendientes con los de él, como habían temido, y la madre de Edward no se había comportado llamativamente mal ni había olvidado por completo el objeto de la reunión. La pareja había partido en un pequeño automóvil que pertenecía a la madre de Florence y llegó al atardecer al hotel en la costa de Dorset, con un clima que no era perfecto para mediados de julio ni para las circunstancias, aunque sí plenamente apropiado: no llovía, pero tampoco hacía suficiente calor, según Florence, para cenar fuera, en la terraza, como habían previsto. Edward pensaba que sí hacía calor, pero, cortés en extremo, ni se le ocurrió contradecirla en una noche semejante.

Estaban, por tanto, cenando en sus habitaciones delante de las puertaventanas entornadas que daban a un balcón y una vista de un trozo del Canal de la Mancha, y a Chesil Beach con sus guijarros infinitos. Dos jóvenes con esmoquin les servían de un carrito estacionado fuera, en el pasillo, y sus idas y venidas por lo que, en general, se conocía como la suite de la luna de miel, hacían crujir cómicamente en el silencio los suelos de roble encerados. Orgulloso y protector, el joven acechaba atentamente cualquier gesto o expresión que pudiera parecer satírica. No habría tolerado unas risitas. Pero aquellos mozos de un pueblo cercano trajinaban con la espalda encorvada y la cara impasible, y sus modales eran vacilantes, las manos les temblaban al depositar objetos en el mantel de lino almidonado. También estaban nerviosos.

No era aquél un buen momento en la historia de la cocina inglesa, pero a nadie le importaba mucho entonces, salvo a los visitantes extranjeros. La comida formal comenzaba, como tantas en aquella época, con una rodaja de melón decorada con una sola cereza glaseada. En el pasillo, en fuentes de plata sobre un calientaplatos con velas, aguardaban lonchas de buey asado hacía horas en una salsa espesa, verdura demasiado cocida y patatas azuladas. El vino era francés, aunque no se mencionaba ninguna región concreta en la etiqueta, embellecida por una golondrina solitaria en veloz vuelo. A Edward no se le habría pasado por la cabeza pedir un tinto.

Ansiosos de que los camareros se marcharan, él y Florence se volvieron en sus sillas para contemplar un vasto césped musgoso y, más allá, una maraña de arbustos florecientes y árboles adheridos a un talud empinado descendiendo hasta un camino que llevaba a la playa. Veían los comienzos de un sendero al final de unos escalones embarrados, un camino orillado por hierbas de un tamaño desmedido: parecían coles y ruibarbo gigantescos, con tallos hinchados que medían más de un metro ochenta y se inclinaban bajo el peso de hojas oscuras y de gruesas venas. La vegetación del jardín se alzaba con una exuberancia sensual y tropical, un efecto realzado por la luz tenue y grisácea y una bruma delicada que provenía del mar, cuyo regular movimiento de avance y retirada producía sonidos de débil estruendo y después el súbito silbido contra los guijarros. Tenían pensado ponerse un calzado resistente después de la cena y recorrer los guijarros entre el mar y la laguna conocida con el nombre de Fleet, y si no habían terminado el vino se lo llevarían para beber de la botella a tragos, como vagabundos.

Y tenían muchos planes, planes alocados, que se amontonaban en el futuro nebuloso, tan intrincadamente enredados y tan hermosos como la flora estival de la costa de Dorset. Dónde y cómo vivirían, quiénes serían sus amigos íntimos, el trabajo de Edward en la empresa del padre de Florence, la carrera musical de Florence y lo que harían con el dinero que les había dado su padre, y lo distintos que serían de otras personas, al menos interiormente. Era todavía la época –concluiría más adelante, en aquel famoso decenio– en que ser joven era un obstáculo social, un signo de insignificancia, un estado algo vergonzoso cuya curación iniciaba el matrimonio. Casi desconocidos, se hallaban extrañamente juntos en una nueva cumbre de la existencia, jubilosos de que su nueva situación prometiera liberarles de la juventud interminable: ¡Edward y Florence, libres por fin! Uno de sus temas de conversación favoritos eran sus respectivas infancias, no tanto sus placeres como la niebla de cómicos malentendidos de la que habían emergido, y los diversos errores parentales y prácticas anticuadas que ahora podían perdonar.

