‘Her going-away dress was of a light summer cotton in cornflower blue, a perfect match for her shoes, and discovered only after many pavement hours between Regent Street and Marble Arch, thankfully without her mother. When Edward drew Florence into his embrace, it was not to kiss her, but first to press her body against his, and then to put a hand on her nape and feel for the zip of this dress. His other hand was flat and firm against the small of her back, and he was whispering in her ear, so loudly, so closely that she heard only a roar of warm moist air. But the zip could not be unfastened with one hand alone, at least, not for the first inch or two. You had to hold the top of the dress straight with one hand while pulling down, otherwise the fine material would bunch and snag. She would have reached over her shoulder to help, but her arms were trapped, and besides, it did not seem right, showing him what to do. Above all, she did not wish to hurt his feelings. With a sharp sigh, he tugged harder at the zip, trying to force it, but the point had already been reached when it would move neither down nor up. For the moment, she was trapped inside her dress.’ ( Chesil Beach)
McEwan is a very accomplished writer. He is superb here at filleting out the nuances of this ill fated wedding night. This passage shows careful momentum and observation. Yet I cannot help but feel that something is missing. I gave up on his last novel Saturday and felt his supposed masterpiece Atonement claustrophobic and even sterile in its cul-de-sac psychology. In his emphasis here on the external awkwardness of the non-seductive seduction, McEwan perhaps loses his characters. They become immersed in the stylish web of his exacting prose, so that the feelings of panic or disgust that were initially raised as possibilities become absorbed under the aesthetic weight of McEwan’s knowledge and brilliance.
That is what I meant to say. McEwan here knows far too much, and his characters too little. We are not surprised and nor are they. Perhaps he got too carried away by the mechanics of the zip ! I much prefer that incredible scene In The English Patient where Kirpal Singh attempts to detonate a bomb…or Sarah Waters’ fabulous exploration of gloved hands in Fingersmith…detail can be emotive ian..and of course profoundly sexy though of course here that is not the point. But in keeping the charcters SO ignorant he excludes something singular about them. Perhaps their real humanity?