Late to the Party

by

Andi Miller

It seems I’ve always been a late bloomer to books. While I’ve mentioned my teenage penchant for genre fiction—horror, Stephen King preferably—others my age claim to have been mewling over Jane Eyre or To Kill a Mockingbird. Likewise, I tend to be a latecomer to new, fabulous fiction. It’s a rare thing indeed that I read a book before its paperback release, and an inordinate amount of hype is a sure way to scare me away from a book.

The year 2001 marked a reading awakening of sorts. I was in college at the time, an undergraduate art major fond of boys, talking on the phone all night, and primping. However, that particular year also marks the point at which I returned to my love of reading after a long hiatus. Books about art like Helen Pinet’s Rodin: Hands of Genius, and edgy postmodern picks like Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves dragged me out of a readerly malaise. I also discovered online book discussion groups, and a whole new world of reading opened up to me. Bookstore visits changed from quick tromps through the supernatural offerings into languid browsing excursions that could and did last for hours.

I distinctly remember the ripple of excited chatter that floated through my discussion groups upon the release of Ian McEwan’s Atonement in 2001. Gluttonous reader I was then—gorging myself on any book that sounded remotely appealing—I added the offering to my shelves where it still sits, to this day, unread, alongside 2005’s Saturday.

Alas, just as I was late to the classics, late to general and literary fiction, I’m entirely late to Ian McEwan. An annual New Year’s Eve trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina is a favorite in my house. During our latest excursion, I was on a grocery store run when I discovered a small used bookstore in a strip mall. It was on the verge of closing for the night. In my eagerness to support any independently-owned depository of books, I took it upon myself to snatch up the first audio book I recognized and take it home with me—a token of a wonderful trip and a promise of new listening adventures in the new year. The book: On Chesil Beach by none other than the esteemed Ian McEwan.

Until last week, I had no idea what the book was about. You see, I was so eager to buy a book—any recognizable book—I didn’t take the time to read the blurb on the back of the box. How can one lose out with an award winning author like McEwan, I figured.

When I found myself without audio book on my daily commute, On Chesil Beach seemed the perfect choice. Especially after I read the box and thought to myself, in a haze of 15-year-old regression, “It’s about SEX! Right on.”

Certainly On Chesil Beach is about sex to some extent. The story of newlywed virgins, Florence and Edward, the very short novel follows the utterly disastrous mess that comes with inexperience and asynchronous communication. Florence is repulsed by the idea of intimacy, whereas Edward is bursting to learn the ways of the marriage bed, but likewise concerned about scaring or failing to satisfy his bride.

Interspersed with McEwan’s masterful descriptions of awkward intimacy, the reader gains knowledge of the couple’s lives and relationship up to their wedding night. Theirs are wildly different backgrounds. Florence is raised in a wealthy environment with a cold, detached mother, and there are hints that she was abused by her father. Edward, on the other hand, less than wealthy and quite earthy, grows up attached to the land, surrounded by his twin sisters, father, and his brain-damaged mother. As with any couple, their lives prior to meeting one another inform their attitudes and approaches to a relationship and physical intimacy in significant and often insurmountable ways.

Of all McEwan’s vast literary accomplishments, On Chesil Beach is probably the novel most likely to hook me irreversibly. While consummation of the marriage is a large part of the book, it’s principally a vehicle to meet and analyze his characters on a much deeper, fundamental level. By meeting the couple physically, in their uncomfortable efforts to consummate their relationship, the reader can easily understand who they are in everyday life and the prejudices and assumptions that seem to split their relationship apart.

Besides the fact that the couple is young and inexperienced, Florence and Edward are undoubtedly held hostage by the time period in which they live. Set in 1962 there is still much about sex that goes unspoken, making their marital bed an overwhelming and scary place to be. In a wonderfully written scene, before any clothing is shed, McEwan presents the couple sitting down to a honeymoon feast that neither really wants. They shovel mouthfuls of roast beef, or simply shift potatoes from one side of a plate to another, always thinking of how much more alluring and liberating it would be to run down to the beach and wade into the surf, carefree and full of love. Unfortunately, neither immature individual can break free of the social conventions of obligation and tradition. Instead of celebrating their union in the spirit of fun and frivolity, they stay the course, finish the meal as well it can be finished, and embark upon the traditional honeymooners’ pastime, both bundles of nerves and with growing resentment and anger at their inability to fall into sync.

Perhaps what struck me most about On Chesil Beach, is McEwan’s ability to overwhelm the reader (or listener, in my case) with minute, claustrophobia-inducing detail. As I listened, I felt as if I were in the room, choked of air by someone in my space, overwhelmed and cramped by a wardrobe, a dress, a canopy bed, a set of unfamiliar hands and pressing expectations. Anyone thinking back to the blush of an immature relationship can probably recall those first waves of uncertainty, nervousness, and dread. In partnership with the physical, it can be an emotionally overpowering experience. The core of Florence and Edwards’s—and many immature couples’—problems is an inability to communicate, to put into words one’s misgivings, worries, and expectations.

On Chesil Beach is an uncomfortable and heartbreaking book. At a mere 203 pages or just a touch over four hours on audio, it’s astounding the peaks and valleys of emotion that McEwan creates. While I do hate that I’m so late discovering McEwan’s talent firsthand, I stand by my belief that it’s better to be late, than never to arrive at all. I’ll arrive at McEwan’s party much earlier next time.


Andi is a recovering university academic employed by the North Carolina community college system as an English instructor. While she decided to forego a Ph.D. and career as a professor, she fills in all the free time her current position affords her with editing literary publications, reviewing, freelancing, and blogging. Her work can be found in the journal, Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States (MELUS), and Altar Magazine as well as online in various venues such as PopMatters.com. She is a member of the National Book Critics Circle (NBCC), and writes fiction. Her turn-ons include new books and gelato, while her turn-offs are reality television and washing dishes. She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it