I approached the novel with tentativeness, enticed by its easy length and haunted by the previous experience with the author. I guarded myself against the smoothness of Ian McEwan's prose (Yes, I know, I've called it 'belaboured' before), letting the tension work on me instead - tension which was, surprisingly, potent and consistent. This tension is the thing, I now understand, that was totally absent from my earlier McEwan: 'Amsterdam'

Perhaps I should rectify myself after having had greater experience with the author: McEwan's prose is not belaboured; it is his restraint that sometimes fails to conclude in an adequate level of tension - the level that he aims at, or the level at which the success or failure of his novels rests.

In 'On Chesil Beach' the above deformity is aptly hidden. The length, perhaps, does not allow for the contortions in plot that McEwan is both praised and parried for. Short and precise, the novella has an overall feeling of tightness that works really well.