Maybe you’ve been hearing a lot about On Chesil Beach, the new shortish novel from Ian McEwan. Me, I queued up for a copy at BEA — to be signed by McEwan himself — but after a half hour in an unmoving line, I suspected it was a fool’s errand and bailed. I don’t have the book, no I don’t.
But today I was reading an old New Yorker — who doesn’t bring a stack of outdated magazines with them on a cross-country road trip? — and right there, in the 2006 year-end issue, was an excerpt from On Chesil Beach. The New Yorker has kindly archived it online. Thanks, New Yorker!