Desde aquella nueva atalaya veían claramente, pero no podían describirse el uno al otro ciertos sentimientos contradictorios: a los dos, por separado, les preocupaba el momento, algún momento después de la cena, en que su nueva madurez sería puesta a prueba, en que yacerían juntos en la cama de cuatro columnas y se revelarían plenamente al otro. Durante más de un año, Edward había estado fascinado por la perspectiva de que, la noche de una fecha determinada de julio, la parte más sensible de sí mismo ocuparía, aunque fuese brevemente, una cavidad natural formada dentro de aquella mujer alegre, bonita y extraordinariamente inteligente. Le inquietaba el modo de realizarlo sin absurdidad ni decepción. Su inquietud específica, fundada en una experiencia infortunada, era la de sobreexcitarse, algo que había oído denominar a alguien «llegar demasiado pronto». La cuestión estaba siempre en su pensamiento, pero si bien el miedo al fracaso era grande, mayor era su ansia de éxtasis, de consumación.

A Florence le preocupaba algo más serio, y hubo momentos durante el viaje desde Oxford en que creyó que estaba a punto de reunir el valor de sincerarse. Pero lo que la angustiaba era inexpresable, y apenas era capaz de formulárselo ella misma. Mientras que él sufría simplemente los nervios convencionales de la primera noche, ella experimentaba un temor visceral, una repulsión invencible y tan tangible como un mareo. La mayor parte del tiempo, a lo largo de todos los meses de alegres preparativos de boda, logró hacer caso omiso de aquella mancha sobre su felicidad, pero cada vez que sus pensamientos se centraban en un estrecho abrazo –era la expresión que prefería–, el estómago se le contraía secamente y sentía náuseas en el fondo de la garganta. En un manual moderno y progresista que en teoría era útil para novios jóvenes, con sus signos de admiración risueños y sus ilustraciones numeradas, tropezó con algunas expresiones y frases que casi le dieron arcadas: membrana mucosa, y la siniestra y reluciente glande. Otras frases ofendían su inteligencia, sobre todo las referentes a entradas: No mucho antes de penetrarla... o, ahora por fin la penetra y, felizmente, poco después de haberla penetrado... ¿Se vería obligada la noche de boda a transformarse para Edward en una especie de portal o sala a través del cual pudiese él actuar? Casi con igual frecuencia había una palabra que sólo le sugería dolor, carne abierta por un cuchillo: «penetración».

En instantes de optimismo trataba de convencerse de que sólo sufría una forma agudizada de aprensión que acabaría pasando. Sin duda, pensar en los testículos de Edward, colgando debajo de su pene tumefacto –otro vocablo horrible–, tenía por efecto que ella frunciera el labio superior, y la idea de que alguien la tocara «ahí abajo», aunque fuera alguien querido, era tan repugnante como, pongamos, una intervención quirúrgica en un ojo. Pero su aprensión no se extendía a los bebés. Le gustaban; algunas veces había cuidado a sus primos pequeños y había disfrutado. Pensaba que le encantaría que Edward la dejase embarazada y, al menos en abstracto, no le asustaba el parto. Ojalá pudiera, como la madre de Jesucristo, llegar por arte de magia a aquel estado de hinchazón.

Florence sospechaba que había en ella alguna anomalía profunda, que ella siempre había sido distinta y que al fin estaba a punto de ser descubierta. Creía que su problema era más grande, más hondo que el mero asco físico; todo su ser se rebelaba contra una perspectiva de enredo y carne; estaban a punto de violar su compostura y su felicidad esencial. Lisa y llanamente, no quería que la «entraran» ni «penetraran». El sexo con Edward no sería el apogeo del placer, pero era el precio que había que pagar.

