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Every Eye
"Exquisite."― The New Yorker
Isobel English, a novelist of the 1950s, wrote three brief books about adultery and damnation. Every Eye concerns Hattie, a woman not really at home anywhere, least of all among her manipulative family, which has assigned her the role of shabby-genteel London spinster. She has understood little about her existence, and about her strange, aborted love affair with a much older man―the central mystery of her life. Now, while in Ibiza with her new young husband, the meaning of her past is becoming clear, its hidden patterns emerging from gray English shadows into the blazing Mediterranean sun.
“It is in Ibiza that the story breaks free from its resentments,” said Anita Brookner in praise of this remarkable neglected novel, “a lucidly written account of various kinds of confusion … and a valuable lesson in where to look for freedom.”
Isobel English, a novelist of the 1950s, wrote three brief books about adultery and damnation. Every Eye concerns Hattie, a woman not really at home anywhere, least of all among her manipulative family, which has assigned her the role of shabby-genteel London spinster. She has understood little about her existence, and about her strange, aborted love affair with a much older man―the central mystery of her life. Now, while in Ibiza with her new young husband, the meaning of her past is becoming clear, its hidden patterns emerging from gray English shadows into the blazing Mediterranean sun.
“It is in Ibiza that the story breaks free from its resentments,” said Anita Brookner in praise of this remarkable neglected novel, “a lucidly written account of various kinds of confusion … and a valuable lesson in where to look for freedom.”
184 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1956
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331 people want to read
About the author
Isobel English
10 books7 followersIsobel English is a pseudonym for the English writer born June Jolliffe. She married Ronald Orr-Ewing, one daughter born 1942. Divorced 1951, married Neville Braybrooke 1953. Wrote 3 novels plus short stories.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 59 reviews
October 29, 2011
This book is not a love letter, -- not to you, not to anyone.
But I love this book. I absolutely adore it, -- not just the content but the smallness of the book, the feel of it in my hands. The paper, like the prose, is delicate and crisp. You slip into Hatty's skin the way one slips into a white, cotton dress: simply, matter-of-factly. And yet, there's something truly lovely about it. This book is painfully lovely in its candor, as if the narrator never realized she was thinking out loud...
I'm not entirely certain anyone else will appreciate this as I do. (I can't be objective!) All I can say is, Hatty and her still, small voice deserve your ear.
But I love this book. I absolutely adore it, -- not just the content but the smallness of the book, the feel of it in my hands. The paper, like the prose, is delicate and crisp. You slip into Hatty's skin the way one slips into a white, cotton dress: simply, matter-of-factly. And yet, there's something truly lovely about it. This book is painfully lovely in its candor, as if the narrator never realized she was thinking out loud...
I'm not entirely certain anyone else will appreciate this as I do. (I can't be objective!) All I can say is, Hatty and her still, small voice deserve your ear.
June 5, 2017
Every Eye is a beautiful Persephone novella, complete with, as ever, stunning endpapers. It was the publishing house's fifteenth publication, and is one of my favourites to date. The copy does not contain a blurb - as many Persephones do not - but, perhaps unusually, there is no extract from the work itself either, as is often the Persephone way. Rather, we are given an insight into the novella through an extended John Betjeman quote. In the Daily Telegraph in 1956, Every Eye's publication year, he wrote: 'Sometimes, but not often, a novel comes along which makes the rest one has to review seem commonplace. Such a novel is Every Eye. It is remarkable for the skill of its construction, and for the style of its writing... [English] is on the mark whether she is observing scenery or character.' I hasten to agree.
Isobel English is a pseudonym for June Braybrooke, a friend of the likes of Muriel Spark, Olivia Manning, and Stevie Smith. For simplicity's sake, I shall refer to the author as English throughout my review. The novella's preface was written by her husband, Neville Braybrooke; he includes many fascinating biographical details, and writes also about the rather charming publication preparation of Every Eye: '... after it was returned [from being typed], she wrapped it in a silk scarf, as was her custom, and delivered it by hand to her publishers...'. English published only three novels in her lifetime, between the years 1954 and 1960. In 1974, she won the Katherine Mansfield Prize for her collection of short stories entitled Life After All.
Every Eye runs to just 119 pages, but its length is perfect; English's writing certainly works well in the more compact literary frame. The novella charts the life of a newly married woman named Hatty, and begins with the death of her aunt, Cynthia: 'It is strange that this news should arrive today, the eve of our departure. Tomorrow morning Stephen and I are to set off for Ibiza, the most savage of the Balearic Islands. We have been married a year and this is a long-promised holiday. Now it seems something over and above, an involuntary almost predestined mark of respect to a dead person, for it was Cynthia who first told me of this place which must have been when I first met her about the time of my fourteenth birthday'. Indeed, Cynthia, who was married to Hatty's 'big brown bear'-like Uncle Otway, lived there for much of her life.
Hatty is often frank, and I was immediately endeared to her; she strikes one as rather an original character construct, by all accounts. When asked for Cynthia what she likes to read after a fraught exchange has taken place, for instance, we are given the following information: 'Still cautious but placated almost completely, I answered, a little gruffly I remember: "I like good books," and then to illustrate the extent of my knowledge: "I like Rider Haggard very much, but I can't stand Jane Austen".'
