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A View of the Harbour
Blindness and betrayal are Elizabeth Taylor’s great subjects, and in A View of the Harbour she turns her unsparing gaze on the emotional and sexual politics of a seedy seaside town that’s been left behind by modernity. Tory, recently divorced, depends more and more on the company of her neighbors Robert, a doctor, and Beth, a busy author of melodramatic novels. Prudence, Robert and Beth’s daughter, disapproves of the intimacy that has grown between her parents and Tory and the gossip it has awakened in their little community. As the novel proceeds, Taylor’s view widens to take in a range of characters from bawdy, nosey Mrs. Bracey; to a widowed young proprietor of the local waxworks, Lily Wilson; to the would-be artist Bertram—while the book as a whole offers a beautifully observed and written examination of the fictions around which we construct our lives and manage our losses.
321 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1947
142 people are currently reading
3310 people want to read
About the author
Elizabeth Taylor
67 books516 followersElizabeth Taylor (née Coles) was a popular English novelist and short story writer. Elizabeth Coles was born in Reading, Berkshire in 1912. She was educated at The Abbey School, Reading, and worked as a governess, as a tutor and as a librarian.
In 1936, she married John William Kendall Taylor, a businessman. She lived in Penn, Buckinghamshire, for almost all her married life.
Her first novel, At Mrs. Lippincote's, was published in 1945 and was followed by eleven more. Her short stories were published in various magazines and collected in four volumes. She also wrote a children's book.
Taylor's work is mainly concerned with the nuances of "everyday" life and situations, which she writes about with dexterity. Her shrewd but affectionate portrayals of middle class and upper middle class English life won her an audience of discriminating readers, as well as loyal friends in the world of letters.
She was a friend of the novelist Ivy Compton-Burnett and of the novelist and critic Robert Liddell.
Elizabeth Taylor died at age 63 of cancer.
Anne Tyler once compared Taylor to Jane Austen, Barbara Pym and Elizabeth Bowen -- "soul sisters all," in Tyler's words . In recent years new interest has been kindled by movie makers in her work. French director Francois Ozon, has made "The Real Life of Angel Deverell" which will be released in early 2005. American director Dan Ireland's screen adaptation of Taylor's "Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont" came out in this country first in 2006 and has made close to $1 million. A British distributor picked it up at Cannes, and the movie was released in England in 2009.
In 1936, she married John William Kendall Taylor, a businessman. She lived in Penn, Buckinghamshire, for almost all her married life.
Her first novel, At Mrs. Lippincote's, was published in 1945 and was followed by eleven more. Her short stories were published in various magazines and collected in four volumes. She also wrote a children's book.
Taylor's work is mainly concerned with the nuances of "everyday" life and situations, which she writes about with dexterity. Her shrewd but affectionate portrayals of middle class and upper middle class English life won her an audience of discriminating readers, as well as loyal friends in the world of letters.
She was a friend of the novelist Ivy Compton-Burnett and of the novelist and critic Robert Liddell.
Elizabeth Taylor died at age 63 of cancer.
Anne Tyler once compared Taylor to Jane Austen, Barbara Pym and Elizabeth Bowen -- "soul sisters all," in Tyler's words . In recent years new interest has been kindled by movie makers in her work. French director Francois Ozon, has made "The Real Life of Angel Deverell" which will be released in early 2005. American director Dan Ireland's screen adaptation of Taylor's "Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont" came out in this country first in 2006 and has made close to $1 million. A British distributor picked it up at Cannes, and the movie was released in England in 2009.
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July 15, 2021
4.5 stars
“Here were the lees of a life which had receded and which no new life revived. In the shops of the harbour lay objects which, being still, taken from context, became important as symbols of the vanished life, suggestive of something greater, as a rock-pool is a microcosm of the sea; and significant as they could not be seen waveringly through crowds. Quite still, they lay, enlarged almost, like stones underneath water.”
I couldn’t help but think of that old saying “nobody’s perfect” while reading this, my first Elizabeth Taylor novel. Taylor, in fact, points out just how imperfect we really are. And that’s okay by her, or so I believe. It’s a fact of life, and each person, no matter how they appear on the surface, has something else going on inside. Sometimes, we’re all just trying to make it through each day the best we can. Everyone in this book wants to connect with another human being in one way or another. And their attempts at doing so are only occasionally (somewhat) successful, and oftentimes not. Sounds familiar, right? You may or may not like some of the residents of this declining English seaside village, but you’ll likely recognize something in every single one of them - whether it’s a little piece of yourself or of someone you know.
“He sat on the edge of the bed and imagined the picture he was going to paint – the harbour buildings seen across the harbour water, the crumbling texture of plastered walls, the roofs of purple, of grey-blue, the grey church on the shoulders of the other buildings, the green weed on steps and the sides of the harbour wall, silk-fine and damp like the hair of the newly-born – all the different surfaces and substances, the true being of it coming luminously through, the essence of such a scene, and he the focal point, painting from the end of the harbour wall, ‘or perhaps,’ he suddenly thought as light outside thrust across the darkness, ‘perhaps they would allow me to make sketches from the lighthouse, up in the lamp-room itself.’”
When Bertram Hemingway arrives, he is a stranger determined to make a difference. He will make an attempt to create a painting of the town and surely it will be much better than the one left on the wall by a previous tenant of the harbour pub. His vision must be clearer than that of the residents, there’s nothing to cloud his judgment, and the lighthouse should be able to shed some additional light on the lives of these people. But Bertram is stuck on the ground, just like the rest of us. He will only catch glimpses here and there as the lighthouse only momentarily sweeps across the different houses and characters in this story. Can we ever truly come to understand one another?
“Cut away from all I knew, in a strange place, I thought I could achieve all I have dreamt about and intended since I was a young man beset at every turn by love, by hate, by the world, implicated always, involved, enfolded by life. Then I shall be freed, I thought. But even now, two days in this place and the tide creeps up, begins to wash against me, and I perceive dimly that there is no peace in life…”
At first I thought this novel would be far too confusing to settle into. A number of characters are introduced rather quickly. My head threatened to spin. But then I discovered Taylor’s gift. Each person is distinct from the next, and she never falls into the trap of drawing caricatures instead of real people. Besides our visitor Bertram, we meet a recently divorced woman, a dying busybody and town gossip, a lonely widow, a pair of overly burdened sisters, a novelist living in her own world, the town doctor, a misunderstood daughter, and a couple of children that were so accurately (in my opinion) drawn. There’s even a creepy, lurking librarian trying to keep the citizens on the path to purity with his own private crusade of censorship!
I finished A View of the Harbour a week ago. At first I assumed it would be an enjoyable sort of distraction – a light, summer read that would be charming but quickly forgotten. More time will tell, but I already suspect I was quite wrong in that assumption. It keeps popping back into my head here and there throughout each day. None of the characters have become jumbled in my mind. I keep wondering what they are doing. What happened to them next? I want to know if someone, even just one single person, lives happily ever after!! I’d like to think that someone, anyone, will make that connection and find what they’ve been looking for. Is that too much to ask? Elizabeth Taylor certainly leaves that up to the reader to decide!
“To avoid hurting people needs constant vigilance. As one grows older one is less and less equal to the task. There are so many cruelties of omission.”
“Here were the lees of a life which had receded and which no new life revived. In the shops of the harbour lay objects which, being still, taken from context, became important as symbols of the vanished life, suggestive of something greater, as a rock-pool is a microcosm of the sea; and significant as they could not be seen waveringly through crowds. Quite still, they lay, enlarged almost, like stones underneath water.”
I couldn’t help but think of that old saying “nobody’s perfect” while reading this, my first Elizabeth Taylor novel. Taylor, in fact, points out just how imperfect we really are. And that’s okay by her, or so I believe. It’s a fact of life, and each person, no matter how they appear on the surface, has something else going on inside. Sometimes, we’re all just trying to make it through each day the best we can. Everyone in this book wants to connect with another human being in one way or another. And their attempts at doing so are only occasionally (somewhat) successful, and oftentimes not. Sounds familiar, right? You may or may not like some of the residents of this declining English seaside village, but you’ll likely recognize something in every single one of them - whether it’s a little piece of yourself or of someone you know.
“He sat on the edge of the bed and imagined the picture he was going to paint – the harbour buildings seen across the harbour water, the crumbling texture of plastered walls, the roofs of purple, of grey-blue, the grey church on the shoulders of the other buildings, the green weed on steps and the sides of the harbour wall, silk-fine and damp like the hair of the newly-born – all the different surfaces and substances, the true being of it coming luminously through, the essence of such a scene, and he the focal point, painting from the end of the harbour wall, ‘or perhaps,’ he suddenly thought as light outside thrust across the darkness, ‘perhaps they would allow me to make sketches from the lighthouse, up in the lamp-room itself.’”
When Bertram Hemingway arrives, he is a stranger determined to make a difference. He will make an attempt to create a painting of the town and surely it will be much better than the one left on the wall by a previous tenant of the harbour pub. His vision must be clearer than that of the residents, there’s nothing to cloud his judgment, and the lighthouse should be able to shed some additional light on the lives of these people. But Bertram is stuck on the ground, just like the rest of us. He will only catch glimpses here and there as the lighthouse only momentarily sweeps across the different houses and characters in this story. Can we ever truly come to understand one another?
“Cut away from all I knew, in a strange place, I thought I could achieve all I have dreamt about and intended since I was a young man beset at every turn by love, by hate, by the world, implicated always, involved, enfolded by life. Then I shall be freed, I thought. But even now, two days in this place and the tide creeps up, begins to wash against me, and I perceive dimly that there is no peace in life…”
At first I thought this novel would be far too confusing to settle into. A number of characters are introduced rather quickly. My head threatened to spin. But then I discovered Taylor’s gift. Each person is distinct from the next, and she never falls into the trap of drawing caricatures instead of real people. Besides our visitor Bertram, we meet a recently divorced woman, a dying busybody and town gossip, a lonely widow, a pair of overly burdened sisters, a novelist living in her own world, the town doctor, a misunderstood daughter, and a couple of children that were so accurately (in my opinion) drawn. There’s even a creepy, lurking librarian trying to keep the citizens on the path to purity with his own private crusade of censorship!
I finished A View of the Harbour a week ago. At first I assumed it would be an enjoyable sort of distraction – a light, summer read that would be charming but quickly forgotten. More time will tell, but I already suspect I was quite wrong in that assumption. It keeps popping back into my head here and there throughout each day. None of the characters have become jumbled in my mind. I keep wondering what they are doing. What happened to them next? I want to know if someone, even just one single person, lives happily ever after!! I’d like to think that someone, anyone, will make that connection and find what they’ve been looking for. Is that too much to ask? Elizabeth Taylor certainly leaves that up to the reader to decide!
“To avoid hurting people needs constant vigilance. As one grows older one is less and less equal to the task. There are so many cruelties of omission.”
September 9, 2019
Lots of sexual politics and domestic drama in this novel about life in a small rundown seaside resort. Taylor offers numerous perspectives, skipping from one character to another. Probably the most engaging storyline is the affair between Tory and her best friend's husband, not so much the affair itself as its repercussions. One or two elements of it though I found a little implausible. And the least successful character in the novel for me was Beth, the novelist who is being betrayed by her husband and best friend. Everyone in the entire town seems to know, even her young daughter. Maybe she was criticising the titanic self-absorption of novelists but I found her ignorance a little too calculated. Taylor is especially good at describing loneliness. Everyone in the novel - as in life - suffers the pangs of not quite being connected or understood and the sense of life as being a succession of compromises. The town itself embodies this.
As with the other novel of hers I read it was the quality of the writing that impressed rather than her talent as a storyteller.
As with the other novel of hers I read it was the quality of the writing that impressed rather than her talent as a storyteller.
December 7, 2022
I started this and was immediately drawn in by Taylor's clever and assured prose, her ability to capture those situations that defy everyday comment. Consider this description of the elderly librarian who hands over books reluctantly to Lily Wilson, and other inhabitants of the little harbour town, Newby.
Behind a counter was an old man with an ink-pad and a large oval stamp, with which he conducted a passionate, erratic campaign against slack morals. His censorship was quite personal. Some books he could not reach and they remained on the shelves in original bindings and without the courtesy stamp "For Adults Only". 'Roderick Random' stood thus neglected, and 'Tristram Shandy', vaguely supposed to be children's books. 'Jane Eyre,' bound and rebound, full of loose leaves, black with grease, fish-smelling, was stamped back and front. 'Madam Bovary' had fallen to pieces.
The Librarian who performed this useful service to readers had certain fixed standards before him, as he sat there skimming through the pages, one hand fingering the rubber stamp. Murder he allowed; but not fornication. Childbirth (especially if the character died of it), but not pregnancy... "Breast" was not to be in the plural. "Rape" sent the stamp plunging and twisting into the purple ink.
I suppose that passage caught my eye because I have just come from 'The Country Girls' which was banned in 1960 - and focuses on sexual morality. What occurred to me however was that there is censorship everywhere and not only in the well referenced Ireland. The other incidence is that Taylor's book was written and published in 1947, which is more or less the same time-frame, as O'Brien story, which spans the years 1949-52.
And then despite Taylor's fabulous writing, my attention dwindled and wandered. She splits her narrative amongst her characters, the main reason for doing so is that we realise how different the external view so often is in contrast to the individual's perspective - and in this story, there are several pairs of eyes watching the outcome of Tory's affair with the village doctor, Robert, who is also Beth's husband. In my mind there is intense passion between the two but neither can see a way to further the relationship without hurting the people they love. In Tory's case it is Beth, her best friend and confidant, and in Robert's case his two daughters, Prudence and Stevie, and then his wife Beth. Robert does in fact lose the good opinion of his daughter, who discovers the couple kissing in the garage.
And there are others watching from their houses arranged in a semi-circle in front of the harbour, Bertram, an elderly man, a visitor, courts the attentions of Tory, and also visits old Mrs Bracey who likes to watch from her bedroom window. There are some minor characters, Maise and Iris and Eddie, and the youngish widow Lily Wilson, who also hopes for Bertram's attentions to alleviate some of her loneliness.
As I was reading I thought about Flaubert's 'Madam Bovary' - mentioned above and it occurred to me that Taylor is attempting to have the full-bloodied passion in the centre of her novel but has diluted it by entering the hearts and minds of all the other characters. One of her main narrators is Beth; her voice is eminently sane and sensible. She devotes her time to writing novels, and as she can manage, has a gentle concern for her two daughters - who seem to be thriving just fine without her.
Every chapter is split into many small paragraphs indicating the continual switch in perspective; I think this works in terms of development, and the main characters do remain Tory, Beth and to a lesser degree Robert; but somehow the novel slips into a dullness. It's as if novels are designed for drama, tensions and intensity: there is a sort of climax here - the conversation between Tory and Prudence when we see quite clearly there is nothing Tory can say to comfort the distracted girl, she's 20 - and has been shocked and scalded by her father's relationship with her mother's best friend. This rings icily true, the coldness and self-interest of the ones in-love. It's exactly what Taylor wants us to see, as if she is carefully pouring gravy onto Romance. There are several references to Prudence cooking smelly stuff for her cats; lights, and cow's udder and cod heads. She runs and retches when she is cooking the lights. And it is more or less what Taylor is doing to Romantic Love.
