Eustace and Hilda: A Trilogy (New York Review Books Classics)

. . . or some similar heading is rightly earned by L. P. Hartley's _Eustace and Hilda_. You will have read elsewhere that this trilogy is told largely through the point of view of Eustace Cherrington; he is the central consciousness, though an omniscient (all-knowing) narrator method is necessary to make the novel work as a whole, and to give the novel a sense of movement outside the mind of one person. Everyone enjoys reading _The Go-Between_ whose main character, Leo, is another sensitive young boy, and, in retrospect, Eustace seems to be a preparation for that novel, but E & H is an enduring element in British fiction. I didn't want this trilogy to end; from time to time, I would set it aside and read other novels so that I could ponder the fate of the Cherringtons.There seems to be a debate as to whether or not the entire trilogy, _Eustace and Hilda_, (including _The Shrimp & the Anemone_, _The Sixth Heaven_ and _E & H_) can be called a masterpiece. Novel One is an outright masterpiece, partly because Eustace is still a child at the end, and as a result, the novel has no awkward life-changes to negotiate. We meet all the main characters, Mr. Cherrington and his sister, Aunt Sarah, the housekeeper and Eustace's confidante, Minney, as well as the wealthy Staveleys, the adventurous Steptoes, and Miss Fothergill. And there is Hartley's evocation of the Norfolk coast, the seaside village, and the dark woods of the Anchorstone Hall mansion. (Hartley has that quality of all great British novelists: the skill to evoke the darkly romantic countryside.) In volume one, we also discover the enduring themes: the effects of money on human identity and a hint of the sexual confusion to come in adulthood. I'm not giving anything away if I say that money solves some problems and creates others. Also in the first volume, Hartley hints that repressed sexuality will move the plot in volume two and three. Early on, Eustace goes on a paper-chase with Nancy, and Hilda turns down an opportunity to go horseback riding with Dick Staveley; both dramas burn in the minds of Hilda and Eustace and color their lives. (I don't want to give anything away.)If novels two and three of the trilogy are not clear-cut masterpieces it might be because the classic realist text was no longer possible after World War II (the novel of clear, simple, unambiguous action), but also because it's a novelist's minefield when the main characters go through those horrible years of identity formation--from age twelve to twenty-five. But Hartley is an unqualified genius in the way he takes the potentially banal Freudian interpretations of the 1930s and `40s and makes then into art. If consistency and comprehensibility of the plot, and believability of character, constitute a masterwork then the sum of _Eustace and Hilda_ is just that: finely orchestrated genius.There are episodes in which Eustace will daydream and fantasize--presaging magic realism--and it's a quite believable. Moreover, the total meaning of E & H is completely acceptable, if sad and regrettable. The sections set in Venice with Lady Nelly Staveley are a feast for the imagination--and Eustace has the soul of an artist. For some readers, Hilda might be a little too controlling and dominating to be believable, but the pieces of the puzzle were set up early in the novel when she was fourteen and Eustace about ten. It's important to note that they have an infant sister, Barbara, who represents the "normal" human development of the time: love of jazz and dancing plus early romance and marriage. It seems that Hilda and Eustace were thrown together because their mother died young, and insecurity and mutual influence would result; in addition, Aunt Sarah and Minney want Hilda and Eustace to remain children--unfortunately believable in people who fear change.The scenes at Oxford University were a delight to read, and when I realized that most of volume two and three would take place in Venice, I was thrilled. I don't understand reviewers who recommend that we pass up Eustace and Hilda. Besides, there is nothing like a solid British sentence, and Hartley's have the cadence of poetry and the arc of drama. Rest in peace, Leslie. And thank you, again, to NYRB Classics; the book cover illustration suggests the theme of "the tomb of our greatest desires."

Anita Brookner, in her introduction to Hartley's trilogy, makes much of a comparison between Hartley and Henry James. This is at once apt and inapt. It is apt in that James is certainly the novelist one is reminded of most by this trilogy. But it is terribly inapt in that James is much the better writer and his works are truly "masterpieces", a claim Brookner makes for this work which simply won't hold literary water. Hartley certainly holds his own with James in mere description of place, and thus one is reminded at different points of James's most popular novel (A Portrait of A Lady) and his best (The Ambassadors).-But all similarity ends here.-There are none of the depths of character insight of which James is such a master, nor, really....anything else to remind one of James. Just page after page of-description-that leads to one cul-de-sac after another (a good example is the chapter "The Larva" or "ghost" in Latin, which seems to have been written with absolutely no purpose in mind, or perhaps a forgotten one). Yes, there is an overall plot. But one doesn't come away with any insights into the human condition in the way one does from a James novel, or any "masterpiece" for that matter. The overall effect of this novel and of the writing is a sort of slippage, that the author doesn't really know where he's going with Eustace or Hilda, and that they don't know where they're going either, and the reader is left wearily turning page after page waiting for some, any sort of insight.-Perhaps to say this is to equate Hartley, in some sense, with Eustace himself-Everything is sinking or slipping, much like Venice, where much of the book occurs. There is a passage which describes this quite nicely when Eustace (typically) just happens to find himself amidst a "lustral" bathing:"He felt his identity flowing out of him, to be soaked up heedlessly by the grains of sand or parcelled out in fragments of a thousandth among all the figures standing or sprawling round him."p.533This is very much what reading this book is like. Hartley does a much better job with The Go-Between, which I would recommend to all prospective readers rather than this meandering book.-Or, if you really are in search of a "masterpiece" of this sort, Henry James's The Ambassadors will not leave you sinking, dear reader.

Vaguely old fashioned, of a different and perhaps more gracious time, Eustace and Hilda traces the changing relationships of a brother and sister whose lives are altered when one of them I hermits a small fortune. Hartley does British stoicism and no lessens oblige to a T, and with an excellent ear for dialogue that perfectly captures the era -- early in the last century. This is not a book read for plot as much as for the beauty of Hartley's prose. It's not so much to be dashed off to find out what happens next as it is a slow and satisfying read to those who appreciate style and substance.

Exceptional writing, humorous, complex character development... A joy to read! As it is actually a compilation of 3 books, it is quite long, but well worth the time spent!

It is much too long and I am neither sympathetic or interested in Eustace. It is almost sophomoric in revealing Eustace's thoughts.

An interesting trilogy. I had read no.one - the Shrimp and the Anemone, I and no. three, Eustace and Hilda. and bought this so that I could read the second. I enjoyed this least, as it made Hilda seem so impossible and therefore the whole series less credible. But interesting look at childhood and sibling rivalry. Not equal to The Go Between.