Every Eye is not at all a run-of-the-mill portrait of a young newlywed. The details which English gives too, particularly with regard to Hatty and Stephen's relationship, and their wider circle, intrigue: '6.30am and Victoria. Stephen's mother, Amy, is already on the platform waiting to see us off; she has brought with her the young girl that she hoped Stephen would marry before he met me.'
The structure which English has used here, of a continuous narrative with no chapter breaks to speak of, works well; it allows her to present us with a coherent barrage of thoughts and memories, which run simultaneously alongside her present day life and travels. English's descriptions are incredibly perceptive; she picks up on all kinds of minute details. Of the train journey which Hatty and Stephen take through France, for instance, she writes: 'To begin with we are a carriageful of nondescript putty-coloured figures. But with the thinning out from station to station, there develops before our accustomed eyes brilliant coloured designs on women's dresses, cyclamen gashes on mouths and headscarves; the cerulean of the sky greased and shining on the eyelids of the girl in front of me'.
Hatty has such realistic touches to her, and she has been thoughtfully and intelligently constructed. English's writing is strong and distinctive throughout, and the novella is often quite darkly funny: 'So it is Wednesday, and the first for Cynthia below the ground - the cold raw earth lined with evergreens. "Six feet of semi-detached will do me nicely, dear," I had heard her say often enough when she was looking for another smaller flat when their lease expired. At last this has been realised as a permanency'. Every Eye is a beguiling and sometimes unsettling book, with a vivid sense of place. From the first it is incredibly absorbing, and is a fantastic choice if you are looking for something which you can read without too much trouble in a single sitting.
Isobel English is a pseudonym for June Braybrooke, a friend of the likes of Muriel Spark, Olivia Manning, and Stevie Smith. For simplicity's sake, I shall refer to the author as English throughout my review. The novella's preface was written by her husband, Neville Braybrooke; he includes many fascinating biographical details, and writes also about the rather charming publication preparation of Every Eye: '... after it was returned [from being typed], she wrapped it in a silk scarf, as was her custom, and delivered it by hand to her publishers...'. English published only three novels in her lifetime, between the years 1954 and 1960. In 1974, she won the Katherine Mansfield Prize for her collection of short stories entitled Life After All.
Every Eye runs to just 119 pages, but its length is perfect; English's writing certainly works well in the more compact literary frame. The novella charts the life of a newly married woman named Hatty, and begins with the death of her aunt, Cynthia: 'It is strange that this news should arrive today, the eve of our departure. Tomorrow morning Stephen and I are to set off for Ibiza, the most savage of the Balearic Islands. We have been married a year and this is a long-promised holiday. Now it seems something over and above, an involuntary almost predestined mark of respect to a dead person, for it was Cynthia who first told me of this place which must have been when I first met her about the time of my fourteenth birthday'. Indeed, Cynthia, who was married to Hatty's 'big brown bear'-like Uncle Otway, lived there for much of her life.
Hatty is often frank, and I was immediately endeared to her; she strikes one as rather an original character construct, by all accounts. When asked for Cynthia what she likes to read after a fraught exchange has taken place, for instance, we are given the following information: 'Still cautious but placated almost completely, I answered, a little gruffly I remember: "I like good books," and then to illustrate the extent of my knowledge: "I like Rider Haggard very much, but I can't stand Jane Austen".'
Every Eye is not at all a run-of-the-mill portrait of a young newlywed. The details which English gives too, particularly with regard to Hatty and Stephen's relationship, and their wider circle, intrigue: '6.30am and Victoria. Stephen's mother, Amy, is already on the platform waiting to see us off; she has brought with her the young girl that she hoped Stephen would marry before he met me.'
The structure which English has used here, of a continuous narrative with no chapter breaks to speak of, works well; it allows her to present us with a coherent barrage of thoughts and memories, which run simultaneously alongside her present day life and travels. English's descriptions are incredibly perceptive; she picks up on all kinds of minute details. Of the train journey which Hatty and Stephen take through France, for instance, she writes: 'To begin with we are a carriageful of nondescript putty-coloured figures. But with the thinning out from station to station, there develops before our accustomed eyes brilliant coloured designs on women's dresses, cyclamen gashes on mouths and headscarves; the cerulean of the sky greased and shining on the eyelids of the girl in front of me'.
Hatty has such realistic touches to her, and she has been thoughtfully and intelligently constructed. English's writing is strong and distinctive throughout, and the novella is often quite darkly funny: 'So it is Wednesday, and the first for Cynthia below the ground - the cold raw earth lined with evergreens. "Six feet of semi-detached will do me nicely, dear," I had heard her say often enough when she was looking for another smaller flat when their lease expired. At last this has been realised as a permanency'. Every Eye is a beguiling and sometimes unsettling book, with a vivid sense of place. From the first it is incredibly absorbing, and is a fantastic choice if you are looking for something which you can read without too much trouble in a single sitting.
June 22, 2016
Appearances are deceptive. Nothing much happens in this book, but is that the whole reality? In the present, we follow a new couple’s journey by train and boat to Ibiza for a late honeymoon. The narrative however is interspersed with Hetta’s thoughts of the past, surveying her life, until both converge.
I’m aware this sounds rather dry (which it is not), but you have to take into consideration the writing, which is beautiful and vivid. The author’s style, especially her master use of descriptions, is so full of meaning and emotions that I often had to stop and digest what I had just read.
”Why is it that so many topics of conversation are exhausted in a railway carriage? Perhaps it is that to some it is the only audience that they will ever trap in a life. The time is so short in which to complete the final impression, the space so limited, and the rearing up of the cement platform that will end communication, so certain."
