Layer 61 A Blogella

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To read the final chapter of ‘On Chesil Beach’ took an early-morning hour of slow, concentrated effort. Having reached what is effectively (figuratively and literally) the climax of this novella in the previous chapter, what remains is simply the denouement - how will the characters play out the consequences of what has gone before?

The reader approaches McEwan’s ending with a sense of dread and foreboding, but still retaining, perhaps, a slight hope that events will play out for the ‘best’, that happiness and fulfilment is, after all, possible.

And yet we know (because we know that the writer will not cop out - he will not pretend that life is other than it is) he will confirm that the human condition is essentially tragic, and that life cannot be, and is perhaps not meant to be, a simple place where young lovers live happily ever after.

Sex, of course, is the problem. Without sex, life could be easy. Without libido, attraction, yearning for physical fulfilment and release; without arousal, desire for ecstatic pleasure, and the joining of spirits through physical bliss; without a need for transcendence through orgasmic satori experience, life could be so simple. Or so it might seem - to an ascetic, a logician, a virgin or a celibate.

The female character in Chesil Beach, on her wedding night, is, and wishes to be, all of these things. Not that she’s without passion and desire. But her passion is her profession, her vocation and her music; and her desire is to achieve perfection through the creation and the performance of the one thing she loves unconditionally.

Like so many homo sapiens she’s assertive, strong, fearless and decisive - when she’s at work on her beloved profession. She needs no advice and she doesn’t hesitate - she instinctively knows what’s right and what’s wrong. But like so many English women and men, when she needs to manage relationships and her own emotions she hesitates, she flounders, she frankly hasn’t a clue. She no more knows and understands her inner self or other people than she knows and understands the physical structure of atoms or the universe.

Why should this be so? How can university educated, bright young people with talents and aspirations be so socially, emotionally and spiritually dumb? Because that’s the way we do things here - it’s what you might call the English condition, rather than the human condition. It doesn’t have to be this way. Elsewhere, people do it differently. Not a lot, but some.

But what we have here are two clever young people who have been brought up to be emotionally illiterate, to have no understanding of their own feelings, emotions and sexuality. They have no words and no concepts with which to communicate, or to even think about these matters.

They have no idea that to become a mature, three dimensional human being they need to effectively have degrees in three different sorts of intelligence, and that IQ is not only NOT the be all and end all - that the pursuit of ‘academic’ excellence and intellectual refinement precludes, in most instances, the development of the other key intelligences. Locked for hours and days in the individual, egotistical pursuit of certificates and diplomas and degrees is no way to find enlightenment.

It's also precluded by the pursuit of money, fame, professional success, and any kind of material goal, when these things consume so much precious time that could be better spent on more worthwhile achievements. Like knowing oneself, understanding others, and developing the precious qualities of intuition, empathy, generosity, kindness, imagination and creativity, awe and wonder. Out of which love - unselfish, unconditional, unstinting love - might eventually emerge. But that’s not how we do things.

It’s a dog eat dog world, and the masters of the universe, our universe, have decreed these things should be otherwise. The hard-faced decision makers with iron and lead in their toxic and radioactive souls decided long ago that academic attainment, from which they themselves profited, obviously, should be the only goal of what they call education.

Oh yes, they pay lip service to what they see as the fluffy fringes of schooling - the stuff that can’t be tested, graded and sorted - like becoming a decent human being. But they don’t, after all, want others to have what they don’t have, which is rich human relationships, laughter, time to enjoy their loved ones, time to enrich the lives of others, time to relax and meditate, time to create and imagine, and time for fulfilling and mutually enriching sex.

It’s clear from McEwan’s book that none of the older characters has any kind of a sex life. They don’t even have any genuine enjoyment of one another on any level. Each pursues his or her lonely goals within the conventional social frameworks which they, and society, have created.

Not that sex could or would be a cure-all for the things that separate and divide the principal characters on Chesil Beach. Life is more complicated than that. Her background is well-to-do business-owning people with cars and servants. His is relative poverty, make-do and mend, and cramped, chaotic accommodation. She loves classical music and can’t see any merit whatsoever in any other sort. He loves blues, jazz and rock, and can’t see any merit in anything classical. And so on.

We know that love can transcend differences of class and background, and even cultural tastes. But when love hits the rocks, what resources have we to use that will help us to re-float our boat? What means of communication do we have that will allow us to work together, agree what repairs are needed, assign tasks, agree on how to be collaborative and supportive? And in times of crisis can we even be calm enough and patient enough to arrange a meeting where things might be discussed objectively, considerately, disinterestedly? Or do we resort to primitive instincts and let reactions and emotions overwhelm us - fight, flight or freeze? Of course we do.

McEwan’s genius, like any fine artist, is to wrap up the story without condemning either character - both of them have their strengths and weaknesses, their fine points and their faults, their guilt and their innocence. What they’re both guilty of is their age, their inexperience, their ignorance, their egotism, their incomprehension, their lack of communication, their absence of real inter-personal and intrapersonal intelligence, their lack of real empathy, intuition and emotional intelligence. None of which is their fault. In essence they are both victims, living in a world that’s run so badly, so incompetently, so utterly without the benefit of real spiritual intelligence. So are we all.

Chesil Beach is a hard place, though not without its own beauty. Nothing lives there, and nothing grows on that rocky, pebbly, bouldery spit of land between cold, grey waters. Even to walk there is difficult. You wouldn’t choose it for a beach holiday. It’s not really a beach at all. It’s nothing more than a barrier; and it’s desolate, it’s featureless, it’s barren, it’s without colour and it’s where nothing really happens, except the continuous pounding of the elements, of tides and wind and rain. It’s a bit like life as it’s lived by many unfortunate souls.

It doesn’t have to be this way.
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And if you ever have any doubts that August is the silly season then check out today’s news as brought to you by the good people at Yahoo! Hold that front page!

* Rooney quizzed over spitting.
* ‘Big Brother’ Rex blows the food budget.
* Police hunt for British girl’s body parts in Brazil.
* Dad reveals Destiny’s Child may reform.

All of which rival the classic Sky Sports’ “Leeds in talks with unnamed player.”

Stop Press!
* Whale rescue in Hampshire!
* Thatch Croaks!
* Cameron shags pig!
(Which of these is NOT true?)
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