Slacks for Ella Funt

Every other year, Book Expo America is in New York and for some reason, my company gives us lowly production people passes to go wander around. We get to scoop up bound galleys from the competition and generally meet an author or two. I like it because I get to read some of the major books for the upcoming fall early and for free. This year, we were exhausted, loaded down with heavy bags of books, and about to head home when one of my coworkers saw a sign in the Random House booth that Ian McEwan was going to be signing his new book.
I love Ian McEwan and was planning on buying On Chesil Beach the next week when it came out. So we waited in line and when I got in front of him to have my book signed, I did what I always do when I meet an author I really admire: “um . . . uh . . . I really like your books . . .” and more stammering like a complete idiot. Never mind that I deal with authors all the time at work, I’m always completely tongue-tied when I meet one of my favorite authors.

As for the book, it’s kind of a slight piece. 200 small pages, only 2-3 hours worth of reading. But McEwan manages to write books that simultaneously make you want to rush through the pages and slow down and savor every sentence and paragraph. Not much actually happens here, the entire narrative fits within the span of one evening, Florence and Edward’s wedding night, as both hope that the other knows what to do. The thoroughness with which McEwan illuminates both character’s inner thoughts only emphasizes their inability to communicate them with each other.