“Thinking about the approaching city - white, as I imagine it will be, but not in any way smooth and lit from within, but rather more opaque and chalky, with dust rising in the streets in thick hot clouds at the stirring of a wheel"
Descriptions are really at the heart of things. The title, Every Eye, plays on this, combining vision with identity, reminding me strongly of a poem by Emily Dickinson (Much Madness is divinest Sense - / To a discerning Eye -). All types of seeing are included in this short novel - how do we see the world and people around us - how does the world see us - and indeed the most important - how do we see ourselves. Hatty was born with a squint, which alters her sight - "I don’t believe you ever see anything dead on, only at a peculiar angle through the corner of your eye" - but in a deeper level than just the physical. And then there is the inner eye.
“It must have been her peak period. People sometimes go through their whole lives without ever reaching the moment when they are exactly the person they want to be.”
“How can one ever know the extent of one’s own or another’s victory in the hidden battles of the heart? Words and gestures extracted from their context become inflated to gigantic significance, then later as precise and moribund as a flower specimen pressed into the leaves of a book when the life-giving stamens are blurred to a small yellow stain over the print"
This is also, surprisingly, a mystery. Upon reaching the last page, you will want to go back to page 1 immediately, and re-read this account in a new light. I’m however going to give it time. These Persephone Books, as much as I want to devour them, deserve slow savouring.
I’m aware this sounds rather dry (which it is not), but you have to take into consideration the writing, which is beautiful and vivid. The author’s style, especially her master use of descriptions, is so full of meaning and emotions that I often had to stop and digest what I had just read.
”Why is it that so many topics of conversation are exhausted in a railway carriage? Perhaps it is that to some it is the only audience that they will ever trap in a life. The time is so short in which to complete the final impression, the space so limited, and the rearing up of the cement platform that will end communication, so certain."
“Thinking about the approaching city - white, as I imagine it will be, but not in any way smooth and lit from within, but rather more opaque and chalky, with dust rising in the streets in thick hot clouds at the stirring of a wheel"
Descriptions are really at the heart of things. The title, Every Eye, plays on this, combining vision with identity, reminding me strongly of a poem by Emily Dickinson (Much Madness is divinest Sense - / To a discerning Eye -). All types of seeing are included in this short novel - how do we see the world and people around us - how does the world see us - and indeed the most important - how do we see ourselves. Hatty was born with a squint, which alters her sight - "I don’t believe you ever see anything dead on, only at a peculiar angle through the corner of your eye" - but in a deeper level than just the physical. And then there is the inner eye.
“It must have been her peak period. People sometimes go through their whole lives without ever reaching the moment when they are exactly the person they want to be.”
“How can one ever know the extent of one’s own or another’s victory in the hidden battles of the heart? Words and gestures extracted from their context become inflated to gigantic significance, then later as precise and moribund as a flower specimen pressed into the leaves of a book when the life-giving stamens are blurred to a small yellow stain over the print"
This is also, surprisingly, a mystery. Upon reaching the last page, you will want to go back to page 1 immediately, and re-read this account in a new light. I’m however going to give it time. These Persephone Books, as much as I want to devour them, deserve slow savouring.
July 2, 2025
Narración breve, cuidada, contenida y elegante; su prosa es sofisticada y precisa; toda la trama viene a ser introspectiva, en primera persona, para expresar el propio pensamiento de Hatty, la protagonista, y sobre todo sus relaciones en un sentido amplio. Pese a su brevedad consigue una narración muy densa y prácticamente sin acción, salvo un poquito al final.
Personalmente no me ha convencido, el tono es elegante pero anodino, la trama sin interés actual, y el final queda demasiado expuesto como un cierre forzado.
Hay además alguna expresión claramente racista, cuando considera que “al ojo extranjero” no se pueden identificar o distinguir los “rasgos de mono” de “ama y criada” (durante su alojamiento en Ibiza). Entiendo que en el momento de escribirse en los años 50 estos prejuicios raciales se expresaban con normalidad, pero eso no quita para que actualmente sea una consideración racista.
Personalmente no me ha convencido, el tono es elegante pero anodino, la trama sin interés actual, y el final queda demasiado expuesto como un cierre forzado.
Hay además alguna expresión claramente racista, cuando considera que “al ojo extranjero” no se pueden identificar o distinguir los “rasgos de mono” de “ama y criada” (durante su alojamiento en Ibiza). Entiendo que en el momento de escribirse en los años 50 estos prejuicios raciales se expresaban con normalidad, pero eso no quita para que actualmente sea una consideración racista.
August 18, 2019
QUOTES
Pages 102-3
. . . it is not enough simply to coordinate two lives by the trick of words and vows; rarely spaced are the moments that two people can settle together on a pinnacle of illumination or understanding and count it as unity.
Page 109
People sometimes go through their whole lives without ever reaching the moment when they are exactly the person they want to be.
Page 114
Rushes of cool air circulating the length of the big room, from the doors open at each end, lifted the edges of my cotton dress, billowing into the full sleeves, filling them with emptiness.
Pages 102-3
. . . it is not enough simply to coordinate two lives by the trick of words and vows; rarely spaced are the moments that two people can settle together on a pinnacle of illumination or understanding and count it as unity.
Page 109
People sometimes go through their whole lives without ever reaching the moment when they are exactly the person they want to be.