I don't know how to evaluate this book. It's clever, it's innovative, it's certainly feminist - but it's also a little hard to enjoy. I sometimes felt that true love should out. Would Beth mind so much if her husband ran off with her best friend? Tory spares Beth this scene, but the reader can't help but wonder if anyone would seriously be hurt. It seems as if the fabric of peoples' lives is more important than the passions. The doctor retaining his status as doctor and being able to provide for his wife and daughters; and Tory not realising that she will lose her alimony if she gets married to Bertram, who also wants a quiet life and a house to call his own. Would it matter if these economic, social and family units were split asunder by the passions of Romance? It's what we expect and want from Fiction - all the fabulous things that don't happen in Real Life. Literature is our escape from the mundane and it seems that the mundane has triumphed in Taylor's book.
Behind a counter was an old man with an ink-pad and a large oval stamp, with which he conducted a passionate, erratic campaign against slack morals. His censorship was quite personal. Some books he could not reach and they remained on the shelves in original bindings and without the courtesy stamp "For Adults Only". 'Roderick Random' stood thus neglected, and 'Tristram Shandy', vaguely supposed to be children's books. 'Jane Eyre,' bound and rebound, full of loose leaves, black with grease, fish-smelling, was stamped back and front. 'Madam Bovary' had fallen to pieces.
The Librarian who performed this useful service to readers had certain fixed standards before him, as he sat there skimming through the pages, one hand fingering the rubber stamp. Murder he allowed; but not fornication. Childbirth (especially if the character died of it), but not pregnancy... "Breast" was not to be in the plural. "Rape" sent the stamp plunging and twisting into the purple ink.
I suppose that passage caught my eye because I have just come from 'The Country Girls' which was banned in 1960 - and focuses on sexual morality. What occurred to me however was that there is censorship everywhere and not only in the well referenced Ireland. The other incidence is that Taylor's book was written and published in 1947, which is more or less the same time-frame, as O'Brien story, which spans the years 1949-52.
And then despite Taylor's fabulous writing, my attention dwindled and wandered. She splits her narrative amongst her characters, the main reason for doing so is that we realise how different the external view so often is in contrast to the individual's perspective - and in this story, there are several pairs of eyes watching the outcome of Tory's affair with the village doctor, Robert, who is also Beth's husband. In my mind there is intense passion between the two but neither can see a way to further the relationship without hurting the people they love. In Tory's case it is Beth, her best friend and confidant, and in Robert's case his two daughters, Prudence and Stevie, and then his wife Beth. Robert does in fact lose the good opinion of his daughter, who discovers the couple kissing in the garage.
And there are others watching from their houses arranged in a semi-circle in front of the harbour, Bertram, an elderly man, a visitor, courts the attentions of Tory, and also visits old Mrs Bracey who likes to watch from her bedroom window. There are some minor characters, Maise and Iris and Eddie, and the youngish widow Lily Wilson, who also hopes for Bertram's attentions to alleviate some of her loneliness.
As I was reading I thought about Flaubert's 'Madam Bovary' - mentioned above and it occurred to me that Taylor is attempting to have the full-bloodied passion in the centre of her novel but has diluted it by entering the hearts and minds of all the other characters. One of her main narrators is Beth; her voice is eminently sane and sensible. She devotes her time to writing novels, and as she can manage, has a gentle concern for her two daughters - who seem to be thriving just fine without her.
Every chapter is split into many small paragraphs indicating the continual switch in perspective; I think this works in terms of development, and the main characters do remain Tory, Beth and to a lesser degree Robert; but somehow the novel slips into a dullness. It's as if novels are designed for drama, tensions and intensity: there is a sort of climax here - the conversation between Tory and Prudence when we see quite clearly there is nothing Tory can say to comfort the distracted girl, she's 20 - and has been shocked and scalded by her father's relationship with her mother's best friend. This rings icily true, the coldness and self-interest of the ones in-love. It's exactly what Taylor wants us to see, as if she is carefully pouring gravy onto Romance. There are several references to Prudence cooking smelly stuff for her cats; lights, and cow's udder and cod heads. She runs and retches when she is cooking the lights. And it is more or less what Taylor is doing to Romantic Love.
I don't know how to evaluate this book. It's clever, it's innovative, it's certainly feminist - but it's also a little hard to enjoy. I sometimes felt that true love should out. Would Beth mind so much if her husband ran off with her best friend? Tory spares Beth this scene, but the reader can't help but wonder if anyone would seriously be hurt. It seems as if the fabric of peoples' lives is more important than the passions. The doctor retaining his status as doctor and being able to provide for his wife and daughters; and Tory not realising that she will lose her alimony if she gets married to Bertram, who also wants a quiet life and a house to call his own. Would it matter if these economic, social and family units were split asunder by the passions of Romance? It's what we expect and want from Fiction - all the fabulous things that don't happen in Real Life. Literature is our escape from the mundane and it seems that the mundane has triumphed in Taylor's book.
June 16, 2023
Elizabeth Taylor’s novel shatters many cherished myths about post-WW2 England, here there’s no sense of the supposed camaraderie forged by years of people ‘pulling together’ or of a people now filled with renewed belief in a better tomorrow. Instead, Taylor’s penetrating portrait of a small, decaying seaside town, complete with salacious librarian, and a down-at-heel waxworks crowded with sculptures of infamous murderers, is pervaded by an atmosphere of melancholy, and flashes of the tawdry or the macabre - at times reminding me of Barbara Comyns’s particular brand of domestic gothic, at others of Dylan Thomas’s, slightly later, Under Milk Wood another slice-of-life piece set in a fishing village, filled with similarly memorable, somewhat-eccentric characters. From a distance, approached from the sea, Taylor’s fictional town seems picturesque, but close up it’s dingy and dilapidated. War is over and the world has moved on, deserting the town in favour of a shiny New Town just across the bay.
Taylor’s narrative’s highly allusive but most prominent is the shadow cast by Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse which partly reflected on the aftermath of an earlier war. Although Taylor and Woolf share similar themes, Taylor’s work is more rooted in the real, even the mundane. Like Woolf, Taylor is interested in inner and outer worlds, in art and creativity, here played out through the experiences of local novelist Beth Cazabon and incomer Bertram Hemingway, but in Taylor’s society their links to art provide them with no special insights or elevated sensibilities, no likelihood of wider cultural significance. Bertram represents himself as a painter but he’s actually an amateur who rarely produces anything, more intent on insinuating himself into the lives of the townspeople, particularly the women. The prolific Beth immerses herself in her writing, producing work that seems to bear little relationship with the world outside her imagination. She’s unaware of the looming threat to her family posed by a close friend, and she lacks understanding when it comes to the inner lives of her husband and daughters. Both Bertram and Beth, like all of the characters here, are a curious mix of sympathetic and incredibly off-putting. Beth can be frustratingly oblivious to many things, but her musing on the challenges faced by the woman writer form a convincing critique of domesticity, as if she’s indirectly responding to Cyril Connolly’s earlier predictions about the danger “the pram in the hall” posed to the artist but reframing them from a more feminist perspective. Bertram is bizarrely vain, intent on his own, self-centred perspective and his views on women are appalling yet he can also be oddly sensitive, particularly to the house-bound, ailing Mrs Bracey.
There’s little in the way of a plot, even the hint of a conventional marriage plot’s obscured by other events. Nothing particularly spectacular happens, Taylor seems more focused on her version of the ‘dying fall’, the fading away of hopes or dreams and ultimately of life itself. She’s particularly adept at exposing casual cruelties, conjuring the small acts of betrayal and deception that shatter illusions or that can blight a person’s entire existence, as in the town’s summary judgement of diffident, lonely widow Lily Wilson. But although Lily’s more obviously isolated than many, isolation, and loneliness seem all-pervasive here - if the book were a painting I could imagine each figure firmly outlined in thick, black lines, all possibility of real connection between them severed. Overall it’s a fairly devastating piece but it’s rescued from utter bleakness by Taylor’s skill and her subversive vision: her array of unexpected and unusually-striking scenes or details; her sudden injections of wry comedy; her arresting dialogue and expressive descriptions of nature. And sometimes, Taylor offers her readers fleeting glimmers of hope - for meaningful connection, for intimacy or tenderness
Taylor’s narrative’s highly allusive but most prominent is the shadow cast by Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse which partly reflected on the aftermath of an earlier war. Although Taylor and Woolf share similar themes, Taylor’s work is more rooted in the real, even the mundane. Like Woolf, Taylor is interested in inner and outer worlds, in art and creativity, here played out through the experiences of local novelist Beth Cazabon and incomer Bertram Hemingway, but in Taylor’s society their links to art provide them with no special insights or elevated sensibilities, no likelihood of wider cultural significance. Bertram represents himself as a painter but he’s actually an amateur who rarely produces anything, more intent on insinuating himself into the lives of the townspeople, particularly the women. The prolific Beth immerses herself in her writing, producing work that seems to bear little relationship with the world outside her imagination. She’s unaware of the looming threat to her family posed by a close friend, and she lacks understanding when it comes to the inner lives of her husband and daughters. Both Bertram and Beth, like all of the characters here, are a curious mix of sympathetic and incredibly off-putting. Beth can be frustratingly oblivious to many things, but her musing on the challenges faced by the woman writer form a convincing critique of domesticity, as if she’s indirectly responding to Cyril Connolly’s earlier predictions about the danger “the pram in the hall” posed to the artist but reframing them from a more feminist perspective. Bertram is bizarrely vain, intent on his own, self-centred perspective and his views on women are appalling yet he can also be oddly sensitive, particularly to the house-bound, ailing Mrs Bracey.
There’s little in the way of a plot, even the hint of a conventional marriage plot’s obscured by other events. Nothing particularly spectacular happens, Taylor seems more focused on her version of the ‘dying fall’, the fading away of hopes or dreams and ultimately of life itself. She’s particularly adept at exposing casual cruelties, conjuring the small acts of betrayal and deception that shatter illusions or that can blight a person’s entire existence, as in the town’s summary judgement of diffident, lonely widow Lily Wilson. But although Lily’s more obviously isolated than many, isolation, and loneliness seem all-pervasive here - if the book were a painting I could imagine each figure firmly outlined in thick, black lines, all possibility of real connection between them severed. Overall it’s a fairly devastating piece but it’s rescued from utter bleakness by Taylor’s skill and her subversive vision: her array of unexpected and unusually-striking scenes or details; her sudden injections of wry comedy; her arresting dialogue and expressive descriptions of nature. And sometimes, Taylor offers her readers fleeting glimmers of hope - for meaningful connection, for intimacy or tenderness
November 1, 2018
This is the third novel by Taylor I have read and I think this is the best so far. It is set in a small seaside town in southern England. It is a quite claustrophobic piece focussing on a small group of the town’s residents. Not much happens, but the whole is nuanced and there is a tension between the artistic and domestic. But don’t let Taylor deceive you: she’s sharp, she makes her point at a time when women novelists were expected to fit a certain role. The rather creepy librarian says to the owner of the waxworks museum, Lily Wilson:
“That’s a fine and powerful story. ...No need to be prejudiced against lady novelists. In literature the wind bloweth where it listeth. ...Ladies – and you notice I say “ladies” – have their own contribution to make. A nice domestic romance. Why ape men?”
One of the main characters, Beth (a variation on Elizabeth maybe), is a writer and this gives Taylor a chance to reflect on the trials of being a writer:
‘This isn’t writing,’ she thought miserably. It’s just fiddling about with words. I’m not a great writer. Whatever I do someone else has always done it before, and better. In ten years’ time no one will remember this book, the libraries will have sold off all their grubby copies of it second-hand and the rest will have fallen to pieces, gone to dust. And, even if I were one of the great ones, who in the long run cares? People walk about in the streets and it is all the same to them if the novels of Henry James were never written. They could not easily care less. No one asks us to write. If we stop, who will implore us to go on? The only goodness that will ever come out of it is surely this moment now, wondering if “vague” will do better than “faint”. Or “faint” than “vague”, and what is to follow; putting one word alongside another, like matching silks, a sort of game.’
The characters are well developed, not too many for confusion and we have an affair, a local gossip who monitors comings and goings, a local public house and its denizens, a doctor and his wife (the doctor having the affair with wife’s divorced best friend who lives next door, a rather dashing but slightly aging artist who is definitely a hit with the ladies, various younger elements who are discovering what life is about and a few minor characters.
The themes are not new, intimacy and betrayal, art and life, the masks we all wear. All the characters are well drawn, very flawed. All of the characters feel very alone, but brush up against the others in their aloneness. There is also a death bed scene and having been at a few death beds, this is very well written and resonated with me, the best part of the book as far as I was concerned, along with Edward’s letters to his mother.
“That’s a fine and powerful story. ...No need to be prejudiced against lady novelists. In literature the wind bloweth where it listeth. ...Ladies – and you notice I say “ladies” – have their own contribution to make. A nice domestic romance. Why ape men?”
One of the main characters, Beth (a variation on Elizabeth maybe), is a writer and this gives Taylor a chance to reflect on the trials of being a writer:
‘This isn’t writing,’ she thought miserably. It’s just fiddling about with words. I’m not a great writer. Whatever I do someone else has always done it before, and better. In ten years’ time no one will remember this book, the libraries will have sold off all their grubby copies of it second-hand and the rest will have fallen to pieces, gone to dust. And, even if I were one of the great ones, who in the long run cares? People walk about in the streets and it is all the same to them if the novels of Henry James were never written. They could not easily care less. No one asks us to write. If we stop, who will implore us to go on? The only goodness that will ever come out of it is surely this moment now, wondering if “vague” will do better than “faint”. Or “faint” than “vague”, and what is to follow; putting one word alongside another, like matching silks, a sort of game.’
The characters are well developed, not too many for confusion and we have an affair, a local gossip who monitors comings and goings, a local public house and its denizens, a doctor and his wife (the doctor having the affair with wife’s divorced best friend who lives next door, a rather dashing but slightly aging artist who is definitely a hit with the ladies, various younger elements who are discovering what life is about and a few minor characters.
The themes are not new, intimacy and betrayal, art and life, the masks we all wear. All the characters are well drawn, very flawed. All of the characters feel very alone, but brush up against the others in their aloneness. There is also a death bed scene and having been at a few death beds, this is very well written and resonated with me, the best part of the book as far as I was concerned, along with Edward’s letters to his mother.
July 5, 2021
Elizabeth Taylor is one of those authors that take you into a slice of time in her character's lives without much preamble, then leaves you imagining what happens after that. The small nuggets of action and conversation have you feeling you know them intimately, then later you realize you didn't understand them at all.