Sabía que debería haber hablado mucho antes, en cuanto él se le declaró, mucho antes de la visita al párroco sincero y de voz suave y de las comidas con sus respectivos padres, antes de invitar a los invitados de la boda, de confeccionar y entregar en unos grandes almacenes la lista de regalos, de contratar la carpa y a un fotógrafo y de todos los demás trámites irreversibles. Pero ¿qué podría haber dicho ella, qué términos podría haber empleado cuando ni siquiera sabía exponerse la cuestión a sí misma? Y ella amaba a Edward, no con la pasión caliente y húmeda sobre la que había leído, sino cálida, profundamente, a veces como una hija y a veces casi maternalmente. Amaba acurrucarle y que él le rodeara los hombros con su brazo enorme, y que la besara, aunque le asqueaba que Edward le metiera la lengua en la boca, y sin decir palabra lo había dejado claro. Pensaba que era un joven original, distinto a todas las personas que ella había conocido. Siempre llevaba un libro en rústica, por lo general de historia, en el bolsillo de la chaqueta, por si acaso se encontraba en una cola o en una sala de espera. Marcaba lo que leía con un lápiz. Era prácticamente el único hombre que Florence había conocido que no fumaba. Sus calcetines nunca emparejaban. Sólo tenía una corbata, estrecha, de punto, azul oscuro, que llevaba casi a todas horas con una camisa blanca. Ella adoraba su mente curiosa, su leve acento del campo, la inmensa fuerza de sus manos, los giros y virajes imprevisibles de su conversación, su amabilidad con ella y el modo en que sus tenues ojos castaños, descansando en ella mientras hablaba, le hacían sentirse envuelta en una amistosa nube de amor. A los veintidós años no dudaba de que quería pasar el resto de su vida con Edward Mayhew. ¿Cómo podría arriesgarse a perderle?

No había nadie a quien decírselo. Ruth, la hermana de Florence, era demasiado joven, y su madre, absolutamente maravillosa a su manera, era demasiado intelectual y quebradiza, una literata anticuada. Cada vez que afrontaba un problema íntimo, tendía a adoptar la actitud pública de una sala de conferencias y a emplear palabras cada vez más largas y a hacer referencias a libros que ella pensaba que todo el mundo debería haber leído.

Comentarios para Chesil Beach

[Laura · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Sin duda lo que hace este escritor es hacer que las historias que parecían estables sean un revuelco de emociones y que el final parece que será más sencillo pero el ser humano es el único encargado de complicar la vida, no solo en un aspecto sentimental, es en todos los ámbitos.
Es una obra refrescante, que es una novela que no solo puede ser vista con problemas anteriores de la sociedad, también es ejecutado en este contexto actual.

[cmsharkey · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I wonder if any of Ian McEwan's books have happy endings.

[castlelass · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

This is a short book about one event in the early life of a young recently married couple that has lasting ramifications. It is set in England in 1962, and flashes backward and forward to provide how they met and what happens afterward. It highlights the differing points of view held by the man and the woman, and their difficulties in communicating. The characters are well drawn and realistic for the time period. The tone is one of sadness and frustration. It provides insight into life prior to the sexual revolution. It is not really my type of book, but I enjoyed the writing style.

[burritapal · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

A book that, in my opinion, is a monument to men's obsession with their genitals.

This was a painful book to read, because it's the story of two 22-year-old humans, married that day, and they're in extreme discomfort with each other.