Page 114
Rushes of cool air circulating the length of the big room, from the doors open at each end, lifted the edges of my cotton dress, billowing into the full sleeves, filling them with emptiness.
June 7, 2021
I enjoyed the rhythm of this novella, the shifting between present and past, which melds well with traveling in the story. The narrator, Harriet, is a sympathetic character, whom we see as a child and growing up, with her lazy eye and thwarted talent. She tells her story when in her late 30s, now married to a younger man.
February 22, 2011
I read lots of reviews saying how beautifully written this novel was. Well, it was, in a way. But it was also dull and plodding and the plot was non-existent. There was no character development and I really didn't care about any of it.
August 31, 2012
Almost like a long, slow, dreamy short story, beautifully written but a little bit self-conscious. The descriptions of places were very evocative but I couldn't see the characters clearly.
March 25, 2017
Isobel English is best known for Every Eye, her second novel, she wrote a couple more novels some stories and a play, but as far as I can see none of those are currently available. Isobel English was a pseudonym, her real name was June Braybrooke, and the prologue of this Persephone edition is written by her husband.
“Nothing is ever lost that is begun, no word spoken that can ever be broken down to unco-ordinated syllables, no tear shed that will leave only a powdering of white salt. Everything must go on, and on, and on, repeating itself and gathering force for the ever that is still only the bright whiteness of eternity meditated on by mystics and recluses.”
Every Eye is the story of a young woman whose life could have been made unhappier than it eventually turned out. There is however, a quiet sadness in the midst of what we are supposed to see as her final, recent happiness. We meet Hatty, when she is in her thirties, not long married to a younger man, and anticipating a holiday with her husband Stephen to Ibiza, a delayed honeymoon. On the eve of their departure Hatty hears that Cynthia has died (a few pages later we learn Cynthia had married her uncle 19 years earlier). It is six years since Hatty cut herself free of Cynthia – the novel is an exploration of this relationship – and others – and the impact these relationships have upon her.
Full review: https://heavenali.wordpress.com/2017/...
“Nothing is ever lost that is begun, no word spoken that can ever be broken down to unco-ordinated syllables, no tear shed that will leave only a powdering of white salt. Everything must go on, and on, and on, repeating itself and gathering force for the ever that is still only the bright whiteness of eternity meditated on by mystics and recluses.”
Every Eye is the story of a young woman whose life could have been made unhappier than it eventually turned out. There is however, a quiet sadness in the midst of what we are supposed to see as her final, recent happiness. We meet Hatty, when she is in her thirties, not long married to a younger man, and anticipating a holiday with her husband Stephen to Ibiza, a delayed honeymoon. On the eve of their departure Hatty hears that Cynthia has died (a few pages later we learn Cynthia had married her uncle 19 years earlier). It is six years since Hatty cut herself free of Cynthia – the novel is an exploration of this relationship – and others – and the impact these relationships have upon her.
Full review: https://heavenali.wordpress.com/2017/...
August 2, 2016
3.5 stars
I thought this book was beautifully written (as you may have gathered from the quotes I added in the updates), with lovely descriptions and metaphors often derived from nature.
I loved it up until the last page, where the 'big reveal' (hinted at in some reviews and also in the introduction, which I didn't read until afterwards) felt more like an anticlimax, and left me with a profound feeling of 'so what'.
Fun fact (not a spoiler for the book):
I thought this book was beautifully written (as you may have gathered from the quotes I added in the updates), with lovely descriptions and metaphors often derived from nature.
I loved it up until the last page, where the 'big reveal' (hinted at in some reviews and also in the introduction, which I didn't read until afterwards) felt more like an anticlimax, and left me with a profound feeling of 'so what'.
Fun fact (not a spoiler for the book):
September 8, 2020
Beautiful writing, a bit complex in the beginning. Her sentences leave you disconcerted, like this is too hard to understand !
At page 82, last paragraph beginning, “Her small white voice creaked on, in and out of the teacups as she sat smiling at me behind the tray; these objects were no longer objects of domestic comfort, but stark receptacles for surgical performance, something in which to catch a sly tear, or conceal for a second, with the raising of a hand, the buttoned-down anguish of the mouth.”,
I thought she is a brilliant author ! It is a concentrated gem of a little book.
Reminded me of some of the best books I’ve read, the flavour. Randolph Stow’s, To the Islands comes to mind, though I forget it. But the flavour is reminiscent.
At page 82, last paragraph beginning, “Her small white voice creaked on, in and out of the teacups as she sat smiling at me behind the tray; these objects were no longer objects of domestic comfort, but stark receptacles for surgical performance, something in which to catch a sly tear, or conceal for a second, with the raising of a hand, the buttoned-down anguish of the mouth.”,
I thought she is a brilliant author ! It is a concentrated gem of a little book.
Reminded me of some of the best books I’ve read, the flavour. Randolph Stow’s, To the Islands comes to mind, though I forget it. But the flavour is reminiscent.
August 3, 2024
1950's London woman typecast by her family as a spinster reaches an epiphany while traveling in Spain. Fans include Muriel Spark, Anita Brookner, and the New Yorker magazine. I found a lot of this book stilted and boring, in the way a lot of self-conscious psychological books from the 1950s were. This poor woman finds everything dark and sinister, from the sun and the singing birds to the stereotyped non-English travelers around her. But by the end of this thankfully short book, I was somehow enjoying it. I'm glad I stuck with it, even though I wanted to smack the main character upside the head several times.