A View of the Harbour takes you to a picturesque seaside town in the years after WWII, when we see it through the eyes of a visitor, Bertram, a retired naval man who has come to paint charming pictures of the place. As he gets to know the townspeople, he gets involved in their lives, and we begin to see that this is a dying little village that has been passed by in the name of progress. Most of the people there simply have no other place to be.
Taylor is a master of dry, subtle, wit that might take a few seconds to "get." Then when you do, you feel like you've gained entry into a club of intelligent readers. She gets you through intense scenes of life-changing realizations, intense emotions, and even death, with no melodrama, but much head nodding because you know, you've been there before in your own life. Not a novel to race through, but to savor. Her writing is quiet, but magnificent.
A View of the Harbour takes you to a picturesque seaside town in the years after WWII, when we see it through the eyes of a visitor, Bertram, a retired naval man who has come to paint charming pictures of the place. As he gets to know the townspeople, he gets involved in their lives, and we begin to see that this is a dying little village that has been passed by in the name of progress. Most of the people there simply have no other place to be.
Taylor is a master of dry, subtle, wit that might take a few seconds to "get." Then when you do, you feel like you've gained entry into a club of intelligent readers. She gets you through intense scenes of life-changing realizations, intense emotions, and even death, with no melodrama, but much head nodding because you know, you've been there before in your own life. Not a novel to race through, but to savor. Her writing is quiet, but magnificent.
April 24, 2020
After starting off slow and a bit confusingly (at least to me) I would say this is one of Elizabeth Taylor’s best novels. I suppose it started off that way because she had a whole cast of characters to introduce who each had different agendas on their plates, so it took a while to let the reader know of that information.
This is a novel in post-WW II England in a seaside town of Newby not too far from London, where things that are banal are made interesting by Taylor. A couple have a pseudo-affair (they do not sleep with each other but at the very least kiss and declare their love for each other); a busy-body invalid (Mrs. Bracey) who loves to gossip makes life miserable for one of her daughters (Maisie); a widow (Mrs. Lily Wilson) who seems afraid of her own shadow (but who owns a waxwork museums full of characters who have committed gruesome murders) hopes that a newcomer to the town (Bertram Hemingway) might be interested in her; a 20-year old (Prudence) who is portrayed as being sickly (chronic bronchitis) and not being intelligent and not having a job…well she does change during the novel but I can’t say how (because that would be a spoiler 😊); and a divorcee (Tory) is having the pseudo-affair with her-best-friend-since-primary-school’s-husband who is a physician (Robert). The best friend’s name is Beth and she is mother to Prudence and to a younger daughter, 5 years of age, who is precocious and says some weird things (Stevie). Beth is also a novelist…I don’t know if Elizabeth Taylor was putting herself in the novel or not (Beth was an atheist as was Taylor). Bertram is an older man and a retired naval officer, never been married, and passes himself off as a painter but as far as I can tell doesn’t do much of that. As Sarah Waters in her Introduction points out, Elizabeth Taylor has a number of different painters grace her novels.
This is my 9th novel I have read by Elizabeth Taylor, and I have only two more to go. What am I going to do? I am going to miss her. ☹ I would have to guess this is one of her top-rated novels by other people because this Virago Modern Classic is a 2011 re-reissue that was reprinted in 2006, 2008 (twice), and 2009; the reissue was a Virago edition that was published first in 1987 and reprinted in 1988, 1995, and 2001.
She made mention of “bosoms” and “breasts” a lot…I think I mentioned that in two prior reviews of other novels of hers which I guess indicates I am fixated on that. It’s just that one does not hear of “bosom” a lot anymore…
Elizabeth Taylor injects humor into her novels…her characters often think or say the funniest things. An example in which Robert and his wife Beth are having a conversation about two Siamese cat pets of Prudence’s named Yvette and Guilbert: “I believe that cat is pregnant.” Robert said suddenly to change the subject. Yvette gave him a wounded look and turned her head. “It would be great fun if she were,” Beth said. “Prudence might begin to make some money after all.” Robert: “How nice to retire – just sit back and let the cats do the work.”
I had decided early on that I did not like Mrs. Bracey and remained that way for most of the novel but then near the end of the novel she was reminiscing of her childhood and then I changed my mind. I guess one can do that in real life…one forms a negative opinion of somebody and maybe deservedly so based on their behavior, but if one digs down deep enough there could be something still redeemable in them (look at Citizen Kane and his sled Rosebud). I found it interesting how Taylor could paint a character one way, and then near the end of her novel pop in a tidbit that made me reappraise a person…
Bertram figured prominently in the novel but I did not like him because Taylor had this to say about his character early on, and who could like such a person?! “He walked back to the pub, feeling pleased with himself. Very tactfully he had done a great kindness. When he was kind to people he had to love them; but when he had loved them for a little while he wished only to be rid of them and so that he might free himself would not hesitate to inflict all the cruelties which his sensibility knew they could not endure.” With a friend like that who needs enemies?!
I liked Sarah Waters’ Introduction [an esteemed British novelist in her own right, e.g., “Tipping the Velvet” (1998) and Night Watch (2006)].
Reviews:
A very long and interesting review in The New Yorker [June 26, 2015] (NOTE: if you have an inclination to read this book, I would not read the review until after you read the book because there are too many spoilers in it, but it is an excellent review cuz it has so many interesting things in it); https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-... …
(NOTE: same warning as above) http://www.full-stop.net/2015/07/06/r...
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2018...
This is a novel in post-WW II England in a seaside town of Newby not too far from London, where things that are banal are made interesting by Taylor. A couple have a pseudo-affair (they do not sleep with each other but at the very least kiss and declare their love for each other); a busy-body invalid (Mrs. Bracey) who loves to gossip makes life miserable for one of her daughters (Maisie); a widow (Mrs. Lily Wilson) who seems afraid of her own shadow (but who owns a waxwork museums full of characters who have committed gruesome murders) hopes that a newcomer to the town (Bertram Hemingway) might be interested in her; a 20-year old (Prudence) who is portrayed as being sickly (chronic bronchitis) and not being intelligent and not having a job…well she does change during the novel but I can’t say how (because that would be a spoiler 😊); and a divorcee (Tory) is having the pseudo-affair with her-best-friend-since-primary-school’s-husband who is a physician (Robert). The best friend’s name is Beth and she is mother to Prudence and to a younger daughter, 5 years of age, who is precocious and says some weird things (Stevie). Beth is also a novelist…I don’t know if Elizabeth Taylor was putting herself in the novel or not (Beth was an atheist as was Taylor). Bertram is an older man and a retired naval officer, never been married, and passes himself off as a painter but as far as I can tell doesn’t do much of that. As Sarah Waters in her Introduction points out, Elizabeth Taylor has a number of different painters grace her novels.
This is my 9th novel I have read by Elizabeth Taylor, and I have only two more to go. What am I going to do? I am going to miss her. ☹ I would have to guess this is one of her top-rated novels by other people because this Virago Modern Classic is a 2011 re-reissue that was reprinted in 2006, 2008 (twice), and 2009; the reissue was a Virago edition that was published first in 1987 and reprinted in 1988, 1995, and 2001.
She made mention of “bosoms” and “breasts” a lot…I think I mentioned that in two prior reviews of other novels of hers which I guess indicates I am fixated on that. It’s just that one does not hear of “bosom” a lot anymore…
Elizabeth Taylor injects humor into her novels…her characters often think or say the funniest things. An example in which Robert and his wife Beth are having a conversation about two Siamese cat pets of Prudence’s named Yvette and Guilbert: “I believe that cat is pregnant.” Robert said suddenly to change the subject. Yvette gave him a wounded look and turned her head. “It would be great fun if she were,” Beth said. “Prudence might begin to make some money after all.” Robert: “How nice to retire – just sit back and let the cats do the work.”
I had decided early on that I did not like Mrs. Bracey and remained that way for most of the novel but then near the end of the novel she was reminiscing of her childhood and then I changed my mind. I guess one can do that in real life…one forms a negative opinion of somebody and maybe deservedly so based on their behavior, but if one digs down deep enough there could be something still redeemable in them (look at Citizen Kane and his sled Rosebud). I found it interesting how Taylor could paint a character one way, and then near the end of her novel pop in a tidbit that made me reappraise a person…
Bertram figured prominently in the novel but I did not like him because Taylor had this to say about his character early on, and who could like such a person?! “He walked back to the pub, feeling pleased with himself. Very tactfully he had done a great kindness. When he was kind to people he had to love them; but when he had loved them for a little while he wished only to be rid of them and so that he might free himself would not hesitate to inflict all the cruelties which his sensibility knew they could not endure.” With a friend like that who needs enemies?!
I liked Sarah Waters’ Introduction [an esteemed British novelist in her own right, e.g., “Tipping the Velvet” (1998) and Night Watch (2006)].
Reviews:
A very long and interesting review in The New Yorker [June 26, 2015] (NOTE: if you have an inclination to read this book, I would not read the review until after you read the book because there are too many spoilers in it, but it is an excellent review cuz it has so many interesting things in it); https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-... …
(NOTE: same warning as above) http://www.full-stop.net/2015/07/06/r...
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2018...
March 12, 2024
4.5 Stars
Elizabeth Taylor's exquisite prose and her keen observations are the making of her novel A View of the Harbour.
Loneliness underlies this character driven novel, even including the setting--a small, shabby British coastal town just after the war. In the past, Newby was a center for summer bathing. Now it is eclipsed by New Town, which even has a cinema. There are no longer summer crowds to fill the town and bring it to life. With this change, the occupants begin to loose hope and stagnate.
There's Mrs. Bracey, a gossipy old woman who has lost the use of her legs. She longs for constant company to engage her with stories of what's happening in the town. Her daughter Iris yearns for adventure, while her daughter Maise wants a simple life which includes warmth and love. Lily Wilson, a widow, is a timid woman who is frightened of a life alone. Tory misses the excitement of London and her ex-husband. Bertram, a retired sailor, moves from town to town and has no deep and lasting connections. Robert, the town doctor, feels weighed down by his responsibility to his patients and his family.
Only Beth, Robert's wife, seems somewhat content with her lot in life. She is a writer and gets lost in the worlds she creates. Her characters are more real to her at times than the people in her life, including her two daughters.
"You know, I have come to the conclusion that the real purpose of marriage is talk. It's the thing which distinguishes it from the other sorts of relationships between men and women, and it's the thing one misses most, strangely enough, in the long run--the outpourings of trivialities day after day. I think that's the fundamental human need, much more important than--violent passion for instance."
While I don't agree that talk is the only purpose of marriage, I do feel that it is an important component. Sharing the events of the day, the minutiae, is one facet of talk. Another facet is the sharing of concerns and worries and joys and triumphs. Having a compatible life companion is a sure fire antidote for loneliness for those of us fortunate enough to find that someone. That said, I feel that family and friends can fill this purpose as well.
As the words "a view" suggest, this novel is also about what people do and do not see and what they choose not to see. One aspect of this novel that captures me is the different way each character regards the world. A minor point, and one that brought a smile to my face:
"She felt oppressed by the sudden view of her parents as human beings, a view she had not formerly imagined possible. To a girl who had taken for granted that her mother and father were sub-human creatures, from whom might be expected no emotions stronger than irritation or anxiety, or a a calm sort of pleasure, this sudden view opening out was not easily to be borne."
A theme in this work is the place of women in this society/world.
"A man, would consider this a business outing. But then, a man would not have to cook the meals for the day overnight, nor consign his child to a friend, nor leave half done the ironing, nor forget the grocery order as I now discover I have forgotten it. The artfulness of men. They implant in us, foster in us, instincts that it is to their advantage for us to have, and which, in the end, we feel shame at not possessing."
Much has changed since the 1940's; and while men shoulder more tasks around the house and chauffeur children around, women are still carrying the majority of responsibility for homecaring and child rearing. My opinion is that it should not be the default option.
This novel began slowly, and then Taylor's prose cast its spell on me.
Interesting, what two people can make of the same view. We all see places a bit different to what the next man does."
3/11/24 I am claiming my right as a delighted reader to come back a few days later and bump up my rating. After several discussions with various GR friends and further reflection, I am finding even more depth to this novel.
Publication 1947
Elizabeth Taylor's exquisite prose and her keen observations are the making of her novel A View of the Harbour.
Loneliness underlies this character driven novel, even including the setting--a small, shabby British coastal town just after the war. In the past, Newby was a center for summer bathing. Now it is eclipsed by New Town, which even has a cinema. There are no longer summer crowds to fill the town and bring it to life. With this change, the occupants begin to loose hope and stagnate.
There's Mrs. Bracey, a gossipy old woman who has lost the use of her legs. She longs for constant company to engage her with stories of what's happening in the town. Her daughter Iris yearns for adventure, while her daughter Maise wants a simple life which includes warmth and love. Lily Wilson, a widow, is a timid woman who is frightened of a life alone. Tory misses the excitement of London and her ex-husband. Bertram, a retired sailor, moves from town to town and has no deep and lasting connections. Robert, the town doctor, feels weighed down by his responsibility to his patients and his family.
Only Beth, Robert's wife, seems somewhat content with her lot in life. She is a writer and gets lost in the worlds she creates. Her characters are more real to her at times than the people in her life, including her two daughters.
"You know, I have come to the conclusion that the real purpose of marriage is talk. It's the thing which distinguishes it from the other sorts of relationships between men and women, and it's the thing one misses most, strangely enough, in the long run--the outpourings of trivialities day after day. I think that's the fundamental human need, much more important than--violent passion for instance."
While I don't agree that talk is the only purpose of marriage, I do feel that it is an important component. Sharing the events of the day, the minutiae, is one facet of talk. Another facet is the sharing of concerns and worries and joys and triumphs. Having a compatible life companion is a sure fire antidote for loneliness for those of us fortunate enough to find that someone. That said, I feel that family and friends can fill this purpose as well.
As the words "a view" suggest, this novel is also about what people do and do not see and what they choose not to see. One aspect of this novel that captures me is the different way each character regards the world. A minor point, and one that brought a smile to my face:
"She felt oppressed by the sudden view of her parents as human beings, a view she had not formerly imagined possible. To a girl who had taken for granted that her mother and father were sub-human creatures, from whom might be expected no emotions stronger than irritation or anxiety, or a a calm sort of pleasure, this sudden view opening out was not easily to be borne."
A theme in this work is the place of women in this society/world.
"A man, would consider this a business outing. But then, a man would not have to cook the meals for the day overnight, nor consign his child to a friend, nor leave half done the ironing, nor forget the grocery order as I now discover I have forgotten it. The artfulness of men. They implant in us, foster in us, instincts that it is to their advantage for us to have, and which, in the end, we feel shame at not possessing."
Much has changed since the 1940's; and while men shoulder more tasks around the house and chauffeur children around, women are still carrying the majority of responsibility for homecaring and child rearing. My opinion is that it should not be the default option.
