(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted here illegally.)

Regular readers know that this month CCLaP is taking an extended look at the nominees for the 2007 Booker Prize; and regular readers also know that so far I've been mostly disappointed by the nominees I've read, finding most of them to be inconsequential little wisps of stories, many of them well-written but certainly not weighty enough to be called "The Best Novel of 2007." And thus do we come to the fifth Booker nominee to be reviewed here, as well as the one easily most well-known, Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach; and let me tell you, if a common complaint about this year's Booker nominees is of their slight and inconsequential nature, On Chesil Beach isn't helping matters at all, in that it is such a non-excuse for a novel as to almost not exist. In fact, I can literally give you the entire plot of this 200-page, paperback-sized book in literally 177 words; and this is a major spoiler alert, by the way, because I'm not kidding, I really am about to tell you the entire storyline of On Chesil Beach from beginning to end, without skipping a single detail, in 177 words. Ready?

A young middle-class couple get married in England in 1962, and spend their wedding night on Chesil Beach. He only got married because he's horny as hell and lives in middle-class 1962 England, where getting married is the only chance you're going to have to get laid, and as a result has now become a cuckold employee of his upper-class father-in-law; she despises the very idea of sex altogether, but is too much of a coward to tell her husband, instead spending months psyching herself up into performing her upcoming "wifely duties." The wedding night arrives. He gets so excited that he has a premature ejaculation on his wife's stomach. She becomes so disgusted that she flees the room in a panic. He chases her down the beach, where they have an explosive argument based on mutual misunderstanding of each other's behavior. She leaves him that night and their marriage is annulled (presumably). And he spends the rest of his life thinking about "the relationship that was never meant to be."

No, dude, seriously, that's it; that's the entire freaking plotline of the book. Which, fine, I don't necessarily mind when it's a 10,000-word short story in a literary magazine, that I'm reading on a boring Sunday afternoon down at my neighborhood cafe; but seriously, as a standalone book for 22 damn dollars? And that the Booker committee has the gall to nominate as the best novel of the entire year? Seriously? Are you kidding me? It's hard for me to even believe that publisher Nan A. Talese is trying to pull such a fast one on the general public, and it's examples like this that make me better understand why the traditional publishing industry is in such a mess it currently is; because what else can you call it but an ethical crime to charge 22 dollars for what amounts to a single afternoon of slight entertainment? And who else can afford such a thing than a tiny group of overeducated cultural elite, who are putting up with such outrageous prices out of an antiquated sense of obligation to the medium in the first place? Sheesh, no wonder no one's buying paper books anymore!

And this isn't even the biggest problem with On Chesil Beach, in my opinion; no, the biggest problem is that the story itself is terrible, populated with despicable little characters doing despicable little things throughout, painting about the worst and most awkward portrait of human sexuality and intimacy possible, with none of the characters learning a single thing by the end or growing even the tiniest bit. And man, who wants to spend their free time reading about that? UGH! If I want to be constantly disappointed by the endless stupidity and cultural banality of my fellow humans, I don't need an award-winning novelist to write an elaborate Kennedy-era story; all I need to do is open my damn door and walk down the damn sidewalk any day of the week. The reason I read the work of award-winning novelists is because I'm hoping they'll have something to say about the situation that I wouldn't have thought to say myself, something that hopefully adds to my understanding of such characters or at least explains their situation to me in an original and entertaining way; all McEwan manages to do over the course of On Chesil Beach, however, is remind us of just how many people spend their entire lives feeling awkward about their own bodies, and how the sheeplike fear and shame of most of these people will prevent them from ever being able to honestly discuss such issues with others, even if that's their supposed soulmate and long-term romantic partner.

That's not only an extremely ugly message about humanity, which gives the book one strike against it, but McEwan then never expands on it, never sheds any original light on the situation that I couldn't have thought of myself, which then gives the book two strikes. Then add the palatable feeling that you're getting ripped off, from this essentially being a short story that's being sold to you as a complete novel, and that's suddenly three strikes; and as far as I'm concerned, any book with this many major bad things going on should've never been nominated for a Booker in the first place, much less be what many consider the current favorite to win it all. Unfortunately, like I said, the more of these Booker nominees I read this year, the more I'm starting to realize why traditional publishing is in such a perilous position these days; between the overinflated prices, the underwhelming content, the giant gulf between what academic critics are interested in and what the general public likes, and the ever-decreasing importance of so-called "cultural gatekeepers" altogether, it's frankly a wonder sometimes that any damn paper books are getting bought at all these days.

The longer the literary critics of the world keep exalting such dreck as On Chesil Beach, the more irrelevant they're going to make themselves to the general public, and the less the general public is going to want to support their endeavors; and that means even less newspaper space, even less books sold each year, less attention paid to all those delicate little awards those industry people hand out to each other every year. Traditional critics need to understand that the waning importance of novels and other printed books in our society is not only from that society becoming more visual in nature and less literary; that when those critics go around championing such expensive, inexplicably bad projects like On Chesil Beach, it makes the general public wonder why they should pay attention to them in the first place. I've always kind of understood this about the literary world; reading all these Booker nominees in a row, though, has profoundly confirmed it for me.