Read
May 26, 2010I find that many novellas sneak up on me: I spend the first 50 or even 75 pages feeling underwhelmed, struggling against the compression of the form, and just when I've got into the rhythm of the language and begun to be truly invested in the characters...the thing is over. Such was certainly the case with Isobel English's 1956 novella Every Eye. English writes with a careful precision that at first struck me as cold and unapproachable, but later came to seem like a perfect, unassuming vessel for the voice of her main character. She portrays an almost unbridgeable distance between humans, which at first appeared to be a lack of character development, but gradually revealed itself as a conscious philosophical—or at least psychological—stance, a portrait of the protagonist Hatty's lived reality. As I turned the final page, I ended up feeling that somehow, while I wasn't paying close enough attention, English's narrative had grown and ripened into itself, filling completely the space it had made.
The 37-year-old Hatty, as English's story opens, is torn between two impulses. She has just gotten word that her uncle's wife Cynthia has died: this brings back complicated feelings of events long past, memories of the ambivalent relationship with Cynthia she had as a young woman. At the same time, she is about to embark on delayed honeymoon through France to Ibiza with her younger husband Stephen, which forces her into the present and all the awkwardness and imperfection of traveling. As she and Stephen make their way south, strings of thought about what happened between her and Cynthia—and, by extension, between her and her uncle, and her mother, and a male friend of her uncle and aunt— occur and recur in Hatty's mind, as she tries to sort out her feelings upon learning that this family member who was once important to her has died. Hatty's memories of her past—from an awkward girl of fourteen, convinced that her skill at the piano marks her out as different from those around her, to a disillusioned twenty-five-year-old teaching piano between the wars, to a post-war emotional convalescent returning to the site of her childhood—intermingle fluidly with the pleasures and obstacles of her and Stephen's journey to Spain.
One of the things that kept striking me about Every Eye up until the last thirty or so pages, was a sense of coldness and unbridgeable distance between people, specifically between Hatty and Stephen (who, one gets the sense, the reader is supposed to feel glad are together). Compared to Hatty's visceral push-pull relationship with Cynthia, Stephen seems like a shadowy presence, asleep in a train car across from her or conversing with their tour guide while she lets her attention wander. While she suffers from shipboard insomnia, he is fast asleep on deck; when she hovers on the doorstep of a dodgy-looking hotel, he dismisses her fears and drags her inside. But although Stephen does comes to life a bit more in the last 30-50 pages of the novella, I came to realize that this distance is part of Hatty's experience of life with everyone—even, it turns out, Cynthia herself. There are moments of connection, of sympathy, and relief, but for the most part humans are set on tracks unknown to one another, which can only be understood much later, if at all. "I was over twenty-five," Hatty writes,
The one relationship she has in her twenties becomes unhappy and ridiculous precisely because she tries to overcome this, tries to make her dealings with her uncle's friend conform to the narrative she has learned about romance, love, proposals, and marriage.
This at first struck me as an overly bleak view, but now I think differently. I think it's less about condemning the whole of humanity to an isolated existence free of meaningful connection, and more about admitting that even between people who imagine themselves quite close, or who society expects to be close, there are still times of great emotional distance. Hatty, by the end of this novella, doesn't reach the romantic ideal of having all her demons exorcised, but she starts to gain the ability to take her interactions with other people for what they are—awkward or relieving, revealing or monotonous—without expecting them to be something different.
When we finally see, toward the end of the book, the scenes of courtship between Hatty and Stephen, we understand better what a relief and accomplishment it can be simply to accept events as they happen, genuinely, without freighting them with expectation or fear. In the same way, Hatty is filled with happiness when she finally meets a villager in her old childhood home who will compliment her on having fixed her formerly lazy eye: she, and by this point the reader, crave a simple, honest interaction that acknowledges the past and exists in the present.
I've seen a few people describe Every Eye as "romantic," but I don't really think that fits, not in the traditional sense of "romantic," anyway. There is no whirlwind passion for Hatty and Stephen, or even, most of the time, a companionable understanding. (After all, they have only known each other two years.) Neither is there, thankfully in my opinion, any notion of "meant to be": Hatty frankly acknowledges that she and Stephen happened to meet at the right time in both their lives, and that if they had met in different circumstances, she would never have connected with him. In English's world, people are icebergs to one another, with only a tiny portion of their vast internal continents perceptible at any given time. Understanding does not come easily to these characters; it's not intuitive. But that doesn't mean they don't try, and that they don't sometimes achieve a moment of true sincerity and connection with one another—and, possibly more importantly, with themselves. In the end, having seen the importance of the time Hatty spends alone in her old childhood town, away from the controlling influences of her early life, I couldn't feel too sorry that she sometimes feels alone even when Stephen is present. If "alone" is separated from "lonely," after all, it becomes more about peace than about pain.
The 37-year-old Hatty, as English's story opens, is torn between two impulses. She has just gotten word that her uncle's wife Cynthia has died: this brings back complicated feelings of events long past, memories of the ambivalent relationship with Cynthia she had as a young woman. At the same time, she is about to embark on delayed honeymoon through France to Ibiza with her younger husband Stephen, which forces her into the present and all the awkwardness and imperfection of traveling. As she and Stephen make their way south, strings of thought about what happened between her and Cynthia—and, by extension, between her and her uncle, and her mother, and a male friend of her uncle and aunt— occur and recur in Hatty's mind, as she tries to sort out her feelings upon learning that this family member who was once important to her has died. Hatty's memories of her past—from an awkward girl of fourteen, convinced that her skill at the piano marks her out as different from those around her, to a disillusioned twenty-five-year-old teaching piano between the wars, to a post-war emotional convalescent returning to the site of her childhood—intermingle fluidly with the pleasures and obstacles of her and Stephen's journey to Spain.