This novel began slowly, and then Taylor's prose cast its spell on me.
Interesting, what two people can make of the same view. We all see places a bit different to what the next man does."
3/11/24 I am claiming my right as a delighted reader to come back a few days later and bump up my rating. After several discussions with various GR friends and further reflection, I am finding even more depth to this novel.
Publication 1947
February 5, 2024
This is the second of Taylor’s novels I've read in the past two months (I finished 'Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont' shortly before Christmas), and even though I'm still in a terrible huff after the way she chose to end 'Mrs Palfrey...', she's certainly earned her place on my ever-growing list of favourite writers.
November 17, 2022
“The sun was slowly drained from the room as wine is drained from a glass, leaving a faint flush only to show that it was ever there.”
With this story of an English coastal village, Elizabeth Taylor has written her way right into my heart.
A retired naval officer is visiting the harbor. He plans to indulge in his hobby of painting, but instead inserts himself into the lives of the villagers. I must say, I couldn’t blame him, as they turned out to be quite an interesting bunch.
Beth is a writer and mother of Prudence, 20, and Stevie, six. She feels bad about neglecting her family, but manages to prioritize her writing, though no one else cares. Her husband is the town doctor, and bored with his life.
Next door is Beth’s friend from school days, Tory. As is often the case with school friends, Tory is completely different than Beth, more confident and outwardly-focused.
As you read, you get to know the other inhabitants of the village, from the ailing town gossip to the widow who runs the waxworks to the proprietor of the pub. Each one has a unique perspective, based on their age or circumstance, and Taylor insightfully conveys them all.
I thought she really nailed a child’s viewpoint though, both in Tory’s son Edward’s hilarious letters home from boarding school, and in what is seen from the watchful eyes of little Stevie.
“Stevie had her own world, down among the skirts, the trousers of the grown-ups. These skirts, these trousers constantly impeded her. She dodged among them, avoiding the glances of the eyes above her, the faces swimming moonlike overhead having less meaning to her often than all the inanimate things she encountered on her own level--doorknobs, railings, flowers.”
This is just a story about things that happen to people, but what makes it great is the way Taylor makes the people so real.
“'…in the things that really matter to us,’ she thought, ‘we are entirely alone.’”
It is this aloneness, this singularity in us that Taylor is brilliant at expressing. There is a melancholy feel to the story, mixed with a British resoluteness, and that combination has a special charm for me.
Sometimes you meet someone and realize they could be a soulmate, a lifelong friend, a person you can’t imagine tiring of. That is how I feel about meeting Elizabeth Taylor, and I can’t wait to read the rest of her books.
With this story of an English coastal village, Elizabeth Taylor has written her way right into my heart.
A retired naval officer is visiting the harbor. He plans to indulge in his hobby of painting, but instead inserts himself into the lives of the villagers. I must say, I couldn’t blame him, as they turned out to be quite an interesting bunch.
Beth is a writer and mother of Prudence, 20, and Stevie, six. She feels bad about neglecting her family, but manages to prioritize her writing, though no one else cares. Her husband is the town doctor, and bored with his life.
Next door is Beth’s friend from school days, Tory. As is often the case with school friends, Tory is completely different than Beth, more confident and outwardly-focused.
As you read, you get to know the other inhabitants of the village, from the ailing town gossip to the widow who runs the waxworks to the proprietor of the pub. Each one has a unique perspective, based on their age or circumstance, and Taylor insightfully conveys them all.
I thought she really nailed a child’s viewpoint though, both in Tory’s son Edward’s hilarious letters home from boarding school, and in what is seen from the watchful eyes of little Stevie.
“Stevie had her own world, down among the skirts, the trousers of the grown-ups. These skirts, these trousers constantly impeded her. She dodged among them, avoiding the glances of the eyes above her, the faces swimming moonlike overhead having less meaning to her often than all the inanimate things she encountered on her own level--doorknobs, railings, flowers.”
This is just a story about things that happen to people, but what makes it great is the way Taylor makes the people so real.
“'…in the things that really matter to us,’ she thought, ‘we are entirely alone.’”
It is this aloneness, this singularity in us that Taylor is brilliant at expressing. There is a melancholy feel to the story, mixed with a British resoluteness, and that combination has a special charm for me.
Sometimes you meet someone and realize they could be a soulmate, a lifelong friend, a person you can’t imagine tiring of. That is how I feel about meeting Elizabeth Taylor, and I can’t wait to read the rest of her books.
June 11, 2023
No human being is ever quite so simple as that. There is always something else as well...
This is my sixth Taylor and has leapt straight in as number one! It feels deeper, more subtle, richer than the other books (which I also liked very much), and the writing also feels denser, more loaded, as well as more balanced and elegant.
At the heart of the book are concerns with perceptions and representations of life: Bertram is painting a 'view of the harbour' but he's a fraud both artistically and as a person, a hollow man who knows - but shies away from - his own inadequacies; Beth is a novelist, caught up in her own imaginary world of her books which are far more real for her than her actual humdrum domestic life with a husband, two children, and regular meals that need to be produced; Mrs Bracey is an invalid old lady facing oncoming death who takes her last pleasures from watching life in the rundown harbour town from her window: 'That's my book!' she thinks, knowing that what she doesn't know about people she'll conjure up from her imagination.
And it's almost impossible to write a book featuring a lighthouse so prominently without recalling Woolf's To the Lighthouse, another book concerned with art and families, with gender and the lives of women. When Beth contemplates her guilt over being a bad mother because writing is her vocation; when she struggles to even get up to London for a few hours to meet with her publisher, her thoughts could almost come from A Room of One's Own:
'A man,' she thought suddenly, 'would consider this a business outing. But, then, a man would not have to cook meals for the day overnight, nor consign his child to a friend, nor leave half-done the ironing, nor forget the grocery order as I now discover I have forgotten it. The artfulness of men,' she thought. 'They implant in us, foster in us, instincts which it is to their advantage for us to have, and which, in the end, we feel shame at not possessing.'
But there is a wider life in this book and other lives who we touch on: I was especially moved by the minor story of Lily Wilson (a Woolf reference to Lily Briscoe?), a war widow who lives above the waxworks that she ran with her husband and who is now terrified of the figures of murderers who share her home.
There is so much life in this book, so many lives, not doing anything dramatic but living. Many of them are lonely, seeking some kind of authentic connection but settling for less, for a person to at least pretend to understand them. The concept of 'safe harbour' thus underlies so much of the subtle dynamics of the book together with the inverse of being lost or all at sea.
This is also a book packed with literary intertexts: Woolf as noted above but also the name of the interloper Bertram Hemingway which might recall Austen's Bertram family in Mansfield Park (as spotted by Alwynne) as well as the American author; there is a note that goes missing for some time as in Tess of the D'Urbevilles.
And over all these lives revolves the beam from the harbour lighthouse that moves across the town, invading bedrooms, travelling across the floor and illuminating the secret, inner lives of the inhabitants when they think no-one is watching. So the lighthouse is almost a figure for the omniscient narrator connecting the public outer selves with the private ones - which Taylor so deftly and compassionately exposes and which we, as readers, view.
July 7, 2021
A View of the Harbour is a slice of life built around the smallness of a small town and the limits of every life within it. In this microcosm can be found love, envy, betrayal, longing, jealousy, unwelcome truth, and total misconception--all lived within the cruel spyglass of a place where too much is known about your life and too little about your soul.
There is an ensemble cast of characters, most of whom are part and parcel of this harbour town, where the lighthouse illuminates only in passing and the shadows seem deep and impenetrable.
“The lighthouse was the pivot, and the harbour buildings, the wall, the sea were continually shifting about it, re-grouping, so that it was seldom seen against the same background.”
Like the harbour, the people seem to be constantly re-grouping. These people see each other only for a moment, in glimpses, and then indistinctly. Taylor seems to be telling us that the human soul is unfathomable and perhaps knowing another person is impossible, because the perspective changes drastically depending on the point of view taken.
Guilt, she saw, treachery and deceit and self-indulgence. She did not see, as God might be expect to, their sensations of shame and horror, their compulsion towards one another, for which they dearly paid, nor in what danger they so helplessly stood, now, in middle-age, not in any safe harbour, but thrust out to sea with none of the brave equipment of youth to buoy them up, no romance, no delight.
Into this fixed society comes a stranger, Bertram Hemingway, and it is through him that we see much of what is really going on beneath the surface. Bertram’s point of view is that of the outsider, and often clearer than those of the inhabitants themselves, but Bertram is just another person who suffers from a desperate desire to be remembered, to be distinguished somehow from the masses, while feeling acutely his own mediocrity.
Elizabeth Taylor, the writer, who should not be confused with the film star, writes with marvelous perception and deceptive understatement. It might, in fact, seem that there is very little going on in her novels, until it strikes you that what is going on is life. Her writing seeps into your brain and lodges there, and you find yourself contemplating the complexities of her simple and ordinary people, who are so very like yourself.
There is an ensemble cast of characters, most of whom are part and parcel of this harbour town, where the lighthouse illuminates only in passing and the shadows seem deep and impenetrable.
“The lighthouse was the pivot, and the harbour buildings, the wall, the sea were continually shifting about it, re-grouping, so that it was seldom seen against the same background.”
Like the harbour, the people seem to be constantly re-grouping. These people see each other only for a moment, in glimpses, and then indistinctly. Taylor seems to be telling us that the human soul is unfathomable and perhaps knowing another person is impossible, because the perspective changes drastically depending on the point of view taken.
Guilt, she saw, treachery and deceit and self-indulgence. She did not see, as God might be expect to, their sensations of shame and horror, their compulsion towards one another, for which they dearly paid, nor in what danger they so helplessly stood, now, in middle-age, not in any safe harbour, but thrust out to sea with none of the brave equipment of youth to buoy them up, no romance, no delight.
Into this fixed society comes a stranger, Bertram Hemingway, and it is through him that we see much of what is really going on beneath the surface. Bertram’s point of view is that of the outsider, and often clearer than those of the inhabitants themselves, but Bertram is just another person who suffers from a desperate desire to be remembered, to be distinguished somehow from the masses, while feeling acutely his own mediocrity.
Elizabeth Taylor, the writer, who should not be confused with the film star, writes with marvelous perception and deceptive understatement. It might, in fact, seem that there is very little going on in her novels, until it strikes you that what is going on is life. Her writing seeps into your brain and lodges there, and you find yourself contemplating the complexities of her simple and ordinary people, who are so very like yourself.
July 12, 2021
What I really loved about this novel is how Elizabeth Taylor took us into this small village and into the minds and lives of its inhabitants.
The time is post WWII. The coastal village of Newby is in decline. For the most part, the people living there are just trying to get through each day. There does not seem to be much joy. Into their midst comes a visitor, Bertram Hemingway, who utterly insinuates himself in their lives. Being a small village, people are quick to observe their neighbours and gossip.
“..for gossip is a fluid, intangible thing.”
There is one big secret that propels the story forward. We, the reader, know what it is and most of the people in the village know as well. But the person it should matter to the most has no idea at all.
Elizabeth Taylor captures the minutiae of the everyday. She does it brilliantly with her writing and her descriptions. At some point, each person looks out over the harbour.
Mrs. Bracey thought: “I never went anywhere. I just stayed here at the harbour all my life, and, just as my eyes first focused on that scene, so they will close upon it.”
There is a melancholic feel to the characters in this book. They are lonely, they are wishing for things that probably will never be. There is an ending of sorts in the book, but I still wondered what would happen to them moving forward. Would any of them become truly happy?
There are moments of hilarity in the book, just in case I have sacred you all off so far. The kids Stevie and Edward provide much of the humour.
This is my first read by Elizabeth Taylor and will not be my last. Her writing drew me in completely.
“ It will be a lesson to you not to romanticize yourself, nor to see poetry in people in whom it does not exist.”
Elizabeth Taylor tells it as it is!!
Published 1947.
The time is post WWII. The coastal village of Newby is in decline. For the most part, the people living there are just trying to get through each day. There does not seem to be much joy. Into their midst comes a visitor, Bertram Hemingway, who utterly insinuates himself in their lives. Being a small village, people are quick to observe their neighbours and gossip.
“..for gossip is a fluid, intangible thing.”
There is one big secret that propels the story forward. We, the reader, know what it is and most of the people in the village know as well. But the person it should matter to the most has no idea at all.
Elizabeth Taylor captures the minutiae of the everyday. She does it brilliantly with her writing and her descriptions. At some point, each person looks out over the harbour.
Mrs. Bracey thought: “I never went anywhere. I just stayed here at the harbour all my life, and, just as my eyes first focused on that scene, so they will close upon it.”
There is a melancholic feel to the characters in this book. They are lonely, they are wishing for things that probably will never be. There is an ending of sorts in the book, but I still wondered what would happen to them moving forward. Would any of them become truly happy?
There are moments of hilarity in the book, just in case I have sacred you all off so far. The kids Stevie and Edward provide much of the humour.
This is my first read by Elizabeth Taylor and will not be my last. Her writing drew me in completely.
“ It will be a lesson to you not to romanticize yourself, nor to see poetry in people in whom it does not exist.”
Elizabeth Taylor tells it as it is!!
Published 1947.
July 22, 2018
Rating: 3.5
“not the scene itself but the crystallization or essence of it”
This quiet but engaging and quickly-read mosaic of a novel, set shortly after World War II, focuses on seven characters (and touches on half a dozen secondary others) who reside in Newby, a dying English seaside town. The characters range in age and perspective: a retired sailor in his sixties who takes a room at the local pub, pretends to have painterly aspirations, and insinuates himself into the lives of a number of Newby’s women; a married, middle-aged doctor and the beautiful, idle divorcee he’s in love with (his wife’s childhood friend); the doctor’s daughter, an odd girl believed to be “slightly touched”, who is nevertheless onto her father’s infidelity; the doctor’s wife, a writer so immersed in her fictional world that she’s oblivious to what’s going on right under her nose; a lonely young war widow who fears the dusty figures of famous personages in the waxworks she and her husband used to run; and, finally, a physically incapacitated, tyrannical elderly woman who runs her adult daughters ragged and lives to gossip.
All of Taylor’s characters are lonely, disappointed, or damaged in some way, but she suggests that—for a couple of characters at least—artistic endeavours can provide fulfillment and purpose. For the most part, characterization is convincing and nuanced, but Taylor’s portrait of the sailor with artistic pretensions and the doctor’s “not quite right” daughter do not fully convince. Furthermore, her observations on women’s limited lot (delivered by characters) can be heavy handed. All the same, for a work originally published in 1947, A View of the Harbour, with its ever-shifting point of view, is strikingly progressive in style and sentiment. It is not at all surprising that the New York Review of Books should have chosen to reissue it.