They're having their dinner, in The bridal suite. The man is uncomfortable because he just wants to hurry up and have sex with his bride. The woman is extremely uncomfortable because she is asexual (probably from something that happened with her father when she was a child, though this is barely touched upon) and has fear of anything sexual happening to her.
On the way to their hotel:
"Florence's anxieties were more serious, and there were moments during the journey from Oxford and she thought she was about to draw on all her courage to speak her mind. But what troubled her was unuterable, and she could barely frame it for herself. Where he merely suffered conventional first night nerves, she experienced a visceral tread, helpless disgust as palpable as he sickness."
It takes place in the early 60s. Before there was a so-called revolution for women in the form of birth control becoming available.
This society raises up women from birth to think that their role in life is to get married to a man and serve him. She has to do for him what he would have to pay someone to do if he didn't marry a woman: bring in income, clean the house, cook meals, manage a household, and have sex on demand. The man marries the woman because he thinks it's the greatest thing to imagine being able to have sex whenever he wants to. The woman feels disillusioned when she finds this out, because when she doesn't always want to have sex with him, she usually gets punished in some way. Then she doesn't want to have sex with him anymore because of the way he's treating her. Now the man is really angry with her because that's really all he married her for.
And that's basically what this book is about.

Edward had withheld from masturbating himself for a week, so that he'd be "ready" for Florence on their wedding night. But all it made him do was have a premature ejaculation, making a mess all over her stomach and thighs. "In horror she let go, as Edward, rising up with a bewildered look, his muscular back arching in spasms, empty himself over her in a gout, in vigorous but diminishing quantities, filling her navel, coating her belly, thighs and even a portion of her chin and kneecap in tepid, viscous liquid. It was a calamity, and she knew immediately that it was all her fault, that she was inept, ignorant and stupid. She should not have interfered, she should never have believed the manual. If his jugular had burst, it could not have seemed more terrible. . .
And there was another element, far worse in its way and quite beyond her control, summoning up memories she had long ago decided were not really hers. she had taken pride, only half a minute before, in mastering her feelings and appearing calm. But now she was incapable of repressing her Primal disgust, her visceral horror at being doused in fluid, and slime from another body. "

The man finds out that the woman does not want to have sex, and he just throws her away: like do you know we're married now? He asks her. I the reader meanwhile am screaming at her what the f*** are you doing don't marry this person you will ruin your life.
Well lucky for her she had parents who got her out of the marriage on the grounds of not having consummated it. She went on to do what she wanted to do which was make beautiful violin music. He went on to be nobody basically.

So it would get two stars as a story but this writer did treat their feelings well with his language.

[pilgrimjess · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

"A story lives transformed by a gesture not made or a word not said"'On Chesil Beach' primarily focuses on a single night but also features childhood flashbacks as well as future events and revolves around a newly married couple's lack of meaningful communication. “They barely knew each other, and never could because of the blanket of companionable near-silence that smothered their differences and blinded them as much as bound them.”After a short courtship, Edward and Florence are married and are to spend their wedding night in a hotel on Chesil Beach. Both are virgins and over dinner each are preoccupied with thoughts about what will happen when they consummate their marriage. Both are worried for very different reasons. After months of gentle petting Edward is looking forward to the freedom from constraints that marriage will allow him but is worried he will climax prematurely. Meanwhile Florence, has absolutely no interest in sex and is trying to convince herself that she can go through with it.“She could not bear to let Edward down. And she was convinced she was completely in the wrong.”The most compelling question of the story is whether Florence is simply asexual or had she suffered some sort of sexual trauma in her past which whilst not entirely put her off the act has certainly shaped her attitude towards it? Even now my opinion swings from one standpoint to the other but ultimately I don’t think that it really matters. Instead we should focus on the couple's difficulties with talking about sex. Florence in particular doesn't think that she has either the terminology or ability to do so, nor is it socially acceptable to even try. “She could never have described her array of feelings: a dry physical sensation of tight shrinking, general revulsion at what she might be asked to do, shame at the prospect of disappointing him, and of being revealed as a fraud.”In contrast I felt that Edward was much more poorly drawn. To me he seemed shallow and peevish which meant that the final climatic conversation when it arrived lost some of its punch for I had little sympathy for him by that point. I don't think that the disparity in their upbringing helped the plot either.I have read a few of the author's books and thus far all of them have left me underwhelmed, this one is little different.Despite only being first published in 2007 it already felt dated. A quick read but one unlikely to live long in the memory.