One of the things that kept striking me about Every Eye up until the last thirty or so pages, was a sense of coldness and unbridgeable distance between people, specifically between Hatty and Stephen (who, one gets the sense, the reader is supposed to feel glad are together). Compared to Hatty's visceral push-pull relationship with Cynthia, Stephen seems like a shadowy presence, asleep in a train car across from her or conversing with their tour guide while she lets her attention wander. While she suffers from shipboard insomnia, he is fast asleep on deck; when she hovers on the doorstep of a dodgy-looking hotel, he dismisses her fears and drags her inside. But although Stephen does comes to life a bit more in the last 30-50 pages of the novella, I came to realize that this distance is part of Hatty's experience of life with everyone—even, it turns out, Cynthia herself. There are moments of connection, of sympathy, and relief, but for the most part humans are set on tracks unknown to one another, which can only be understood much later, if at all. "I was over twenty-five," Hatty writes,
and I had come within the core of myself to know that I could never successfully make a real contact with another human being.
The one relationship she has in her twenties becomes unhappy and ridiculous precisely because she tries to overcome this, tries to make her dealings with her uncle's friend conform to the narrative she has learned about romance, love, proposals, and marriage.
I thought, he is a perfectionist and it is his way of saying that he wishes his possessions to be flawless. I read into the gentle coaxing subtleties that went far beyond the limited feelings that one human being can have for another.
This at first struck me as an overly bleak view, but now I think differently. I think it's less about condemning the whole of humanity to an isolated existence free of meaningful connection, and more about admitting that even between people who imagine themselves quite close, or who society expects to be close, there are still times of great emotional distance. Hatty, by the end of this novella, doesn't reach the romantic ideal of having all her demons exorcised, but she starts to gain the ability to take her interactions with other people for what they are—awkward or relieving, revealing or monotonous—without expecting them to be something different.
How far apart we were, sitting together side by side. I know that it is not enough simply to coordinate two lives by the trick of words and vows; rarely spaced are the moments that two people can settle together on a pinnacle of illumination or understanding and count it as unity. I thought always before the operation on my eye that the source of discordancy between myself and other people lay in the distortion of my own vision. I did not know then as I do now that this outward sign was only the visible proof of an inward impediment.
When we finally see, toward the end of the book, the scenes of courtship between Hatty and Stephen, we understand better what a relief and accomplishment it can be simply to accept events as they happen, genuinely, without freighting them with expectation or fear. In the same way, Hatty is filled with happiness when she finally meets a villager in her old childhood home who will compliment her on having fixed her formerly lazy eye: she, and by this point the reader, crave a simple, honest interaction that acknowledges the past and exists in the present.
I've seen a few people describe Every Eye as "romantic," but I don't really think that fits, not in the traditional sense of "romantic," anyway. There is no whirlwind passion for Hatty and Stephen, or even, most of the time, a companionable understanding. (After all, they have only known each other two years.) Neither is there, thankfully in my opinion, any notion of "meant to be": Hatty frankly acknowledges that she and Stephen happened to meet at the right time in both their lives, and that if they had met in different circumstances, she would never have connected with him. In English's world, people are icebergs to one another, with only a tiny portion of their vast internal continents perceptible at any given time. Understanding does not come easily to these characters; it's not intuitive. But that doesn't mean they don't try, and that they don't sometimes achieve a moment of true sincerity and connection with one another—and, possibly more importantly, with themselves. In the end, having seen the importance of the time Hatty spends alone in her old childhood town, away from the controlling influences of her early life, I couldn't feel too sorry that she sometimes feels alone even when Stephen is present. If "alone" is separated from "lonely," after all, it becomes more about peace than about pain.
October 16, 2024
Two unhappy stories overlap in a novella rich with symbolism, rendered in an ornate, descriptive prose that is often beautifully adept: ‘We watch him through the forest of wine bottles and stalks of mimosa. He thinks for an instant as he turns, and offers to us the thought of what he will buy for his wife tomorrow. I hear again the sound of sighing violins and paddle steamers on the Danube.’
December 20, 2013
I found it difficult to relate to the central character and to understand why she acts as she does. I love Persephone books and usually find them a clear window on a former age. I found this one disappointing.
March 24, 2020
First Persephone published book I’ve read and I look forward to reading the others on my shelf. Such evocative descriptions of landscapes, an earthy and grounding materiality in an otherwise sentimentally wistful short story.
June 7, 2012
It was fine. It was well written, but not my cup of tea.
April 14, 2024
Published by Persephone Books. It is a book to be reread. Beautifully written.
Exquisite. ❤️
Exquisite. ❤️
August 19, 2024
One part travelogue, another part fictional memoir, Isobel English’s Every Eye, through its exquisite writing and poetic sensibility, homes in on the passage of time, the growth of confidence, and an exposure of betrayal. Events roughly twenty years in the past blend together with tales of the present, as the protagonist, Hatty Latterly, travels to Ibiza to deal with the death of an important role model in her life, Aunt Cynthia. Ibiza has featured prominently in the character’s lives; for one, a place of respite, another, a “long-promised holiday.”