“not the scene itself but the crystallization or essence of it”
This quiet but engaging and quickly-read mosaic of a novel, set shortly after World War II, focuses on seven characters (and touches on half a dozen secondary others) who reside in Newby, a dying English seaside town. The characters range in age and perspective: a retired sailor in his sixties who takes a room at the local pub, pretends to have painterly aspirations, and insinuates himself into the lives of a number of Newby’s women; a married, middle-aged doctor and the beautiful, idle divorcee he’s in love with (his wife’s childhood friend); the doctor’s daughter, an odd girl believed to be “slightly touched”, who is nevertheless onto her father’s infidelity; the doctor’s wife, a writer so immersed in her fictional world that she’s oblivious to what’s going on right under her nose; a lonely young war widow who fears the dusty figures of famous personages in the waxworks she and her husband used to run; and, finally, a physically incapacitated, tyrannical elderly woman who runs her adult daughters ragged and lives to gossip.
All of Taylor’s characters are lonely, disappointed, or damaged in some way, but she suggests that—for a couple of characters at least—artistic endeavours can provide fulfillment and purpose. For the most part, characterization is convincing and nuanced, but Taylor’s portrait of the sailor with artistic pretensions and the doctor’s “not quite right” daughter do not fully convince. Furthermore, her observations on women’s limited lot (delivered by characters) can be heavy handed. All the same, for a work originally published in 1947, A View of the Harbour, with its ever-shifting point of view, is strikingly progressive in style and sentiment. It is not at all surprising that the New York Review of Books should have chosen to reissue it.
Read
October 21, 2022I’ve heard Elizabeth Taylor recommended more than a few times since joining Goodreads, in the context of undeservedly forgotten female authors getting their chance to shine again. This was the first book of hers I’ve read.
I found it quiet, impeccably written, full of precise observations that cut to the heart of human nature. It is an ensemble cast in a reduced space (a village, and largely the houses in the first line of the seafront). We the readers dip in and out of different characters’ heads. As I read on, this all-knowing, all-seeing side of it started to remind me of two other books: The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, and Middlemarch by George Eliot. The Heart is… is a book that I’m always told is wonderful, astounding, a classic, but which personally I feel very little warmth for. Middlemarch is one of my favourite books in the English language.
Ultimately, I felt little warmth for this book either, which is why it’s unrated. Impossible to rate it less than four stars, when it is so accomplished. Impossible to rate it more than three, when I feel so cold.
It felt middle-aged somehow, staid. And yet the author was younger than me when she wrote it. I did not care for Bertram and his lack of artistic talent (his tragedy) or Tory and her need to fill the hole of a missing husband with an affair with her best friend’s (her tragedy). I did not care for Prue and her loss of innocence, Beth and her writing… I was slightly more interested in busybody Mrs Bracey, but she was marked for death.
George Eliot was middle aged when she wrote Middlemarch, but that book feels young, it is full of passion and the desperate, if ironized, need to unite ideals with action.
Carson McCullers was famously only twenty-two when she penned The Heart is… and her psychological insight is, in truth, astounding. Yet that book felt so carefully-made to me as to be unconvincing despite its brilliance (I don’t say it is, I say that’s how it is to me).
So I’m filing this one away, optimistically, under the heading “The algorithm doesn’t know us as we know ourselves.” A good book, but not for me.
I found it quiet, impeccably written, full of precise observations that cut to the heart of human nature. It is an ensemble cast in a reduced space (a village, and largely the houses in the first line of the seafront). We the readers dip in and out of different characters’ heads. As I read on, this all-knowing, all-seeing side of it started to remind me of two other books: The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, and Middlemarch by George Eliot. The Heart is… is a book that I’m always told is wonderful, astounding, a classic, but which personally I feel very little warmth for. Middlemarch is one of my favourite books in the English language.
Ultimately, I felt little warmth for this book either, which is why it’s unrated. Impossible to rate it less than four stars, when it is so accomplished. Impossible to rate it more than three, when I feel so cold.
It felt middle-aged somehow, staid. And yet the author was younger than me when she wrote it. I did not care for Bertram and his lack of artistic talent (his tragedy) or Tory and her need to fill the hole of a missing husband with an affair with her best friend’s (her tragedy). I did not care for Prue and her loss of innocence, Beth and her writing… I was slightly more interested in busybody Mrs Bracey, but she was marked for death.
George Eliot was middle aged when she wrote Middlemarch, but that book feels young, it is full of passion and the desperate, if ironized, need to unite ideals with action.
Carson McCullers was famously only twenty-two when she penned The Heart is… and her psychological insight is, in truth, astounding. Yet that book felt so carefully-made to me as to be unconvincing despite its brilliance (I don’t say it is, I say that’s how it is to me).
So I’m filing this one away, optimistically, under the heading “The algorithm doesn’t know us as we know ourselves.” A good book, but not for me.
Read
May 26, 2018Not long ago a friend was telling me a story and it was just a story someone would tell. Until the end, when the friend said she was looking for a word to describe the actions of someone in the story. Her face lit up with the excitement of the memory of discovery. The certainty of it. Vague, she fairly announced. It was not a necessary, inevitable word. And I was less sure of its precision. But there could be no doubt it was the correct word. Because it brought such joy.
In some imagined twilight a door might open. But this time there is no recounting of a sales item purchased, no chafing from a human exchange, no dregs of regret. Instead there is just this: I found the right word today.
One of the characters in this book is an author. She is writing, as authors do, working, and she writes this: When Allegra turned away to the window, the lawyer's voice became a faint . . .
The author crossed out 'faint' and wrote 'vague'. But a vague what? . . . Vague what?
Well, a lot of things, actually:
-- As he had never kissed her in public, they merely smiled vaguely and drifted apart . . .
-- 'Are you warm enough up here?' she asked, looking vaguely around.
-- 'Nice hats!' Iris said vaguely, staring at the French sailor.
-- She had always been aware of the concentration of God upon her, an omnipotent God, vaguely, and yet, over small matters, still at her beck and call.
-- The doctor retreated and faded a dozen times and instead vague memories of her childhood, her own childhood, ranged across the landscape of her mind.
-- You are so full of vague thoughts about death and God that you had completely forgotten the important things.
I know from my reading of Taylor's Angel, that she does not carelessly use a word. And there was more.
'Rather stark,' Tory said. It is all rather stark.' She went on saying the word until it became absurd, as most words do become absurd when they are repeated.
Can a color be clever?
The plot of this book is well-worn and the book, as a whole suffered from following Kay Boyle in my reading journey. But there were precious moments.
Like the woman who said: 'There is no need to look smug and knowing - like the Mona Lisa - or - or a lavatory attendant.'
Or the same woman, told that an older neighbor had died: Tory recoiled a little from him, as if death might still hang about his clothes and person. She resented people dying and she made this quite plain to the bereaved. It is the peasant types who draw attention to death, make a ritual out of it, she felt. The more civilised one is, the more one returns to the first and natural dignity, the dignity of animals, the concealing of death, the dying creeping into dark corners, decently, ignored discreetly by the living.
An observation: Little boys have a peculiar smell, too, as if they have been clutching pennies in their hot hands all day.
Seventy years ago, this insight: 'The artfulness of men,' she thought. 'They implant in us, foster in us, instincts which is to their advantage for us to have, and which, in the end, we feel shame at not possessing.' She opened her eyes and glared with scorn at a middle-aged man reading a newspaper.
And finally, this: 'Nothing has happened . . . and I will never tell you.'
A seeming contradiction, that. A clever hue. Yet, pregnant with meaning. There's a word that must exist to give it meaning. One perfect word. I think you know now. Even before the door opens onto the twilight.
In some imagined twilight a door might open. But this time there is no recounting of a sales item purchased, no chafing from a human exchange, no dregs of regret. Instead there is just this: I found the right word today.
One of the characters in this book is an author. She is writing, as authors do, working, and she writes this: When Allegra turned away to the window, the lawyer's voice became a faint . . .
The author crossed out 'faint' and wrote 'vague'. But a vague what? . . . Vague what?
Well, a lot of things, actually:
-- As he had never kissed her in public, they merely smiled vaguely and drifted apart . . .
-- 'Are you warm enough up here?' she asked, looking vaguely around.
-- 'Nice hats!' Iris said vaguely, staring at the French sailor.
-- She had always been aware of the concentration of God upon her, an omnipotent God, vaguely, and yet, over small matters, still at her beck and call.
-- The doctor retreated and faded a dozen times and instead vague memories of her childhood, her own childhood, ranged across the landscape of her mind.
-- You are so full of vague thoughts about death and God that you had completely forgotten the important things.
I know from my reading of Taylor's Angel, that she does not carelessly use a word. And there was more.
'Rather stark,' Tory said. It is all rather stark.' She went on saying the word until it became absurd, as most words do become absurd when they are repeated.
Can a color be clever?
The plot of this book is well-worn and the book, as a whole suffered from following Kay Boyle in my reading journey. But there were precious moments.
Like the woman who said: 'There is no need to look smug and knowing - like the Mona Lisa - or - or a lavatory attendant.'
Or the same woman, told that an older neighbor had died: Tory recoiled a little from him, as if death might still hang about his clothes and person. She resented people dying and she made this quite plain to the bereaved. It is the peasant types who draw attention to death, make a ritual out of it, she felt. The more civilised one is, the more one returns to the first and natural dignity, the dignity of animals, the concealing of death, the dying creeping into dark corners, decently, ignored discreetly by the living.
An observation: Little boys have a peculiar smell, too, as if they have been clutching pennies in their hot hands all day.
Seventy years ago, this insight: 'The artfulness of men,' she thought. 'They implant in us, foster in us, instincts which is to their advantage for us to have, and which, in the end, we feel shame at not possessing.' She opened her eyes and glared with scorn at a middle-aged man reading a newspaper.
And finally, this: 'Nothing has happened . . . and I will never tell you.'
A seeming contradiction, that. A clever hue. Yet, pregnant with meaning. There's a word that must exist to give it meaning. One perfect word. I think you know now. Even before the door opens onto the twilight.
April 18, 2023
54th book of 2023.
I made it to Taylor's third book, a title that was slightly more familiar to me than her first two; and it is here that you can feel her confidence building. She already wrote great sentences, but in this book they are even more refined. This novel is like Taylor's To the Lighthouse, and as her previous books were inspired by Austen, the Brontes, it's fairly clear to see Woolf was her inspiration here. The harbour is almost painted by Taylor's prose. Take this passage, for example.
Or, as I'm a sucker for artists/writers becoming adjectives: 'Out of the swollen, gilded Turneresque sky, a shaft of blood-red sunshine struck the painted jug on the washhand-stand...'
The start is a whirlwind of names. Taylor doesn't start the novel well but for the next 300 pages I was drawn into this little harbour and the quiet lives of its inhabitants, the whole novel feeling, well, yes, Turneresque. If you like delicate sentences, witty but subtle English humour and reading about mundane lives, everyday problems, illness, affairs, etc., then I recommend.
Turner's Calm Sea with Distant Grey Clouds
___________
[1] Though, for the life of me, can't figure this out. A typo? But of what? I Googled the word and it got two hits, both referring to this book, quoting the word. I'm lost.
I made it to Taylor's third book, a title that was slightly more familiar to me than her first two; and it is here that you can feel her confidence building. She already wrote great sentences, but in this book they are even more refined. This novel is like Taylor's To the Lighthouse, and as her previous books were inspired by Austen, the Brontes, it's fairly clear to see Woolf was her inspiration here. The harbour is almost painted by Taylor's prose. Take this passage, for example.
Nothing clouded Edward's happiness. Life entranced him. When the sun shone it touched his very bones. Time was undivided now by bells clanging; so he could drift, beguiled, unchevied [1] wandering in that maze of alley-ways where the roofs went tipping down so steeply towards the harbour that he could spit down the chimneys from where he stood, he thought. With the sun shining on them, these roofs were colours of pigeons - the slates of rose and grey and lavender and blue. It was all familiar yet wonderful to him.
Or, as I'm a sucker for artists/writers becoming adjectives: 'Out of the swollen, gilded Turneresque sky, a shaft of blood-red sunshine struck the painted jug on the washhand-stand...'
The start is a whirlwind of names. Taylor doesn't start the novel well but for the next 300 pages I was drawn into this little harbour and the quiet lives of its inhabitants, the whole novel feeling, well, yes, Turneresque. If you like delicate sentences, witty but subtle English humour and reading about mundane lives, everyday problems, illness, affairs, etc., then I recommend.
Turner's Calm Sea with Distant Grey Clouds
___________
[1] Though, for the life of me, can't figure this out. A typo? But of what? I Googled the word and it got two hits, both referring to this book, quoting the word. I'm lost.
October 30, 2024
This novel is set in a run-down harbor town following WWII. Its residents, both permanent and temporary, are skillfully and compassionately created by Taylor. There is not much of a plot; however, beneath the surface, there is much observed by and of the citizens that make for a thought-provoking read.
There is a range of ages and relationships. Beth, married to the resident doctor, is immersed in writing about whatever her imagination creates, remaining oblivious to the romantic relationship that has developed between her husband and best friend, Tory, whose husband has divorced her. Beth's two daughters have their own lives, seemingly separate from their parents. Prudence, the older sister, is aware of the romance, and acts out accordingly. Down the street live the Bracey family. The mother is a bedridden harridan, who lives for town gossip and shows little gratitude for those who attend to her needs. Bertram Hemmingway is a temporary resident, who fancies himself an artist despite evidence to the contrary. When Tory becomes disenchanted with the doctor and life in a small, dreary town, she deigns to marry Bertram as a means of returning to London.
None of these characters is particularly likeable, but their common bond is loneliness, which is perfectly captured. Their interactions are superficial and no meaningful dialogue with each other exists other than in their minds. At the end of her life, Mrs. Bracey concludes that we are all alone in both life and death, a staggering account of her own life that could have been different.
There is a range of ages and relationships. Beth, married to the resident doctor, is immersed in writing about whatever her imagination creates, remaining oblivious to the romantic relationship that has developed between her husband and best friend, Tory, whose husband has divorced her. Beth's two daughters have their own lives, seemingly separate from their parents. Prudence, the older sister, is aware of the romance, and acts out accordingly. Down the street live the Bracey family. The mother is a bedridden harridan, who lives for town gossip and shows little gratitude for those who attend to her needs. Bertram Hemmingway is a temporary resident, who fancies himself an artist despite evidence to the contrary. When Tory becomes disenchanted with the doctor and life in a small, dreary town, she deigns to marry Bertram as a means of returning to London.
None of these characters is particularly likeable, but their common bond is loneliness, which is perfectly captured. Their interactions are superficial and no meaningful dialogue with each other exists other than in their minds. At the end of her life, Mrs. Bracey concludes that we are all alone in both life and death, a staggering account of her own life that could have been different.
April 8, 2012
I live in one harbour-town, I work in another, and Elizabeth Taylor swept me away to another harbour-town in another age. To Newby, a small town on the south coast just after the war.
