On Chesil Beach

So for September. Month of MA-beginnage leading to beginning MA reading. I was delighted to see On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan on my reading list. I fell completely in love with Atonement and Enduring Love so I was anticipating adoring Chesil Beach.

How very disappointed I was.

Both Enduring Love and Atonement start slowly, so I was easily able to forgive this book’s initial lack of pace. I expected to read on and understand his characters’ intricacies and then feel deeply upset that some external event, previously unimagined by his characters completely screws them.

I felt completely robbed by the time I had finished this book. Edward and Florence are simply victims of – I will concede perhaps their era, but mostly I feel – their own stupidity. The lack of communication.

What an anticlimax – and hey, maybe that’s the point – but I felt so disenchanted with McEwan’s skills. I didn’t care about Edward or Florence, and felt that McEwan brushed over what became of them far too fast. So much telling where a little showing might have redeemed the book and made it sad, instead of just unsatisfying.

Since I recently bought The Cement Garden, Saturday, and Amsterdam, I’m hoping On Chesil Beach is an anomaly, but struggling still to find why others find it a masterpiece.