A Pair of Blue Eyes by Thomas Hardy

I’ve read four Hardy novels in my time, and three of those have been for book groups – which appear to be making a united effort to get me through his oeuvre. My experience with him is a bit chequered – I like Tess of the D’Ubervilles, really liked Jude the Obscure, and loathed Return of the Native. Along the way I also somehow stopped reading The Mayor of Casterbridge halfway through, without really giving up. How would I feel about A Pair of Blue Eyes (1873)?

Well, it battles out with Jude the Obscure for my favourite Hardy novel – and that’s probably because it’s the funniest one I’ve read. Don’t get the wrong idea – it still has its miserable moments – but there is also an irony and wit to the narrative that he seemed to gradually squeeze out of his writing over the years.

The main character is called Elfride Swancourt, which was almost enough to make me stop reading after the first two words. What an absurd name – and too close to Eustacia Vye for comfort. But I persevered – and learned that she is a clergyman’s daughter in Cornwall, new to adult life and very naive. The novel essentially tells of her romantic exploits – something of a love triangle, though not quite that simple – and how the decisions she can or can’t make in her youth are likely to follow her.

Her first suitor is Stephen Smith – who comes to work on the church as an architect. Their relationship is rather unconvincingly deep after they’ve talked to each other for about five minutes, and he mentions her blue eyes – which is about the only time they get a mention in the book; it seems a very odd title to me. They come very close to marrying – but she gets cold feet on the train to London. They part, promised to each other but not properly engaged.

In his absence, though, Elfride writes and publishes an historical romance (sure, why not) which gets savaged in a review by one Henry Knight. Who, naturally, comes along to visit – he is witty, artistic, and not easily offended by her frostiness. He is, to my mind, the most engaging character in the novel. Alongside his louche city ways, though, he is also at heart a naive innocent. Do they fall in love? Well, yes…

I never felt that I particularly cared about the characters, so I wasn’t sad or happy when bad or good things happen to them – but I still really enjoyed reading about them. They are perhaps too heightened to generate empathy in the reader (or at least this reader) but that doesn’t stop them being entertaining. There are even elements of sensation fiction, including one particularly absurd cliffhanger scene that I can only imagine Hardy writing with gritted teeth. In some ways, though, the novel is also a prototype of Tess of the D’Ubervilles, particularly in its discussions of hypocrisy about the different moral standards for men and women. It’s a real mixed bag.

The ending was a bit silly, in a different way, and doesn’t pack the emotional punch Hardy clearly wanted. Indeed, we came up with a much better solution in our book group. But we’ll let him off because it’s so much more entertaining beforehand. He’s not a completely different writer, of course; there are still very, very Hardy lines – like this:

Then Stephen put his hand upon Knight’s arm, and they retired from the yellow glow, further, further, till the chill darkness enclosed them round, and the quiet sky asserted its presence overhead as a dim gray sheet of blank monotony.

It was cloudy; we get it. But I jest – his writing is reliably good, and not too histrionic. I don’t know where this one stands with Hardy aficionados, but I would guess rather low, since it doesn’t get mentioned as much – but for Hardy newbies, it’s an enjoyable and pacy read.