Bertram Hemingway, a retired naval man, was a newcomer to the town. He intended to spend his days painting views of the harbour. He enjoyed the company of women, he enoyed being involved in the life of the town, but he gave no thought to the possibility that some would read much more than he meant into the interest he showed.
That was what happened to Lily Wilson, a shy and lonely war widow, struggling to cope with her responsibilities as proprietor of the town’s waxworks museum. Of course the was going to read things into the attentions of a man who bought her drinks, walked her home, sympathised with her.
But Bertram was more interested in the rather more sophisticated Tory Foyle. She and her husband had moved into their holiday cottage during the war, and when they divorced Tory chose to stay when her former husband returned to their home in London.
Tory was flattered by the attention, but she was caught up in an affair with, Robert Casubon, the town doctor. They had known each other for years – they were neighbours, and Robert’s wife, Beth, was Tory’s best friend – but, quite unexpectedly, something had somehow changed between them.
Beth hadn’t noticed. She was caught up in the writing of her new novel, and rather more interested in the characters in her head than her husband and daughters. She loved her family, of course she did, and she did what she should, but she felt detached and guilty at the way her work called her away from them.
But Prudence, the elder of those two daughters, had noticed.
And maybe Mrs Bracey would notice too. She observed the comings and goings of her neighbours so carefully, she loved to gossip., and her failing health often gave occasion to call out the doctor.
These, and other lives, go on behind the closed doors of this faded seaside town. And they are painted so beautifully, with understanding, with wit, and with wonderful clearsightedness.
Elizabeth Taylor’s characters are not, in the main, sympathetic, but they are intriguing. Flawed human beings, each one utterly real, and each one a product of a history that is not entirely revealed and would maybe explain much.
And so I was fascinated as I read of their overlapping lives, set out so beautifully. Wonderful prose carried me along, and so often I was touched by moments of pure insight and moments of vivid emotion.
I felt Lily’s pain as she realised she was not going to be rescued from her lonely life. I understood Prudence’s resentment as she had to fetch her father from Tory’s drawing-room when a patient called. And I smiled at the wonderful letters Tory received from her son, away at boarding school.
What didn’t ring quite so true was the portrayal of the town. There is a camaraderie and spirit among seafaring folk that spreads through seaside towns. And there are many buildings and activities around harbour-towns that you don’t find in other towns by the sea. All of this was missed, and the view was that of a visitor, not a resident.
But maybe that was deliberate; because if there is a theme running through this novel it is that we so often see a less than complete picture, or a distorted view, of the world around us.
And as a study of human lives, in showing that, this novel works quite beautifully.
Bertram Hemingway, a retired naval man, was a newcomer to the town. He intended to spend his days painting views of the harbour. He enjoyed the company of women, he enoyed being involved in the life of the town, but he gave no thought to the possibility that some would read much more than he meant into the interest he showed.
That was what happened to Lily Wilson, a shy and lonely war widow, struggling to cope with her responsibilities as proprietor of the town’s waxworks museum. Of course the was going to read things into the attentions of a man who bought her drinks, walked her home, sympathised with her.
But Bertram was more interested in the rather more sophisticated Tory Foyle. She and her husband had moved into their holiday cottage during the war, and when they divorced Tory chose to stay when her former husband returned to their home in London.
Tory was flattered by the attention, but she was caught up in an affair with, Robert Casubon, the town doctor. They had known each other for years – they were neighbours, and Robert’s wife, Beth, was Tory’s best friend – but, quite unexpectedly, something had somehow changed between them.
Beth hadn’t noticed. She was caught up in the writing of her new novel, and rather more interested in the characters in her head than her husband and daughters. She loved her family, of course she did, and she did what she should, but she felt detached and guilty at the way her work called her away from them.
But Prudence, the elder of those two daughters, had noticed.
And maybe Mrs Bracey would notice too. She observed the comings and goings of her neighbours so carefully, she loved to gossip., and her failing health often gave occasion to call out the doctor.
These, and other lives, go on behind the closed doors of this faded seaside town. And they are painted so beautifully, with understanding, with wit, and with wonderful clearsightedness.
Elizabeth Taylor’s characters are not, in the main, sympathetic, but they are intriguing. Flawed human beings, each one utterly real, and each one a product of a history that is not entirely revealed and would maybe explain much.
And so I was fascinated as I read of their overlapping lives, set out so beautifully. Wonderful prose carried me along, and so often I was touched by moments of pure insight and moments of vivid emotion.
I felt Lily’s pain as she realised she was not going to be rescued from her lonely life. I understood Prudence’s resentment as she had to fetch her father from Tory’s drawing-room when a patient called. And I smiled at the wonderful letters Tory received from her son, away at boarding school.
What didn’t ring quite so true was the portrayal of the town. There is a camaraderie and spirit among seafaring folk that spreads through seaside towns. And there are many buildings and activities around harbour-towns that you don’t find in other towns by the sea. All of this was missed, and the view was that of a visitor, not a resident.
But maybe that was deliberate; because if there is a theme running through this novel it is that we so often see a less than complete picture, or a distorted view, of the world around us.
And as a study of human lives, in showing that, this novel works quite beautifully.
July 12, 2022
Tremendous! I was living in that harbour village.
February 7, 2017
Elizabeth Taylor demuestra en esta novela tener un maravilloso don para la introspección y la creación de personajes tan vívidos como intrincados. Sirviéndose de una pintoresca localidad pesquera como escenario y los primeros años tras la Segunda Guerra Mundial como contexto histórico, Taylor despliega ante el lector un lienzo donde se suceden de manera sutil y siempre significativa hermosos brochazos que nos permiten acceder a los rincones más secretos de sus habitantes. Desde un oficial de la marina retirado que se dispone a cultivar sus aspiraciones artísticas hasta una mujer divorciada que mantiene un romance con el marido de su mejor amiga, pasando por una viuda que no le encuentra sentido a la vida tras la muerte de su cónyuge o una escritora que se enfrasca en la redacción de su novela hasta el punto de ignorar los acontecimientos que se producen a su alrededor, los personajes de Una vista del puerto rebosan humanidad y una consistencia casi real, aun cuando no somos conscientes de los motivos que impulsan sus actos. Taylor prescinde en la medida de lo posible de sus respectivos historiales y deja que nos asomemos al interior de cada uno conforme se van fraguando entre ellos todo tipo de relaciones. De este modo, el argumento de la novela se convierte en una apasionante y lúcida observación sobre la dinámica de grupos que encandila por su autenticidad y complejidad latente, todo ello enmarcado en un entorno costumbrista muy logrado. Lejos de asestar contundentes golpes de efecto, la lectura de este libro se caracteriza por un ritmo calmado y fluido, libre de sobresaltos, pero también de estancamientos, que desemboca en un relato veraz, emotivo y palpitante. Qué injusto que la autora no tenga detrás una verdadera legión de lectores porque Una vista del puerto es, para mí, una de las revelaciones del año.
November 13, 2022
"'Interesting,' he observed, 'what two people can make of the same view. We all see places a bit different to what the next man does."
So, what other readers see in this book? A brilliant study of a human loneliness? A moving story about perfectly not perfect people? Photo album with caught magic in everyday life? I see it all in this great book. I am so much touched that it is almost hard to write all I want to.
Someone could say it is just a story about a sleepy town, somewhere on the English coast, someday shortly after WWII. And it is. This background takes a very important part. The most important however is the way as Taylor is showing us characters of this story. Each one has own loneliness, Tory, Beth, Robert, Lily, Iris, Mrs Bracey, Maisie, Bertran, Prudence, but also Mr Lidiard, the librarian, Ned and Stevie. I was and still am almost overwhelmed by their quiet sadness. Fortunately, Taylor wrote in such a way that despite all this sorrow and anxiety I am not falling apart. It was like she was sitting next to me and telling me a very sad story and with her presence and tone of voice, she was helping me to understand the story and to grab its essence.
"There's no summing-up, but a sense of incompleteness. After years of building up each unique personality, in the end there is no moment of putting lines beneath the sum and adding up to see what it all amounts too."
I have fallen in love with Taylor's writing after The Sleeping Beauty. Now, I am sure I will love each her book. She is one of my favorite writers.
August 5, 2021
This novel is an intricately crafted work fusing views that are both external and internal.Set in the immediate aftermath of World War 2, the novel portrays a decaying seaside English town whose residents share a common view of the town harbor.In addition to gazing upon the harbor, the residents also intently view each other and form visions of each other’s lives while nurturing their own unfulfilled dreams.The interconnected stories of these people slowly weave together and form a montage of ordinary people harboring dreams even as they are constricted by their physical surroundings.
The author quickly introduces us to an array of townspeople.They interact socially and are governed by the accepted norms of civility and propriety.Below the surface, unrealized yearnings simmer within each mind.A retired naval officer,Bertram,is a visitor to the town.He wants to paint a picture of the harbor and create a legacy for himself that will give new meaning to his life.The novelty of this stranger’s presence kindles an internal awakening of long unarticulated dreams for each of the residents.We witness Bertram’s transformation from an outsider to a participant and influencer in the town’s daily life.
Through gradual and restrained encounters, we gain a sense of the passions, betrayals and longings that have defined the lives of each of the townspeople.They are engaged in a long thwarted search for closeness and connection. Their stories are told with restrained yet piercing prose and ultimately will evoke some sense of recognition for every reader. This novel examines ordinary lives in meticulous and understated detail and leaves us looking within ourselves.
The author quickly introduces us to an array of townspeople.They interact socially and are governed by the accepted norms of civility and propriety.Below the surface, unrealized yearnings simmer within each mind.A retired naval officer,Bertram,is a visitor to the town.He wants to paint a picture of the harbor and create a legacy for himself that will give new meaning to his life.The novelty of this stranger’s presence kindles an internal awakening of long unarticulated dreams for each of the residents.We witness Bertram’s transformation from an outsider to a participant and influencer in the town’s daily life.
Through gradual and restrained encounters, we gain a sense of the passions, betrayals and longings that have defined the lives of each of the townspeople.They are engaged in a long thwarted search for closeness and connection. Their stories are told with restrained yet piercing prose and ultimately will evoke some sense of recognition for every reader. This novel examines ordinary lives in meticulous and understated detail and leaves us looking within ourselves.
July 27, 2020
Oh, that poignant moment when you are enjoying a book so much and are totally immersed in the lives of the characters and what is happening to them, and then you realise you are trapped into wanting to read another page even though it means that you are one page nearer the end. I can only be thankful that I have only read 2 of Elizabeth Taylor's novels and have plenty more to discover.
September 21, 2021
Thank you to Daniel for recommending this book; his review is here:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
I was delighted by Elizabeth Taylor’s finely honed style. Granted, the dreary England of the post-World War II period is fertile ground, making me think initially of Graham Greene, but this is much more subtle and doesn’t have the feeling of a personal agenda that some of Greene’s work has. As it happens, I’ve just listened to a recent ‘best-seller’ set in the same years, containing almost exactly the same period detail, and the audiobook falls flat, despite a highly dramatic opening. By contrast, Elizabeth Taylor’s style at once captures and transcends this colourless period and perfectly expresses the chasms between people’s desires and aspirations, and their circumstances. I loved it. A word of warning – the bumf on the back really gives too much away – I’m so glad I resolved some time ago not to read jackets or introductions, until I’d read the story.
“A View of the Harbour” is an apt title, amply borne out not only by the painting that is made of it in the book but also by the behaviour of the inhabitants of the faded old fishing town, Newby, with its splendid new houses and hotels in grand white crescents and stately esplanades just alongside. I’ve spent several holidays in a town just like this in England and it was as if I too negotiated its steep, narrow streets, climbed the flights of stone steps bordering back gardens, stared at the improbable angles of the jumbled houses, peered at their faded frontages, waited, as these fictional characters did, for the swing of the lighthouse beam that illuminated their lives, if only for an instant. The book is full of symbolic detail. I thought I’d found one tiny flaw – the repetition of one visual detail, which seemed odd, and unconnected – but how wrong I was. It forms the ending, one of those endings that I really appreciate, which turn the book around right at the end and open it all up again!
There is no character in this book that does not receive the quickening touch of Elizabeth Taylor’s enchanted wand, bringing the least of them to life, and there is an entertaining contrast (or ironic similarity?) between the author and one of her characters, who is a novelist (of the melodramatic type). The distinction between major and minor characters is not, as in some other writers of the period, between middle- and working-class, or between sensitive/intelligent/arty types and Mr and Mrs Scrubbit (aka The Woodentops’ domestic help, for anyone who is as old as I am and remembers them). The distinctions are individual, personal, tentatively or defiantly moral, in an environment that flails them all down. The horrible working-class woman Mrs Bracey is as sensitive as any of them, her vulnerability penned in a moving scene where Bertram, the arty visitor, who also serves as catalyst, is picking up on her reminiscences of Christmas when she was a child. Her frailty at that particular moment opens up for her a scene of fragile duality, where she has invested the experience of buying a mantle for the gas lamp with poetry, so that the jet of gas becomes “a fish’s tail, or a flower – an iris – flickering, warbling overhead.” She wants to convey something of this, but at the mention of Christmas Bertram produces only a poverty-stricken list of associations.
“His recollections were of such banality that she could not lay hers alongside them. She did not know what she had experienced, could not describe it, nor impart its magic to another, and: ‘in the things that really matter to us,’ she thought, ‘we are entirely alone. Especially alone dying!”
The characters endlessly fascinate. Enmeshed in the stultifying routine of their lives – the entity of their lives, not just the day-to-day mundanities - they reveal the horrors of their innermost inclinations; they scarcely dare view their own actions, and seem to have little control over them, all bound, trapped, by the physicality of their diminished lives, by the throbbing limits of the fishing fleet, the pounding harbour and the sweep of the bay. Instead they gaze from windows, walk endlessly from door to door, from arm to arm, from compliance to deception, from respectability to a kind of lurking infamy. One of the most successful symbols of this is the unpleasant character of the librarian, who blanks out from the library books words or events that ‘should not be there’. But they are there, and in the lives of the inhabitants of Newby they intrude, assert themselves, dominate, control. It’s frightening; one woman in particular descends into a kind of hell, having recourse in her life to what has been blacked out in the books she borrows from the library. Her life becomes ever more shadowy, while those of her neighbours, by chance or design, leap towards disaster. Does disaster overtake? Can it go into freefall, behind these narrow sea-front houses shuttered against the wind’s blast? Another brief image stands out, that of the girl who, at once the most helpless and yet the most powerful, and who suffers from chronic bronchitis, enjoys "walking against the wind”.
I haven’t mentioned the plot. There is one, which seems the only possible one for this time and this place, and the dramatic tension lies in whether it will bring down its victims, engender irrevocable change, or whether it will be finally subject to the curtain of domesticity, to a tightly held doctrine of behaviour. Which of several loyalties will prevail, which will determine their future in this near-moribund harbour town? What betrayal, what devastation, what new hope?
