“"Her thoughts did not seem her own--they were piped down to her, thoughts instead of oxygen.""And in this condition she had been aware of a stately, simple musical phrase, playing and repeating itself, in the shadowy ungraspable way of auditory memory, following her to the bedside, where it played again as she took a shoe in each hand. The familiar phrase--some might even called it famous---consisted of four rising notes, which appeared to be posing a tentative question.""Because the instrument was a cello rather than her violin, the interrogator was not herself but a detached observer, mildly incredulous, but insistent too, for after a brief silence and a lingering, unconvincing reply from the other instruments, the cello put the question again, in different terms, on a different chord, and then again and again, and each time received a doubtful answer. There was no set of words she could match to these notes; it was not as if something were being said. The inquiry was without content, as pure as a question mark.""It was the opening of a Mozart quintet, the cause of some dispute between Florence and her friends because playing it had meant drafting in another viola player and the others preferred to avoid complications. But Florence insisted she wanted someone for this piece, and when she invited a girlfriend from her floor at college to join them for a rehearsal and they sight-read it through, naturally the cellist in his vanity fell for it, and soon enough the others came under its spell. Who could not? If the opening phrase posed a difficult question about the cohesion of the Ennismore Quartet---named after the address of the girls' hostel---it was settled by Florence's resolve in the face of oposition, one against three, and her tough-minded sense of her own good taste."(Pages 135-136, Ian McEwan's 'On Chesil Beach' 2007 Large Print edition) Page 204:"Florence showed him one morning the exposed, glowing orange valves of an amplifier protruding from an elegant gray box, and the waist-high speakers and she put on for him at merciless volume Mozart's Haffner Symphony. The opening octave leap seized him with its daring clarity---a whole orchestra suddenly spread before him---and he raised a fist and shouted across the room, careless of who heard, that he loved her. It was the first time he had ever said it , to her or to anyone. She mouthed the words back at him, and laughed with delight that he had at last been moved by a piece of classical music."(All text above written by Ian McEwan)Page 210, Large Print edition:"...knowing that classical music meant nothing to him. As far as he was concerned, it was best heard in the background at low volume, a stream of undifferentiated mewling, scraping and tooting generally taken to signify seriousness and maturity and respect for the past, and entirely devoid of interest or excitement. But Florence believed his triumphant shout at the opening of the Haffner Symphony was a breakthrough, and so she invited him to come to London with her and sit in on a rehearsal."--Ian McEwanPage 214:"On that particular afternoon Sonia, the viola player from Florence's floor, arrived to work on the Mozart quintet. At last they were ready to begin. There was the briefest tightening silence, which may have been scored by Mozart himself. As soon as they started to play Edward was struck by the sheer volume and the muscularity of the sound, and the velvety interleaving of the instruments, and for minutes on end he actually enjoyed the music---until he lost the thread and became bored in a familiar way with the prim agitation and sameness of it all. Then Florence called a halt and quietly gave notes, and there was a general discussion until they began again. This happened several times, and repetition began to reveal to Edward a discernible sweet melody, and various passing entanglements between the players, and daring swoops and leaps that he came to look out for next time around. Later on the train home, he was able to tell her with complete honesty that he had been moved by the music, and he even hummed bits to her. Florence was so touched, she made another promise--again, that thrilling solemnity that seemed to double the size of her eyes. When the great day came for the Ennismore to make its Wigmore Hall debut, they would play the quintet, and it would be especially for him."--Ian McEwanPage 275:"Even if he had read the papers in those times, he would have been unlikely to turn to the arts pages, to the long thoughtful reviews of concerts. His precarious interest in classical music had faded entirely in favor of rock and roll. So he never heard about the Ennismore Quartet's triumphant debut at the Wigmore Hall in July 1968. The Times critic welcomed the arrival of "fresh blood, youthful passion to the current scene." He praised the "insight, the brooding intensity, the incisiveness of the playing," which suggested "an astonishing musical maturity in players still in their twenties. They commanded with magisterial ease the full panoply of harmonic and dynamic effects and rich contrapuntal writing that typifies Mozart's late style. His D Major Quintet was never so sensitively rendered." At the end of his review he singled out the leader, the first voilinist. "Then came a searingly expressive Adagio of consumate beauty and spiritual power. Miss Ponting, in the lilting tenderness of her tone and the lyrical delicacy of her phrasing, played, if I may put it this way, like a woman in love, not only with Mozart, or with music, but with life itself.""And even if Edward had read that review, he could not have known--no one knew but Florence---that as the house lights came up, and as the dazed young players stood to ackowledge the rapturous applause, the first violinist could not help her gaze traveling to the middle of the third row, to seat 9C. "Large Print Edition, Page 211: Because of a summer lull in bookings the piano showroom next door to the Wigmore Hall was letting the quartet have a rehearsal room for a nominal fee. Florence and Edward arrived well before the others so that she could give him a tour of the hall. The green room, the tiny changing room, even the auditorium and the cupola could hardly account, he thought, for her reverence for the place. She was so proud of the Wigmore Hall, it was as if she had designed it herself. She led him out onto the stage and asked him to imagine the thrill and terror of stepping out to play before a discerning audience. he could not, though he did not say so. She told him that one day it would happen, she had made up her mind: the Ennismore Quartet would perform here, play beautifully and triumph. He loved her for the solemnity of her promise. He kissed her, and then he jumped down into the auditorium and stood three rows back, dead center, and vowed that whatever happened, he would be here on that day, in this very seat 9C, and he would lead the applause and the bravos at the end."(All text above taken from Ian McEwan's 'On Chesil Beach' Large Print Edition)_____________________________________"Solemnity of her promise""daring clarity""tough-minded sense of her own good taste""thrilling solemnity""daring swoops and leaps"______________________________FAVORITENOVELOFALLTIME.....maybe---Ian McEwan”
“Having just read Henry James' Washington Square, I thought this was James like but 100 years later. McEwan tells a mean story and has a very good command of the language to go with it. The only flaw was the ending- too quickly resloved and one sided. I have enjoyed several of his other books, too.”
“A short but compelling read. Depicts a tragic lack of communication between newleyweds in a time when sex was a taboo subject. Illustrates jus how much times have changed!”
“The focus of this short novel is a disastrous wedding night in 1962. But short though the novel is, McEwan takes his time describing and examining, almost caressing in language the moments that make up the beginning and end of this marriage. The novel is everything that the wedding night in question is not: exacting, clear, insightful and sensitive in its examination of the elements in play. Edward’s problem is that he is too fiery and reacts too quickly. Florence’s flaw is that she is too cerebral, too slow to burn. The story tells the tragedy of a generation, which took too much to heart the extremes of male and female sensibility.Above all, this novel is a portrait of two lovers caught between the 50’s and the 60’s. The interaction between them is caught at this cusp. It is a story of the inability to communicate, communicated ludicly from back story to present moment. Ian McEwan has written a novel short enough to engage, and considered enough to satisfy. He makes love to the modern reader of literary fiction, and he delivers! I am in awe of his artistry, insight and craftsmanship. His best novel yet!”
“I thought this was an interesting story. A very quick read, and pretty depressing. Makes you think about the importance of communication and openness!”
“This book was extremely wordy and took quite a long time to wade through, especially in view of the fact that it was such a short novel! the story engaged me although the flowery descriptions bored me at times. i didn't really enjoy the process of reading the book, but several weeks later i'm still thinking of it. it was a tragedy and an interesting commentary on the times. ”
“Mc Ewan is obviously a good author. The plot was odd for our current sexually charged times and a bit unbelievable.”
