UPDATE 2/23/22: I saw Hamilton last night, and found myself distracted for much of it because I couldn't stop thinking about The Transit of Venus. Hazzard teaches us SO well the importance of perspective/who is telling the story, and I just couldn't stop reflecting on this novel in the whole Eliza/Angelica dynamic! (Yes, I was actually distracted FROM HAMILTON because of thinking about this book. it's actually that good.)
Original Review: I don't remember the last time I read a novel as intricately plotted as The Transit of Venus. Seriously, every word in this book is significant, and the payoff by the end is exceptional. This book is executed so so perfectly.
Reflecting further, I don't know how I had never even heard of it. Like, this belongs up there with all the great novels of the 20th century. Where is Transit in all the lists of great books?? Basically this is me trying to convince you to read it, because every word is pure magic.
Hazzard tells us nearly everything we need to know within the first pages, yet it's only with the knowledge of the final paragraphs that we understand the true significance of these events. ”By nightfall the headlines would be reporting devastation," the novel begins. ”It was simply that the sky, on a shadeless day, suddenly lowered itself like an awning. Purple silence petrified the limbs of trees and stood crops upright in the fields like hair on end…This occurred shortly after midday on a summer Monday in the south of England.” Through her startling imagery we learn of a flood, a destructive storm, and into this cosmic atmosphere is thrust a man, ”walking slowly into a landscape under a branch of lightning. . . Only he, kinetic, advanced against circumstances to a single destination.”
Like the man, who we soon learn to be Edmund (Ted) Tice, the novel advances toward a single destination. Hazzard’s narrator seems to see every event with a cosmic scale, and as a result there are no spoilers to this novel. Within the first 10 pages, we learn that Ted will ultimately commit suicide; yet it is only in the novel’s last words that we have the perspective to understand why. In the meantime, Ted meets Grace and Caroline, orphaned sisters from Australia, and falls irreparably in love with Caro; they meet Paul Ivory, who will marry Tertia despite Caro’s love for him; and Ted works under Sefton Thrale, whose son will marry Grace. They live briefly at Peverel, the home of Sefton and Charmian Thrale, and the consequences of their youthful choices that summer will ripple out into the next 30 years of life.
This book is a Greek tragedy, played out in a postmodern context. It's also, somehow, like reading Jane Austen or Middlemarch. The characters wrestle with the realities of life after WWII, and yet the questions have not changed in the course of human history. Hazzard’s writing is difficult to get through because of how rich it is; every sentence of this book could be broken apart and thoughtfully reflected upon. But oh my WORD, the payoff by the novel’s end is unreal. I cannot describe how satisfying the revelations in the last part were to read.
Still not convinced? Here are a couple more of my favorites:
"Wearing a cardigan that had perhaps been blue, Caro was pouring water from a jug. In looks, Caro was as yet unfinished, lacking some revelation that might simply be her own awareness; unlike Grace, who was completed if not complete."
"It was inconceivable that he could not touch or take hold of her light-blue body that had power over all his days. The very outline of the earth, beyond her, was nothing to it. 'You're as distant from me now as you'll be when we're separated. There's no happiness in this for me, our standing together here and now. But I'll think of it, later, as being close to you, and lucky.'"
"With these prospects and impressions, she, forty-three years old, stood silent in a hotel doorway in her worn blue coat and looked at the cars and the stars, with the roar of existence in her ears. And like any great poet or tragic sovereign of antiquity, cried on her Creator and wondered how long she must remain on such an earth."
This is a novel about love in all its forms, about tragedy and fate in a postmodern world, about age and youth and all the regrets we slowly aqcuire, or learn to redeem. It's a reflection on how truth always makes itself apparent and how we catch the outlines of love and beauty when they come against the backdrop of a sort of blazing sun like war or loss. The Transit of Venus is a raging current sweeping you along and a mesmerizing spell of lucid, vibrant prose.
This is also one that will only get better with time and rereads. It’s one that I’m giving 5 stars to, not because of the first read through, but because I know that it will only grow richer as the years go by (I already look at my 4-star rating of To the Lighthouse from 2020 with skepticism and wonder how I didn’t give it 5). Seriously, this is worth your time, despite the difficulty of getting through the first half. A new all-time favorite, and one I will treasure for years to come.