“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”
WB Yeats, from “The Second Coming”.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
I was delighted by Elizabeth Taylor’s finely honed style. Granted, the dreary England of the post-World War II period is fertile ground, making me think initially of Graham Greene, but this is much more subtle and doesn’t have the feeling of a personal agenda that some of Greene’s work has. As it happens, I’ve just listened to a recent ‘best-seller’ set in the same years, containing almost exactly the same period detail, and the audiobook falls flat, despite a highly dramatic opening. By contrast, Elizabeth Taylor’s style at once captures and transcends this colourless period and perfectly expresses the chasms between people’s desires and aspirations, and their circumstances. I loved it. A word of warning – the bumf on the back really gives too much away – I’m so glad I resolved some time ago not to read jackets or introductions, until I’d read the story.
“A View of the Harbour” is an apt title, amply borne out not only by the painting that is made of it in the book but also by the behaviour of the inhabitants of the faded old fishing town, Newby, with its splendid new houses and hotels in grand white crescents and stately esplanades just alongside. I’ve spent several holidays in a town just like this in England and it was as if I too negotiated its steep, narrow streets, climbed the flights of stone steps bordering back gardens, stared at the improbable angles of the jumbled houses, peered at their faded frontages, waited, as these fictional characters did, for the swing of the lighthouse beam that illuminated their lives, if only for an instant. The book is full of symbolic detail. I thought I’d found one tiny flaw – the repetition of one visual detail, which seemed odd, and unconnected – but how wrong I was. It forms the ending, one of those endings that I really appreciate, which turn the book around right at the end and open it all up again!
There is no character in this book that does not receive the quickening touch of Elizabeth Taylor’s enchanted wand, bringing the least of them to life, and there is an entertaining contrast (or ironic similarity?) between the author and one of her characters, who is a novelist (of the melodramatic type). The distinction between major and minor characters is not, as in some other writers of the period, between middle- and working-class, or between sensitive/intelligent/arty types and Mr and Mrs Scrubbit (aka The Woodentops’ domestic help, for anyone who is as old as I am and remembers them). The distinctions are individual, personal, tentatively or defiantly moral, in an environment that flails them all down. The horrible working-class woman Mrs Bracey is as sensitive as any of them, her vulnerability penned in a moving scene where Bertram, the arty visitor, who also serves as catalyst, is picking up on her reminiscences of Christmas when she was a child. Her frailty at that particular moment opens up for her a scene of fragile duality, where she has invested the experience of buying a mantle for the gas lamp with poetry, so that the jet of gas becomes “a fish’s tail, or a flower – an iris – flickering, warbling overhead.” She wants to convey something of this, but at the mention of Christmas Bertram produces only a poverty-stricken list of associations.
“His recollections were of such banality that she could not lay hers alongside them. She did not know what she had experienced, could not describe it, nor impart its magic to another, and: ‘in the things that really matter to us,’ she thought, ‘we are entirely alone. Especially alone dying!”
The characters endlessly fascinate. Enmeshed in the stultifying routine of their lives – the entity of their lives, not just the day-to-day mundanities - they reveal the horrors of their innermost inclinations; they scarcely dare view their own actions, and seem to have little control over them, all bound, trapped, by the physicality of their diminished lives, by the throbbing limits of the fishing fleet, the pounding harbour and the sweep of the bay. Instead they gaze from windows, walk endlessly from door to door, from arm to arm, from compliance to deception, from respectability to a kind of lurking infamy. One of the most successful symbols of this is the unpleasant character of the librarian, who blanks out from the library books words or events that ‘should not be there’. But they are there, and in the lives of the inhabitants of Newby they intrude, assert themselves, dominate, control. It’s frightening; one woman in particular descends into a kind of hell, having recourse in her life to what has been blacked out in the books she borrows from the library. Her life becomes ever more shadowy, while those of her neighbours, by chance or design, leap towards disaster. Does disaster overtake? Can it go into freefall, behind these narrow sea-front houses shuttered against the wind’s blast? Another brief image stands out, that of the girl who, at once the most helpless and yet the most powerful, and who suffers from chronic bronchitis, enjoys "walking against the wind”.
I haven’t mentioned the plot. There is one, which seems the only possible one for this time and this place, and the dramatic tension lies in whether it will bring down its victims, engender irrevocable change, or whether it will be finally subject to the curtain of domesticity, to a tightly held doctrine of behaviour. Which of several loyalties will prevail, which will determine their future in this near-moribund harbour town? What betrayal, what devastation, what new hope?
“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”
WB Yeats, from “The Second Coming”.
June 7, 2022
"She felt terribly nervous and over-wrought, so anxious to look once more at the outside world and to see, moving and in colour, that view of the harbour which had been a great and white, remembered, half-imagined scene for so long, flat like a picture postcard view. She wanted to watch the great dappled waves riding into the foot of the cliffs, breaking and crumbling and scurrying back in confusion, to be conscious of the pulse of the lighthouse, to see once more visitors with folded raincoats stepping into rowing-boats named Nancy or Marigold or Adeline; the moving water, the sauntering people, the changing sky, the wrinkled moonlight on the sea..."
This is the most joy I have received reading a book this year. I have loved other books more intensely than this but this made me feel so warm.
This is a novel about a small, interconnected community in a seaside town. The effects of war are profoundly felt whether in terms of the dilapidated small businesses or the dilapidated, drained out lives.
If you have lived in a small town (I have), it evokes the best and worst of it. It made me remember the safety and comfort of knowing everyone around you, as well as the claustrophobia of everyone knowing your business. Taylor brings this contrast alive so deftly. The other contrast is that of the people and the landscape. The landscape seems unchanging. The waves crash against the cliffs, the lighthouse guides the boats, the fishermen trawl the sea. On the other hand, people's interior lives are messy. If these inner lives could be painted, it would be a chaotic, unidentifiable mess. These contrasts really bring alive the novel's title - 'A View'. A view can be false when you are an outsider looking in, a view can also be delusional when you are devoid of self-awareness or are trying to escape what you know about yourself - actually is a view ever real?
If there is an overarching theme in this novel, I think it's that of yearning. Terrible yearning to be beyond what one is living; to leave one's town, start a new, glamourous life; find love, be less lonely; and be less constrained by the boundaries of one's domestic life. Nothing happens on the outside yet inside, these characters have entire dramas playing out.
Taylor's writing is so wonderfully vivid. Whether I was reading this for fifteen minutes or hours together, I found myself so immersed in the sense of place and its rich characters. Sometimes you feel this sense of ironic cruelty that the authors has towards her characters and yet she is not judgmental, she doesn't moralize. What she instead does is convey mundane lives that are anything but mundane.
This is a novel that is both loud and quiet, effusive and restrained, dark and light. Underlying it all is such a strong sense of interiority and an understanding of human flaws.
This is the most joy I have received reading a book this year. I have loved other books more intensely than this but this made me feel so warm.
This is a novel about a small, interconnected community in a seaside town. The effects of war are profoundly felt whether in terms of the dilapidated small businesses or the dilapidated, drained out lives.
If you have lived in a small town (I have), it evokes the best and worst of it. It made me remember the safety and comfort of knowing everyone around you, as well as the claustrophobia of everyone knowing your business. Taylor brings this contrast alive so deftly. The other contrast is that of the people and the landscape. The landscape seems unchanging. The waves crash against the cliffs, the lighthouse guides the boats, the fishermen trawl the sea. On the other hand, people's interior lives are messy. If these inner lives could be painted, it would be a chaotic, unidentifiable mess. These contrasts really bring alive the novel's title - 'A View'. A view can be false when you are an outsider looking in, a view can also be delusional when you are devoid of self-awareness or are trying to escape what you know about yourself - actually is a view ever real?
If there is an overarching theme in this novel, I think it's that of yearning. Terrible yearning to be beyond what one is living; to leave one's town, start a new, glamourous life; find love, be less lonely; and be less constrained by the boundaries of one's domestic life. Nothing happens on the outside yet inside, these characters have entire dramas playing out.
Taylor's writing is so wonderfully vivid. Whether I was reading this for fifteen minutes or hours together, I found myself so immersed in the sense of place and its rich characters. Sometimes you feel this sense of ironic cruelty that the authors has towards her characters and yet she is not judgmental, she doesn't moralize. What she instead does is convey mundane lives that are anything but mundane.
This is a novel that is both loud and quiet, effusive and restrained, dark and light. Underlying it all is such a strong sense of interiority and an understanding of human flaws.
September 1, 2021
This is another novel I had mixed feelings about. It is a portrait of the various denizens living in a strip of building right on the harbor in an English harbor town post WWII. The opening chapters had me a bit dizzy as Taylor introduces the various characters living in the strip, which includes a few residences, a pub/inn and a few business/residences. There is also a ‘new’ harbor town area not far away. While the sheer number of characters can itself cause confusion, I thought Taylor could have better distinguished her characters when introducing them to us.
The scenes vary between the numerous characters, who are mainly women. The main characters are two long-time women friends who live at the end of the strip. Beth is a doctor’s wife with two daughters and Tory lives alone but has an ex-husband and a son away at school, both of whom are in London. There is also a visiting retired gentleman who is trying to become a painter.
Taylor uses third person narration but varies the point of view as we see things through the various characters. Taylor’s insights and observations, both into and through her characters, are quite sharp and perceptive – she has great insight into how and what people think. Her word usage and sentence structure provide for a consistently pleasant reading experience.
I have seen the story described as a slice of life story, but there is a main plot involving Tory and Beth’s family’s relations and several sub-plots, some involving the visiting painter's effect on the harbor residents. Taylor crafted a setting and characters that I could easily visualize. Despite this, and despite Taylor’s style and insights, I found the story itself unsatisfying and less than compelling. Contributing to this is the fact that many of the subplots were not resolved, which I normally accept in a slice of life story but was disturbed by here. I also found the resolution of the Beth/Tory plot, which also involved the visiting painter, to be unrealistic.
The plot and storytelling here warrant a 3 star rating. However, Taylor’s exquisite writing style and her skill at creating a setting and characters that felt both distinctive and real makes for a pleasant reading experience that compensates some for the unsatisfying storytelling. The novel is worth reading for these positive attributes. My overall rating is 3.5 stars rounded up to 4 stars.
The scenes vary between the numerous characters, who are mainly women. The main characters are two long-time women friends who live at the end of the strip. Beth is a doctor’s wife with two daughters and Tory lives alone but has an ex-husband and a son away at school, both of whom are in London. There is also a visiting retired gentleman who is trying to become a painter.
Taylor uses third person narration but varies the point of view as we see things through the various characters. Taylor’s insights and observations, both into and through her characters, are quite sharp and perceptive – she has great insight into how and what people think. Her word usage and sentence structure provide for a consistently pleasant reading experience.
I have seen the story described as a slice of life story, but there is a main plot involving Tory and Beth’s family’s relations and several sub-plots, some involving the visiting painter's effect on the harbor residents. Taylor crafted a setting and characters that I could easily visualize. Despite this, and despite Taylor’s style and insights, I found the story itself unsatisfying and less than compelling. Contributing to this is the fact that many of the subplots were not resolved, which I normally accept in a slice of life story but was disturbed by here. I also found the resolution of the Beth/Tory plot, which also involved the visiting painter, to be unrealistic.
The plot and storytelling here warrant a 3 star rating. However, Taylor’s exquisite writing style and her skill at creating a setting and characters that felt both distinctive and real makes for a pleasant reading experience that compensates some for the unsatisfying storytelling. The novel is worth reading for these positive attributes. My overall rating is 3.5 stars rounded up to 4 stars.
July 20, 2017
I've never read nor even heard of Taylor (not the actress!) before and I was pleasantly surprised. Taylor seems to fall into a category of crusty-classed stuffy British authors that I've always tended to avoid (like Waugh or Amis), but she is anything but. In fact, it's hard to pin her down by way of comparison. Maybe the film "Short Cuts"? "Harbour" is a sprawling but tight panoramic tale of the mostly unlikeable people living in a mostly anonymous English seaside town that lives in the shadow of its "modern" expansion over the hill. There's adultery, retired sailors, wax museum owners, bedridden gossips, and young girls who hate poetry and love.
It's both disturbing and lovely and simple, hence the Altman comparison.
It's both disturbing and lovely and simple, hence the Altman comparison.
September 11, 2018
The thing that frustrated/annoyed me at the beginning of the book ended up being exactly what kept me turning pages for the majority of what ended up being a very enjoyable read. So many characters! So much flitting from scene to scene. But gradually they each become real people who share life in a small English seaside town at the end of WWII.
My second Elizabeth Taylor novel, and one that sat on my shelf for years. Time well spent in this world.
My second Elizabeth Taylor novel, and one that sat on my shelf for years. Time well spent in this world.
October 31, 2024
מי שמעיין בקטלוגים של הוצאות ספרים באנגלית, המתמחות ב"גילוי מחדש" של סופרים וספרים נשכחים (כגון nyrb, VMC ואחרות) סביר שיתקל בספריה של אליזבת' טיילור. היא כתבה כשנים-עשרה רומאנים ומספר קבצי סיפורים קצרים. רוב ספריה זוכים לביקורות טובות שהמשותף להן בדרך כלל הוא הסופרלטיב – "הסופרת האנגליה הטובה ביותר שכנראה לא שמעתם עליה" (כמעט כל סופרת נשכחת שבחרו להוציא מחדש מכתביה עשויה לזכות בו) וההבהרה – "שאין מדובר באליזבת' טיילור ההיא, כלומר בשחקנית המפורסמת."
החלטתי לנסות אותה ובחרתי לפתוח בספר הזה בעיקר בגלל השם שמשך את ליבי (הספר נחשב לאחד הבולטים ביצירותיה אף כי יש לה ספרים הזוכים לציונים גבוהים יותר בקרב קהל הקוראים וספר אחד שאף עובד לסרט). הופתעתי לטובה. אם הופתעתי לאחר שכבר קראתי בעיקר ביקורות משבחות טרם הקריאה, סימן שמצאתי שהספר ממש מעולה, לטעמי.
מצאתי בו ארכיטקטורה מורכבת שנבנתה ביד אומן בוטחת מעשרות לבנים ומקטעים המשתלבים זה בזה בטבעיות לא מאולצת. כל קטע כתיבה מלוטש וחסכני, אך גם עשיר מבחינת המבע וקולע בדיוק למטרה. כל פרט עשוי לצוץ שוב בהמשך ולהתגלות כבעל משמעות עמוקה יותר וסמלית. הקטעים נדמים כעשויים שכבות של שלוש טכניקות שונות, שטיילור שולטת בכולן בצורה מושלמת: קטעי תיאור ציוריים שניתן למצוא בהם מלבד אווירה גם משמעות סמלית דקה, קטעי דיאלוג טבעיים, אך גם שנונים ועתירי רמזים ואבחנות פסיכולוגיות משל המספרת הכל יודעת – חכמות, מושחזות כסיכות, מדויקות ומתובלות בסרקזם – טיילור אינה חסה על אף אחת מן הדמויות שבסיפור.