[pdcread · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I really enjoyed this book. It is a very powerful story about a couple through courtship and to their wedding. All the way through you understand the feelings that the couple are going through, the nerves, the fear and anticipation. All of this overlayed with the customs and social pressures of the day.

I thought that the ending was weak, it should have finished with the scene on Chesil Beach. I feel that would have made the story much more powerful.

[lydia1879 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I read this after I read Atonement years ago, and so began my slow and gradual appreciation for literary fiction.

Not a lot happens in this book. It focusses on a couple who are on their honeymoon on a beach. If you like plot-driven novels, this is not the novel for you. It is a quiet, slow, character-driven novel but I enjoyed how McEwan was able to milk so much tension and angst out of such tiny, minuscule moments.

To be honest, I don't remember much more than that apart from the mood, which means that the book hasn't stayed with me. But I did like reading it and I feel like it was one of the books that really signalled a change in my reading tastes.

[michael_godfrey-1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Review of Ian McEwan, On Chesil Beach. Various editions (first published by Jonathan Cape 2007; edition used and referenced here is London: Vintage, 2008).Ah, the human condition. The destruction of the Tower of Babel buggered up human hubris by screwing up our ability to communicate. While languages are the primary form of communication in the minds of the ancient biblical storytellers, are not sex and music two languages that are not only universal but universally flawed? Both play a part in this novella. Both are flawed, two human beings divided by tongues unshared (all puns intended). Mozart meet Mayall (or Holly). Phallus meet yonni. It’s all a bit of a to do, really.If we’re old enough to have shagged we’re probably able to remember those first inarticulate fumblings of the wordless art. Or maybe it’s just me, but oh dear goddess, how little was communicated, how little achieved, how great (but not as great as sometimes seems the case) the damage.Florence and Edward, fumbling virgins (as apparently many were on their wedding nights in 1962 in England). But the wedding night aspect, while it adds gravitas to their terrible conundrum, is only a worsening of the human state. First nights, first days, first fumblings whether in the back (or front, even) of a hatchback or a weighty, solemn four poster bed. So fraught. Snickering waiters don’t altogether add to the sense of romantic ease, nor do the imagined memories of the bed itself which has experienced a myriad fumblings over the decades and centuries. No pressure or anything.Yet McEwan is or is not entirely writing about first fumblings of self-conscious virgins. McEwan is writing about humans and communication. And, and here I guess I can avoid all spoilers, he does it by segueing seamlessly between two minds at crisis point, over and over again, a slice of life lasting eight hours and a lifetime, until the crisis is over and I am bereft because the book has ended.

[charlie68_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

An easy enough read, short, I read it in a day; worth reading, maybe. Not one for the church library or for the family but still strangely satisfying.

[florian_brennstoff · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Eine kurze, sublim britisch-komische, letztlich aber tragische Geschichte einer Liebesbeziehung im Oxford der 1960er Jahre. So ganz erreicht hat mich die Geschichte nicht, auch wenn sie auf den letzten Seiten eine hochspannende Dramatik erreicht.

[john_warner-1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

In July 1962, Edward Mayhew and Florence Ponting, a classically-trained violinist and from a wealthy family marry and have traveled to Chesil Beach for their honeymoon. Edward, a graduate student of history, has been offered a position in his father-in-law's business. Their future appears bright. However, a wedding night incident endangers their future as a married couple.Much of this novel/novella is told through Edward's and Florence's back story, e.g. lives before meeting, their encounter, and dating, reflections of the two in the hotel room. McEwan described Edward's stream of consciousness that I could easily picture myself in Edward's shoes. Although I enjoyed this book less than others I have read by him, I still found it to be a poignant read.

