Summary: It's 1962, and Florence and Edward have just gotten married, and are on their honeymoon. Both are virgins, both are unsure about what happens next, both have wildly divergent opinions about sex (Edward being eager; Florence being totally disinterested and disgusted, but still feeling a sense of obligation). Neither of them, however, is able to communicate their feelings about the matter to the other, and so their wedding night quickly spirals further and further into awkwardness, isolation, and unhappiness.

Review: I'm having a hard time reviewing this book. On the one hand, I understand that it was meant to be more of a literary exercise, and on technical grounds, it succeeds wonderfully - it's elegantly crafted and flawlessly written. On the other hand, I didn't particularly enjoy listening to it, in large part because I wasn't in the mood for "literary exercise" - I wanted a story.

It's also very hard to enjoy a story when you find both characters to be obnoxious twits who you just want to shake by the shoulders while yelling "Just TALK TO HIM/HER, already, GOD!" And yes, I get that the fact that they couldn't talk to each other was kind of the point of the book, but that didn't stop it from being annoying. The resultant awkwardness was certainly recognizable (how often do we really talk totally openly about sex, even nowadays?), and familiar enough to make reading about it uncomfortable. While literature that makes you uncomfortable certainly has its place, and there are certainly tons of folks out there who can and do appreciate this book for its meditative musings and meticulous tone, it just wasn't what I wanted to be listening to. 2.5 out of 5 stars.

Recommendation: I can recommend this book for aspiring writers as an excellent look at the process of crafting story, scene, characters and conflict. For someone who's just looking to get lost in an enjoyable read, however, they'd be best served looking elsewhere. ( )

I hadn't heard great things about this book but I really liked it. The way McEwan is able to unravel a whole history from just a single moment in time is fascinating - I always get the sense that his characters come, fully formed, to the page, and that they have a life that is lived behind and beyond it.

Not having been alive in the particular decade of the setting - the events take place in 1962 - I must say I'm at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to assessing the authenticity of the era. It certainly didn't match up with my idea of the sixties (although that, I suppose, is part of McEwan's point). But I did really like the motif of Chesil Beach - it reminds me of Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach", one of my favourite poems. And, like the other McEwan books I have read and loved, it just leaves me thinking - of moments, and memories, and the hindsight with which, unwittingly, we realise just which of the fallible, fleeting decisions we have made in life are the most important. ( )

Short. Intense. Beautiful. Melancholy. Found the naivete of both protagonists a little hard to believe for the time in which the story is set (1960s). ( )

Devistatingly sad. ( )

I finished this, wrinkled my nose, and immediately stuck it back into my tote bag to be returned to the library. Perhaps if this had been a short story rather than a novella, it might have worked for me—by excising some of the background material, removing the misjudged epilogue—but as it was, On Chesil Beach felt rather arch and too consciously a throwback to Victorian fiction, almost. I found McEwan's prose smooth and palatable, and his description vivid and well-crafted, but the story itself rather tired and the conclusion limp. The main characters—whose names I've already forgotten; never a good sign—seemed like caricatures, and McEwan shows little by way of emotional wisdom. Meh. ( )