בגדול הרומאן הוא טרגדיה קומית של טעויות. הדמויות בסיפור (אף אם כוונותיהן טובות) אינן חדלות מלפרש את המציאות בצורה שגויה ואינן יכולות להימנע מבחירות שיש להן משמעות הרסנית בעבורן. אם לחדד את העניין – כפי שמציינת שרה ווטרס בהקדמתה, תמונת העולם (נופו של הנמל) של כל אחת מן הדמויות תחומה במסגרת מוגבלת (חוזרים ונשנים מצבים בהם הדמויות משקיפות מחלונן על העולם החיצוני). רבות מן הדמויות מסתגרות כמעט תמיד בביתן – מבחירה או בשל נכות נפשית וגופנית או בשל לחץ חברתי. כל הדמויות כאן מיטיבות לראות ולהבין את תחומן הצר אבל עיוורות ממש לכל מה שחורג, לכל מה שמתרחש מחוץ לטווח ראייתן. למשל בעלת חנות לבגדים יד שניה שהיא רכלנית בחסד ובעלת לשון והבנה חדות, אך גם נכה המרותקת למיטתה וכזו שאינה יכולה לחרוג מגבולות החברה השמרנית והקרתנית בה חיה כל חייה. או דמותה של בת', סופרת ממוצעת, שכולם משבחים את היותה בעלת תפישה ושימת לב לפרטים, אך היא גם זו הלוקה בעיוורון הגדול מכולם – אינה מבחינה ברומן שמנהל בעלה עם חברתה הטובה ממש מתחת לאפה. כל אחת מן הדמויות כלואה, מבחינה נפשית בעולמה – ממש כדמויות הילדים שאינן מצליחים לפרש את עולם המבוגרים פשוט מפני שהם חסרות את הבגרות הנפשית והמינית. הניתוק הזה בין תמונות העולם השונות הוא שמביא לחוסר תקשורת מהותי בין כל אחת מן הנפשות הפעילות לכל הדמויות האחרות ולחברה באופן כללי.
המקום הוא כפר דייגים אנגלי קטן בשוליה של עיר חדשה (בסגנון ברייטון), וביתר דיוק, שורת הבתים הראשונה על קו המים של הנמל. מקום מוזנח, עלוב ומבודד, נעדר כל עניין וברק ושרוי בעזובה בעיקר בשל תקופת ההתרחשות – השנה שלאחר סיום מלחמת העולם השנייה, על הדלדול והשכול שהביאה עמה. מקום שחלף זמנו ושהתיירים חדלו מלפקוד אותו אף בעונת הקיץ. הכתיבה היא כתיבה נשית והספר הוא ספר נשי – כמעט כל הדמויות בעלות הנפח הן דמויות נשים וכל הדמויות הגבריות (למעט אחת – דמותו של ברטרם המינגווי) הן חיוורות וחסרות כמעט עולם פנימי (הספרן השמרן, הכומר, בעל הפאב, בנה של הגרושה, ואפילו דמותו של הרופא, מאהבה השתקן והקפדן). המתח העיקרי, המקיף את כל ההתרחשות, הוא המתח החברתי בו מוצאות עצמן הנשים בחברה הכפרית האנגלית השמרנית של התקופה. יש כאן ייצוג לכל הספקטרום הנשי – הרעייה (אך גם בעלת קריירה של סופרת, שלא לוקחים אותה ברצינות), הגרושה (הדמות החופשית ביותר מבחינה מינית, אך גם היא מתקשה להסתדר בחברה השוטמת אותה), אלמנת המלחמה (המוצאת עצמה זנוחה וחרדה) הנערות הצעירות (חלקן מעיזות יותר וחלקן פחות), הילדה התמימה ואף הזקנה המנוסה אך הנכה. כולן מדוכאות, אינן מוצאות את מקומן וחסרות לגיטימיות להשמיע את קולן או לזכות להתייחסות רצינית ולא תועלתנית. וכאמור הן אף מתקשות להבין האחת את רעותה וסופן לרכל ולפגוע האחת בשנייה.
יוצאת מן הכלל דמותו של ברטרם המינגווי – גימלאי של הצי, התייר היחיד במקום. צייר חובב, סקרן בלתי נלאה, ג'נטלמן שנון ואיש העולם הגדול התוחב את אפו בעסקיהם של כל האחרים, מצליח להתחבב על חלקן ומהווה מעין דבק המחבר בין הדמויות ונקודות המבט השונות. אך אבוי, גם הוא בסופו של דבר, טיפוס ריק, המשתעמם בקלות וסופו לפגוע באחרים וכמובן נושא גם הוא עמו עיוורון – עיוורונו של רווק יהיר, אנוכי ומזדקן שאינו מרגיש או מסרב לסייע באמת למצוקותיהן של הנשים הסובבות אותו. גם הוא מנותק – למרות שיש לו רעיונות לאינסוף תמונות של הנמל הוא אינו מצליח כמעט לממש אותם ומתגלה כחסר כשרון ממש כבת' הסופרת המוגבלת לעולמה הפנימי העמלה לכתוב סצנת לוייה למרות שהיא סולדת מלוויות ומעולם לא השתתפה באחת. וכאן מודגש עוד ניגוד מהותי לספר – זה שבין האומנות לחיים האמתיים. בשעת מריבה מאחלת טורי לבת' שתדע פעם אחת בחייה כאב משמים שלא תוכל מיד להתחמק ממנו באמצעות הפיכתו לאמצעי ספרותי בכתיבתה.
הסביבה אפרורית. שני צבעים מתבלטים וחוזרים שוב ושוב. הלבן, המסמל כניעה, חוסר פעולה והחמצה והסגול המסמל את המיניות, הלהט והיצר. חפצים שונים ודומים מפציעים לרגעים במקומות שונים (קנקנים למיניהם למשל) ומקנים תחושה של קשר, שמתחת לפני השטח, בין הסצנות השונות, לקורא שאינו מוגבל בנקודת מבט אחת.
טיילור מפליאה לצייר תמונה של הנמל, מקליידוסקופ שלם של דמויות מוגבלות. היא עושה זאת בצורה חפה מקלישאות ותפרים גסים, והיא שנונה וחדה (יש המשווים אותה לאוסטין). התובנות הפסיכולוגיות הצצות ללא הרף לא חדלות מלהפעים. אני בהחלט מתכוון (אם ירצה אלוהי הקריאה) לקרוא עוד מספריה וסיפוריה. אומנם קריאתי האיטית, הואטה עוד יותר בשל האנגלית הבריטית והסלנג של התקופה, אבל מילון קולינס (דווקא הוא ולא קיימבריג' או אוקספורד) הזמין, און-ליין הפליא לבאר את המונחים.
החלטתי לנסות אותה ובחרתי לפתוח בספר הזה בעיקר בגלל השם שמשך את ליבי (הספר נחשב לאחד הבולטים ביצירותיה אף כי יש לה ספרים הזוכים לציונים גבוהים יותר בקרב קהל הקוראים וספר אחד שאף עובד לסרט). הופתעתי לטובה. אם הופתעתי לאחר שכבר קראתי בעיקר ביקורות משבחות טרם הקריאה, סימן שמצאתי שהספר ממש מעולה, לטעמי.
מצאתי בו ארכיטקטורה מורכבת שנבנתה ביד אומן בוטחת מעשרות לבנים ומקטעים המשתלבים זה בזה בטבעיות לא מאולצת. כל קטע כתיבה מלוטש וחסכני, אך גם עשיר מבחינת המבע וקולע בדיוק למטרה. כל פרט עשוי לצוץ שוב בהמשך ולהתגלות כבעל משמעות עמוקה יותר וסמלית. הקטעים נדמים כעשויים שכבות של שלוש טכניקות שונות, שטיילור שולטת בכולן בצורה מושלמת: קטעי תיאור ציוריים שניתן למצוא בהם מלבד אווירה גם משמעות סמלית דקה, קטעי דיאלוג טבעיים, אך גם שנונים ועתירי רמזים ואבחנות פסיכולוגיות משל המספרת הכל יודעת – חכמות, מושחזות כסיכות, מדויקות ומתובלות בסרקזם – טיילור אינה חסה על אף אחת מן הדמויות שבסיפור.
בגדול הרומאן הוא טרגדיה קומית של טעויות. הדמויות בסיפור (אף אם כוונותיהן טובות) אינן חדלות מלפרש את המציאות בצורה שגויה ואינן יכולות להימנע מבחירות שיש להן משמעות הרסנית בעבורן. אם לחדד את העניין – כפי שמציינת שרה ווטרס בהקדמתה, תמונת העולם (נופו של הנמל) של כל אחת מן הדמויות תחומה במסגרת מוגבלת (חוזרים ונשנים מצבים בהם הדמויות משקיפות מחלונן על העולם החיצוני). רבות מן הדמויות מסתגרות כמעט תמיד בביתן – מבחירה או בשל נכות נפשית וגופנית או בשל לחץ חברתי. כל הדמויות כאן מיטיבות לראות ולהבין את תחומן הצר אבל עיוורות ממש לכל מה שחורג, לכל מה שמתרחש מחוץ לטווח ראייתן. למשל בעלת חנות לבגדים יד שניה שהיא רכלנית בחסד ובעלת לשון והבנה חדות, אך גם נכה המרותקת למיטתה וכזו שאינה יכולה לחרוג מגבולות החברה השמרנית והקרתנית בה חיה כל חייה. או דמותה של בת', סופרת ממוצעת, שכולם משבחים את היותה בעלת תפישה ושימת לב לפרטים, אך היא גם זו הלוקה בעיוורון הגדול מכולם – אינה מבחינה ברומן שמנהל בעלה עם חברתה הטובה ממש מתחת לאפה. כל אחת מן הדמויות כלואה, מבחינה נפשית בעולמה – ממש כדמויות הילדים שאינן מצליחים לפרש את עולם המבוגרים פשוט מפני שהם חסרות את הבגרות הנפשית והמינית. הניתוק הזה בין תמונות העולם השונות הוא שמביא לחוסר תקשורת מהותי בין כל אחת מן הנפשות הפעילות לכל הדמויות האחרות ולחברה באופן כללי.
המקום הוא כפר דייגים אנגלי קטן בשוליה של עיר חדשה (בסגנון ברייטון), וביתר דיוק, שורת הבתים הראשונה על קו המים של הנמל. מקום מוזנח, עלוב ומבודד, נעדר כל עניין וברק ושרוי בעזובה בעיקר בשל תקופת ההתרחשות – השנה שלאחר סיום מלחמת העולם השנייה, על הדלדול והשכול שהביאה עמה. מקום שחלף זמנו ושהתיירים חדלו מלפקוד אותו אף בעונת הקיץ. הכתיבה היא כתיבה נשית והספר הוא ספר נשי – כמעט כל הדמויות בעלות הנפח הן דמויות נשים וכל הדמויות הגבריות (למעט אחת – דמותו של ברטרם המינגווי) הן חיוורות וחסרות כמעט עולם פנימי (הספרן השמרן, הכומר, בעל הפאב, בנה של הגרושה, ואפילו דמותו של הרופא, מאהבה השתקן והקפדן). המתח העיקרי, המקיף את כל ההתרחשות, הוא המתח החברתי בו מוצאות עצמן הנשים בחברה הכפרית האנגלית השמרנית של התקופה. יש כאן ייצוג לכל הספקטרום הנשי – הרעייה (אך גם בעלת קריירה של סופרת, שלא לוקחים אותה ברצינות), הגרושה (הדמות החופשית ביותר מבחינה מינית, אך גם היא מתקשה להסתדר בחברה השוטמת אותה), אלמנת המלחמה (המוצאת עצמה זנוחה וחרדה) הנערות הצעירות (חלקן מעיזות יותר וחלקן פחות), הילדה התמימה ואף הזקנה המנוסה אך הנכה. כולן מדוכאות, אינן מוצאות את מקומן וחסרות לגיטימיות להשמיע את קולן או לזכות להתייחסות רצינית ולא תועלתנית. וכאמור הן אף מתקשות להבין האחת את רעותה וסופן לרכל ולפגוע האחת בשנייה.
יוצאת מן הכלל דמותו של ברטרם המינגווי – גימלאי של הצי, התייר היחיד במקום. צייר חובב, סקרן בלתי נלאה, ג'נטלמן שנון ואיש העולם הגדול התוחב את אפו בעסקיהם של כל האחרים, מצליח להתחבב על חלקן ומהווה מעין דבק המחבר בין הדמויות ונקודות המבט השונות. אך אבוי, גם הוא בסופו של דבר, טיפוס ריק, המשתעמם בקלות וסופו לפגוע באחרים וכמובן נושא גם הוא עמו עיוורון – עיוורונו של רווק יהיר, אנוכי ומזדקן שאינו מרגיש או מסרב לסייע באמת למצוקותיהן של הנשים הסובבות אותו. גם הוא מנותק – למרות שיש לו רעיונות לאינסוף תמונות של הנמל הוא אינו מצליח כמעט לממש אותם ומתגלה כחסר כשרון ממש כבת' הסופרת המוגבלת לעולמה הפנימי העמלה לכתוב סצנת לוייה למרות שהיא סולדת מלוויות ומעולם לא השתתפה באחת. וכאן מודגש עוד ניגוד מהותי לספר – זה שבין האומנות לחיים האמתיים. בשעת מריבה מאחלת טורי לבת' שתדע פעם אחת בחייה כאב משמים שלא תוכל מיד להתחמק ממנו באמצעות הפיכתו לאמצעי ספרותי בכתיבתה.
הסביבה אפרורית. שני צבעים מתבלטים וחוזרים שוב ושוב. הלבן, המסמל כניעה, חוסר פעולה והחמצה והסגול המסמל את המיניות, הלהט והיצר. חפצים שונים ודומים מפציעים לרגעים במקומות שונים (קנקנים למיניהם למשל) ומקנים תחושה של קשר, שמתחת לפני השטח, בין הסצנות השונות, לקורא שאינו מוגבל בנקודת מבט אחת.
טיילור מפליאה לצייר תמונה של הנמל, מקליידוסקופ שלם של דמויות מוגבלות. היא עושה זאת בצורה חפה מקלישאות ותפרים גסים, והיא שנונה וחדה (יש המשווים אותה לאוסטין). התובנות הפסיכולוגיות הצצות ללא הרף לא חדלות מלהפעים. אני בהחלט מתכוון (אם ירצה אלוהי הקריאה) לקרוא עוד מספריה וסיפוריה. אומנם קריאתי האיטית, הואטה עוד יותר בשל האנגלית הבריטית והסלנג של התקופה, אבל מילון קולינס (דווקא הוא ולא קיימבריג' או אוקספורד) הזמין, און-ליין הפליא לבאר את המונחים.
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