[alanna1122 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

McEwan's writing is such a treat. When I read him I feel like I am reading great quality fiction but it also feels effortless. This book flies by at just over 200 pages and reads like an intense study of two people. I heard there is going to be a movie of this soon and honestly, I just can't imagine (other than the fabulous setting) what that could possible be like on the big screen. There is so much here that makes this novel what it is that is interior to the characters, i just can't imagine how that would translated to the screen. The subject is not light - its definitely has a gloomy cast to it, but it is a fine tightly written piece.

[mandarella-337035 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A beautifully written introspective short novel. Set in the early 1960s, Florence and Edward are a newly married young couple on their honeymoon. The reader gets a glimpse into the different thoughts, apprehensions and experiences of this couple and how their relationship is "expected" to mature now that they're married - so, sex. This is the first book by Ian McEwan I've read (with Sweet Tooth and Atonement on my to-read list) and I found his writing to be beautiful and descriptive with very little dialogue, which I didn't mind. The characters are not super developed but enough so that there is depth and complexity. I'd recommend this book to anyone who enjoys brief, but meaningful (and maybe a bit heartbreaking) stories. Not everything gets wrapped up in a happy ending.

[janicseblen · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Well written. This is the first book written by Ian McEwan I have read. I'm not certain if I will give another of his books a try.

[novak_13 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

The touching story of two adult children, the product of the British University System, who between them did not posses the brains of a caterpillar. There’s a lot of it about!

[stef7sa-1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Another short novel constructed like clockwork. Well-formulated phrases that allow you to continue reading at fast pace. A mix of painful, humoristic and philosophical observations of a failed marriage.

[piemouth · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

It’s short, I read it in a day, but oh my god. This is one of most moving novels I’ve read in a long time. A tragedy about everyday people, with the kind of details that make them real and ended up breaking my heart. It stayed with me a long time.

[gpaisley_2 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I love how Ian writes. He is so effortlessly descriptive. For a book that really tells the story of events of just 2 people in 2 hours, it feels much deeper than that.
As with many McEwan stories, it is, well....um, distinctive. Not one you will soon forget.

I'm not sure I can say I recommend it, but if you like McEwan, it is definitely worth a read.

[sheiladeeth_1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

In life, small moments hold the secrets of years, and one chance disaster or dream changes everything. Like Chesil Beach, our lives are built on pebbles stranded by chance.In Ian McEwan’s novel, the course of dreams has led to the wedding night of two characters who, like any married couple, might just as easily never have met. Each carries the secrets of their time—1960s, before the sexual revolution, when intimacy wasn’t talked about and fears were never expressed. The question arises promptly—how much control will those secrets, born of small moments, have over the future of love.Ian McEwan’s ability to slip into the mind of a woman’s wounded innocence drives one third of this tale, while his masterful depiction of man’s balancing act between action and emotion drives another. But a third story slips between the lines, extending what could be a simple story of the 60s into a novel for all times. Those secrets we keep, those moments that break, those hurts that are secret until the right time which, being a moment itself, might never arise...Are there dark things untold in this novel? That’s for the reader to guess. Certainly sexual details are proffered with surprising detail and intimate compassion. But there’s always a sense of more, guessed at but never expressed. And if life’s unknowns are poured into music by the end, perhaps it’s the song of the waves on Chesil Beach.Disclosure: A friend didn’t particularly enjoy this novel so she gave it to me and I loved it.

[bookconcierge · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Opening line: 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.

Florence and Edward are desperately and completely in love, but relative strangers. In an era when open discussion about intimate relations is simply not done, they are left to fumble their way in the dark, both literally and figuratively. They’ve had the courtship, the lovely wedding, the raucous send-off by family and friends. Now they are in the honeymoon suite of a lovely inn on the Dorset coast about to enjoy a wedding supper before … Anticipation makes them anxious, eager and fearful all at once. They are relieved to have the waiters present; they wish the waiters would leave. They have no idea that their greatest impediment to happiness is their total inability to communicate their hopes, desires, fears, anxieties, wants, dreams and true, genuine love for one another.

