I
first read this book many years ago when I was in my late teens, and
although I could remember the main theme I had forgotten many of the
details. This second reading added many
different
perspectives,
which was
inevitable given
the fact that
years had
become
decades.
At
the very
beginning
of the book it
is
apparent that all life has been eradicated from the northern
hemisphere after the unfortunate firing of several nuclear bombs by
the “Irresponsibles”,
and that
the
nuclear cloud is rapidly
approaching Australia, the last
island of life on the planet.
But it is the 1950s and, despite being swept towards such
a
horrifying reality, people are more friendly and courteous, and things
seem simpler.
Yet,
underlying all
the
polite, and
at times seemingly unnecessary,
conventions,
people are actually in a state of disintegration: Moira is losing
herself in alcohol; Dwight (an American) clings to the impossible
belief that his family is still alive and well in America; Mary
devotes her time to her garden and other home improvements. Peter
is one of the few characters who is able to admit to himself the
inevitability of what is about to happen, and yet he finds himself in
a situation where he is forever balancing other people’s fantasies
with the
unavoidable
reality.
Readers
living in the twenty-first century might wonder at the perceived
apathy of the Australian people as they wait for the cloud to envelop
them; however, there are substantial differences between the 1950s
and the twenty-first century. The transport possibilities that had
been fairly basic at best were made
null and void with the scarcity of petrol – bikes and horses were
not going to move many people very far, nor would it happen quickly.
Also, the idea of cycling in front of a cloud that would sooner or
later overtake every human on the planet would
not have been very encouraging. People from that period were not tied
to information media as we are today, but
were this to happen today we would most probably find ourselves in a
similar position: no radio, no newspapers, no television and no
internet. Once our twenty-first-century dependence on external media
was forcibly
removed
we would probably feel
that we were
in
a worse position than the people from the 1950s.
The
writing is typical Nevil Shute: it does not create a literary
masterpiece, but it gives us a few
hours of
relatively fast-paced entertainment.
That said, On
the Beach
is not just mindless entertainment as it paints a reality that was
extremely possible in the latter part of the 1950s and,
unfortunately, is just as possible today, sixty years further on.