Reminiscences from Hatty’s earlier life, when Cynthia arrives as part of her lascivious uncle’s retinue, unfold as Hatty enters the early throes of young romance with Jasper, a man old enough to be her father. Through it, Cynthia remains an important presence, providing “mentorship,” advice, and just enough admonishment to keep Hatty on her toes. The sentiment Hatty consistently expresses is one of resentment, partially for her loss of confidence on the piano, but also for an important reproach to steer clear of Jasper, for nothing good will come of that.
The closing scene brings everything full circle, a visible portrayal of Cynthia’s infidelity and betrayal, albeit tucked away in a hut of obscurity, where she must have thought the truth would quietly pass away. It’s a highly satisfying turn, and one that validates the disquiet Hatty both consciously and subconsciously exudes when coping with her aunt’s manipulations.
4 stars. The strength of the text lies in its ambitious, lyrical writing, which transports the reader to regions of the 1950s Mediterranean Sea. Additionally, poignant descriptions of each destination place the reader alongside the travellers, what with the slow nature of travel at the time, and the resulting opportunities for reflection. Recommended as a slow afternoon snack of a book, certain to transport the reader to another time as emotionally resolute and complex as the present day.
Reminiscences from Hatty’s earlier life, when Cynthia arrives as part of her lascivious uncle’s retinue, unfold as Hatty enters the early throes of young romance with Jasper, a man old enough to be her father. Through it, Cynthia remains an important presence, providing “mentorship,” advice, and just enough admonishment to keep Hatty on her toes. The sentiment Hatty consistently expresses is one of resentment, partially for her loss of confidence on the piano, but also for an important reproach to steer clear of Jasper, for nothing good will come of that.
The closing scene brings everything full circle, a visible portrayal of Cynthia’s infidelity and betrayal, albeit tucked away in a hut of obscurity, where she must have thought the truth would quietly pass away. It’s a highly satisfying turn, and one that validates the disquiet Hatty both consciously and subconsciously exudes when coping with her aunt’s manipulations.
4 stars. The strength of the text lies in its ambitious, lyrical writing, which transports the reader to regions of the 1950s Mediterranean Sea. Additionally, poignant descriptions of each destination place the reader alongside the travellers, what with the slow nature of travel at the time, and the resulting opportunities for reflection. Recommended as a slow afternoon snack of a book, certain to transport the reader to another time as emotionally resolute and complex as the present day.
January 23, 2011
Every Eye has the distinction of being the first Persephone book I have read. The Persephone books can be easily distinguished by their grey covers and lovely end papers, taken from the period in which the book was written. I do suggest looking at their website, but beware – you may fall in love with these beautiful books and want to collect them all!
This book was a surprising library find for me – surprising because a) I’m in Australia, a long long way from Persephone Books and b) my library is generally not known for fiction other than very popular bestsellers and romances.
Back to the book – the book contains an introduction by the author’s husband, which sets the background of the book. The book is told in both the past and the present – the present being the protagonist’s honeymoon with her younger husband and the past being a more unsuitable liaison as a younger woman. The past is triggered by Hattie learning about the death of her Aunt Cynthia as well as returning to Ibiza on her honeymoon. It can be a little difficult at first to work out if it’s in the past or present (no changes of fonts here) but the book rolls along in its beautiful, gentle prose. It conjures beautiful images in a gentle manner and the reader slowly learns more about Hattie and her history all in good time.
This is a short read but demands your attention to take in all that is going on.
This book was a surprising library find for me – surprising because a) I’m in Australia, a long long way from Persephone Books and b) my library is generally not known for fiction other than very popular bestsellers and romances.
Back to the book – the book contains an introduction by the author’s husband, which sets the background of the book. The book is told in both the past and the present – the present being the protagonist’s honeymoon with her younger husband and the past being a more unsuitable liaison as a younger woman. The past is triggered by Hattie learning about the death of her Aunt Cynthia as well as returning to Ibiza on her honeymoon. It can be a little difficult at first to work out if it’s in the past or present (no changes of fonts here) but the book rolls along in its beautiful, gentle prose. It conjures beautiful images in a gentle manner and the reader slowly learns more about Hattie and her history all in good time.
This is a short read but demands your attention to take in all that is going on.
June 24, 2021
Harriet is on honeymoon in Spain with her much younger husband, Stephen. Through an interwoven tale comprised mainly of flashbacks, she tells the story of how she came to this spot in life. We learn of her very mean mother, her Uncle Otway and Aunt Cynthia who married when Hattie was a teen and of her first "true relationship" with a much older man, Jasper Lomax. Harriet comes to believe they will marry, but this is not the case and her aunt and uncle seem to delight in torturing her about it. In the end, she and Stephen find their way to a 14th century mosque where Cynthia and Jasper's names are inscribed - 4 years before she married Otway.
This was difficult reading because of the lack of sense of time. You are immediately thrown into the story and it is hard to know where you are at times. The story is very haunting, as Harriet's entire experience seems so overwhelmingly hopeless and miserable. When you find out that Cynthia and Jasper were lovers before Otway was in the picture, it makes Jasper's "courting" of Harriet - and even paying for corrective eye surgery seem sick and twisted. Was he trying to rub it in Cynthia's face? Or since she introduced them, was it part of Cynthia's twisted plan to keep Jasper at her beck and call?