Out of 10: 3.1 ( )

Really a great little book, but gets a half star taken away from its deserved 4 star rating just for being really, really depressing. Probably best not to read this review if you're thinking about reading it. Hm, should I have said that up front? ( )

Was not my favorite book read this year. On Chesil Beach was however beautifully written and the characters were likeable in their awkwardness. What is didn't care for in the book was the lack of communication, the characters never grow or develop. Overall just a sad novel that never developes much of a story. ( )

great --set simply on a couples honeymoon night that talks of a sexual disaster between them as well as the horrific lack of communication as they both struggle with themselves.Relies on flachbacks to tell the whole story--read twice brillantly written and enjoyed eeven more second time around.The tradgedy of miscommunication! ( )

http://absorbedinwords.blogspot.com/2... ( )

A haunting story. Much publicity about the unconsumed passions on a failed wedding-night, however this could be a tale about any aspect of a relationship that goes wrong - a kindness not done; words said or not said; pride....... So deeply affecting is this book that I cannot attend a concert at the Wigmore Hall without scouting around at the faces of the rest of the audience, just in case Edward turns up tonight. ( )

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. ( )

Really amazing study of the conventions of the early 60's and the tragedy of a young couple's ruined expectations on their wedding night ( )

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. ( )

A very poignant story, read it 2 times, the importance of communcating ( )

I was disappointed with this book. It was uncomfortable, which I guess was the aim but I didn't enjoy it. At the end I was left thinking 'so what?'... ( )

Absolutely loved the style of this book, really beautifully written and I felt the characters and setting were very well drawn, but I found it just a little too tragic for my taste. Demonstrating how a very small change in the course of an evening can entirely change someone's life, you can't help but urge the characters on the beach not to walk away from one another but to talk. I'd recommend it, but not if you're feeling down. ( )

On Chesil Beach is the story of Edward and Florence on their wedding night. The novel follows as the couple blunders through the first few hours of their wedded life, one excited and the other horribly repulsed by the idea of what's immediately to come. As the newlywed couple draws ever nearer to consummating their union, they discover that they are ill-prepared in their naivete and lack of true knowledge of each other not only for this, their wedding night, but also for their entire future together.

Using the lengthy uncomfortable moments between the marriage and the doing of the deed, McEwan expertly weaves together the couple's past and their present. In just over two hundred pages he chronicles their first meeting, their falling into sweet, if ultimately superficial love for each other, and the unfortunate consequences of an evening that could have ended very differently. Even as the two contemplate their pasts and futures, their conflicting feelings about the moment at hand are ever present in McEwan's narrative.

On Chesil Beach is a very big book in scope that is, physically, quite small. It is a book in which very little actually happens, and much to McEwan's credit, it's very unlikely that most readers will notice the lack of action. In fact, On Chesil Beach hums along at a pace that never feels laborious which seems to be ever a danger in books such as this. McEwan has created a tightly written and stunningly realistic portrait of an innocent couple on their wedding night, showing us two people who barely know themselves attempting to become one. Beautifully wrought description, imagery, and characterization bring both the wedding night and the retrospective scenes of the beginnings of Edward and Florence's relationship to life in all their minute intricacies. Using his newlyweds who seem to be virtual strangers even on their wedding night, McEwan beautifully brings home the point that we can never really know another person completely, and maybe love isn't quite all you need when it comes to sustaining a relationship. ( )

This was a bit stylized for my taste, but not so much as some of McEwan's other work. It was also very simple, but not a bad escape. The writing is elegant, which helps. In general, this is one of those books that just doesn't leave much of an impression. The characters aren't particularly likable, and I'd say that at times they're simply unbelievable.

In the end, I wouldn't Not recommend this book, but I also wouldn't recommend it. McEwan seems to be one of those polarizing figures, and my inclination is to say that he is at times just trying too hard to be literary. I didn't see this inclination coming across so much here as in some of his other work, but I still feel that some parts are overdone while other aspects just aren't given enough development or time. ( )

Beautifully written story about two lovers, their histories, families, work, interests.. culminating into their disastreous marriage night. How common misunderstanding can spoil so much. ( )

The brevity of this haunting novel truly lends to McEwan's singular focus. The heartbreak found in the place where communication cannot exist proved sympathetic and profound. ( )

Heartbreaking story. Amazing writing. ( )

A brilliantly written story about how to be a human being, really, on breakdown of communication even with people we love, on the true difference between men and women, on how monumental a moment can be in our lives. Ian McEwan has become one of the greatest writers of our time. ( )

Initially, I was disappointed that I had read the opening chapter of this very short book in The New Yorker, but it was a kind of pleasure to re-read it and to be back in the presence of a really, really good writer. I thought the simple plot structure was really pleasurable and even though I thought the kind of fast forward epilogue-ish ending was disappointing, I really liked reading this. I hear that some think that the female character was too stereotypical, but I think the historical nature of the book made that okay for me (I didn't even notice it). I thought it was quite good. ( )

I loved this book for its crisp, singular focus, and for its insights into the the very different perspectives a man and a woman can have about love and sex. It rang as true for me throughout. I also loved the perspective that came with time in the final chapter, and the illustration that lives change dramatically in single critical instants of action or non-action. Sentimental but in a haunting, beautiful way.

"Occasionally, he would come to a forking of the paths deep in a beech wood and idly think that this was where she must have paused to consult her map that morning in August, and he would imagine her vividly, only a few feet and forty years away, intent on finding him. Or he would pause by a view over the Stonor Valley and wonder whether this was where she stopped to eat her orange. At last he could admit to himself that he had never met anyone he loved so much..." ( )

Is it just me or is this a bit short? I did enjoy it, and it captures the lack of communication and understanding between the couple very well, but I couldn't help thinking it lacked a bit of substance, like he got to 150 pages and decided to just get the rest finished off in as few pages as possible. I thought the last part was pointless and rushed, and very at odds with the slow unfolding of the wedding night. So I both enjoyed this and was disappointed by it. ( )

A beautifully written story about a romance, the lack of communication, the fears and joys of a young man and young woman who can't talk to one another. ( )