I heard an interview with McEwan about this book. He said he set the novel in 1962 on purpose; he needed a time frame before sex was openly discussed, a time when a young couple would likely come to the marriage bed equally inexperienced and equally loathe to discuss any difficulties openly. One technique he uses that is very effective, is that there is very little dialogue between these two until they finally face each other on the beach. I feel so badly for them at the end of this book; I so wish they had someone to help them find a way to repair the damage they mistakenly believe to be irreparable.

UPDATE 16October13 - I re-read this for my F2F book club meeting. I appreciate it even more on a second reading.

[aine.fin · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Desperately sad story of newly weds on their wedding night in the early '60s. Found the last few pages a bit disappointing but other than that was a superbly crafted story with well developed characters and vivid descriptions of excruciating moments.

[turtlesleap · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

McEwan's novel focuses on the interactions and, most particularly, on the very different inner dialogue taking place when a young couple experiences their wedding night in the 1960's. The timeline is critical for the inexperience of these young adults would be almost unthinkable in today's world when even youngsters without direct sexual experience have grown up in a barrage of sexual information and stimulation. McEwan writes with a delicate touch and suggests rather than tells. Watch for the hints of a rather horrifying history for the female protagonist. This book is short; can be read quickly, but will return to the reader for some time afterward as a source of thoughtful consideration.

[anitatally · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

My favorite so far of Ian McEwan's books. He is an amazing writer and has great insight into the human condition.

[alisony-1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

This is my second Ian McEwan book (The Cement Garden was my first), and he's definitely now up there as one of my favourite authors. He has such tremendous skill in taking a short snapshot of time and delicately describing the horrors that can unfold from the most ordinary of beginnings, happenings which go on to change the course of an individual's life.The main story of On Chesil Beach revolves around a young couple on their wedding night, and how a failure to do or say the right thing in a single moment can change your life forever. To say much more than that would require a spoiler alert. McEwan's prose is so quietly and beautifully honest, his characters are within touching distance.Devour it in no more than a few days - be touched by it for a lifetime.

[nataliec7 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

An enjoyable read. I'll definately read more from this. Its based around a young couple on their wedding night in the early 60's. Theres plenty of awkward moments and nervousness. I felt for the characters and could understand how they both felt, although their feelings were different.

[livelylady · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

A character study of a man and wife on their wedding night. While I usually do not like things this focused, I found the writing entrancing. I will read more by McEwan.

[patsaintsfan · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Wow! When I first began this book, I quickly had a feeling that it wasn't "my type of book". However, I was sucked in so fast, wanting to know what would happen next to the characters. Needless, to say, I read this in one sitting (in between caring for my sick lil neonate foster kitten!), and I think that is probably why it will be in my mind in the future. The fluidity of this book was seamless. But, oh my, what a story...

[8heist · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

This is more of a draft short story. McEwan could have carved this down to 30 good dense pages where the lack of character development and odd shifts in pace wouldn't stand out but rather, be expected.

[cameling_2 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Expectations kept silent. The dreaded anticipation. Fear and exhilaration. What happens when 2 young people, very much in love, who communicate over everything except the one event following their wedding. Everything about how they met, what they like about each other, their past and their hopes for the future are gently laid open but at the back of it all lies their individual and unvoiced expectation of the wedding night. All it takes is one unexpected event to change the course of the future.

[rmagahiz · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

This short novel has at its core a calamitous wedding night between an inexperienced pair of characters in the early 1960s, the circumstances that led to this moment, and an epilogue describing the repercussions it left for one of the characters. Most of the focus is on the inner thoughts of the characters, making their feeble attempts to communicate with one another seem all the more pathetic. I pitied them in a way for how poorly they had been equipped for the task at hand, and I felt that McEwan told their story in a way calculated to make it difficult to assign all the blame to any one individual.