This was difficult reading because of the lack of sense of time. You are immediately thrown into the story and it is hard to know where you are at times. The story is very haunting, as Harriet's entire experience seems so overwhelmingly hopeless and miserable. When you find out that Cynthia and Jasper were lovers before Otway was in the picture, it makes Jasper's "courting" of Harriet - and even paying for corrective eye surgery seem sick and twisted. Was he trying to rub it in Cynthia's face? Or since she introduced them, was it part of Cynthia's twisted plan to keep Jasper at her beck and call?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 13, 2013
Beautifully written in a poetic style, Every Eye is a rich book full of imagery. I found it hard to read in long stints as it was quite verbose, it felt like a lot was packed into a short book.
Every Eye is the overlap of two stories, Hatty on her Ibiza honeymoon with her younger husband and a story from the past. As Hatty looks back on her life and reflects, the reader learns how her past is affecting her in the present day.
I'm not entirely sure that I understood it properly, and would benefit from another reading to fully understand all the complexities of the plot. However, I didn't warm to Hatty or her husband Stephen throughout the book and am not sure whether I will ever reread Every Eye. I will seek out further writings by Isobel English though, as reading her work reminded me of the first overpowering hit when gulping mulled wine- powerful, with a long lasting impact.
This wouldn't be a Persephone book I would particularly recommend, but the writing style was eloquent and impactive.
Every Eye is the overlap of two stories, Hatty on her Ibiza honeymoon with her younger husband and a story from the past. As Hatty looks back on her life and reflects, the reader learns how her past is affecting her in the present day.
I'm not entirely sure that I understood it properly, and would benefit from another reading to fully understand all the complexities of the plot. However, I didn't warm to Hatty or her husband Stephen throughout the book and am not sure whether I will ever reread Every Eye. I will seek out further writings by Isobel English though, as reading her work reminded me of the first overpowering hit when gulping mulled wine- powerful, with a long lasting impact.
This wouldn't be a Persephone book I would particularly recommend, but the writing style was eloquent and impactive.
Read
July 15, 2008I ordered this book from the library and when it came in and I saw how tiny it was, I thought, Shucks, I can read this twerp on the walk home! But the prose is so carefully wrought that it really rewards close attention, so I made a dedicated effort to read slowly. It’s a cliché to say that a short novel is jewel-like but this one does have the minute filigree of an opal--the longer you look at it, the more layers of diminutive, luminous tracery you can detect... and how long would you want to spend doing that? In the end I was glad it was not, in fact, any longer. I enjoyed the introduction (by poet Neville Braybrooke, the author’s husband) more genuinely than I did the novel simply because it didn't seem so damn carefully wrought. Although I admired this book, to me its artfulness ultimately felt constricting.
March 18, 2011
Really more like 2.5 stars than the three I gave. The visuals Isobel English weaves are beautiful and I enjoyed how the story paralleled past with present. With this unraveling of the past, there was little character development for Hattie herself. Well, there was development, but I never was able to get attached to the character enough to care about it. The change in herself is beautiful to read, especially for anyone who ever felt outcast in their youth, but I still felt like the story wound around in circles with a little whimper for the character's epiphany.
With all that being said, the descriptions of travel and beautiful scenery make this book great for someone about to, currently, or just returning from foreign travel. The thinness of the book itself definitely makes for easy travel packing.
With all that being said, the descriptions of travel and beautiful scenery make this book great for someone about to, currently, or just returning from foreign travel. The thinness of the book itself definitely makes for easy travel packing.
August 16, 2023
It is, I hate to say it, Sebaldian, albeit one of interior rather than external coincidence. She walks and thinks and travels and thinks (the best part was the spot at which her husband interrupts her thought with a point to make and English immediately cuts him off, says “He talks away,” and returns to Hattie’s claustrophobically close interior monologue) and jumps across time and mood and people. That it manages all this, and still packs a plot-ish punch at the end greater than any of Sebald’s and does not crash and burn is an accomplishment. English is in control of her material, although I had, to be honest, been questioning it at spots throughout. A slim, rich piece of wonder.
July 15, 2014
This was alright. Not as good as I'd hoped. The Persephone site talks about how the end will make you want to re-read it immediately, but for me it didn't. The writing is beautiful, and I quite like the back and forth between the past and the present, but I couldn't really care for any of the characters and so it was hard to want to finish. Luckily it's a short book and I finished easily, but not for wanting to know what happens next. This, like the Poirot books, makes me wish I knew French because there are interjections in French and I have no idea what they say...
September 30, 2020
A fascinating book, due to the unique voice of main character Hattie, and to the enormous beauty of the writing. It’s nice to become acquainted with Hattie, she of the title’s eye. Her vision suffers due to a crossed eye, later remedied but it remains such a powerful idea - how, why, and what we see. Written in the 1950s, life was so different then for women. Hattie battles on in both work and social life, both affected by those around her being too close or too distant.
There’s such a powerful inner working out of life in many middlebrow books, they become compelling for their insights.
There’s such a powerful inner working out of life in many middlebrow books, they become compelling for their insights.
August 1, 2018
Very much of its time - some slightly hysterical, immature writing at times. Nice observations but nothing that hasn't been done better by other writers (Irene Nemirovsky or Emma Smith, for instance..). I was more struck by the descriptions of Ibiza as a pretty, old-fashioned island full of religious peasants and boredom, as recently as the 1950s. I also liked the impassioned defence of his wife's novel at the beginning of the book, by her widower.
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