Great writing with an innovative and engaging style can truly captivate readers.

However, when it is in service of such a stupid plot and boring characters, it becomes a rather disappointing situation.

The beautifully crafted prose and unique writing techniques are overshadowed by the lackluster story and uninteresting personalities.

It seems like a big waste of the author's talent and effort.

Readers who are initially drawn in by the promising writing soon find themselves disengaged as the plot fails to develop in a meaningful way and the characters lack depth and complexity.

Despite the great writing, the overall experience is marred by the shortcomings of the plot and characters, leaving a sense of dissatisfaction and a feeling that something more could have been achieved.

Beautiful writing indeed! Hazzard's ability to present the world from so many diverse perspectives is truly admirable. The story, however, does drag a bit in the middle. At times, it becomes difficult to fathom why Caro endures everything she does. Most of the characters seem rather complex, yet she appears to have become a complete martyr. The ending is exquisitely subtle, while still maintaining a certain soap-opera-like quality. I adore how Hazzard intersperses side-comments throughout the book. Some of these comments seem irrelevant at first, while others are highly relevant, but one only discovers their significance much later, perhaps when one has already forgotten the comment. It is a unique storytelling method that I found extremely effective in imparting a mind-blowing, soap-opera-esque atmosphere to the dénouement.

Somewhat delayed review as I was at a loss for words upon initially finishing reading.

My mind was in a bit of a whirl. There were so many sentences in this book that were masterfully crafted and downright wordsmithed, demanding a second or even third read-through.

Consequently, my first impression was that much of it was beyond my comprehension.

Alas, ever since finishing, I have been ruminating on numerous scenes from this book, and it truly merits a first read-through blurb review.

Although I will (hopefully) reread it one day and undoubtedly discover a hundred more new impressions, I am going ahead and awarding it five stars.

But indeed, as they say, it is difficult to get into at first.

Love is a complex and profound emotion that can be experienced in many different ways. In this article, we explore the contrast in the experience of love by two sisters.

At first, one might find it necessary to acclimatize oneself to the elegiac nature of the prose. It seems to be affectionately looking back on past eras when great writing was often lyrical and atmospheric, rather than forensic. However, as one reads on, Hazzard's sentences begin to work their magic and beguile the reader.

Her words are like things seen by the soft glow of candles, radiant with strange outlying shadows that add depth and mystery. Soon, one also starts to appreciate the architecture of the novel. The early motifs constantly prefigure the shaping and form of the novel, creating a sense of unity and coherence.

This is also a novel about the power of time. It shows how time can warp, blanch, and crumple our lives, but also how it can help us decipher the code of the heart. Through the experiences of the two sisters, we see how love can change and evolve over time, and how it can both break and heal our hearts.

I've been reading this book for an incredibly long time.

It's progressing at a really slow pace, and yet, I simply despise not finishing books.

As a result, I've read two or three other books since I began this one.

I recall reading somewhere that a certain person read this book and adored it, even claiming it was life-changing or something along those lines.

However, I can't quite remember who that person was.

I suppose the so-called life-changing aspect is this: don't blindly listen to other people's opinions; trust your own instincts.

This book just seemed dull from the start, and indeed, it is!

Every now and then, there is something that makes you think, "Hm, maybe this is going somewhere."

But nope, it never really led anywhere for me.

Actually, I felt that there was a great deal of stuff in there that was intended to convey certain meanings if you were actively looking for them, but it really irritated me.

Two out of two DNFs to start the year. Oh dear.

But...

Jesus Christ, what on earth is this writing style?! I'm an English teacher, yet I found this unnecessarily verbose to the point that I had no clue.

Firstly, I had no idea what was happening. The convoluted sentences and lack of clear narrative made it difficult to follow the plot.

Secondly, I couldn't tell who was speaking. The dialogue was so muddled that it was hard to distinguish between different characters.

Thirdly, I had no idea what whoever was speaking was talking about. The overly flowery language and complex vocabulary made the content seem almost incomprehensible.

Life is too short to slog through a book that is so overly concerned with style that it renders any substance unreadable. For me, reading should be a pleasure, even with books that are more cerebral. However, this one was simply too much of a chore.

I gave up after a few chapters. This'll still count in my Reading Challenge, but I'll mentally add another one to the final total.

Eurgh.

I'm absolutely devastated.

This book has truly moved me to an extent that nothing else I've read in the past several years has been able to do.

From the very first page, I was completely drawn into its world, unable to tear myself away.

The characters are so vividly portrayed that I felt as if I knew them personally.

The story unfolds with such intensity and emotion that it constantly tugged at my heartstrings.

Every twist and turn kept me on the edge of my seat, eager to discover what would happen next.

It's rare to come across a book that has such a profound impact on me, and this one has definitely left an indelible mark.

I will forever cherish the experience of reading it and will recommend it to anyone who is looking for a truly remarkable and moving literary work.

Final review (May 7th, 2008)

Well, in the end, Hazzard managed to win me over as I gradually got used to her unique style. The story of the two orphan Bell sisters, Caroline and Grace (along with their self-martyring older half-sister, Dora), which spans three decades and multiple continents, begins rather slowly. However, it ultimately rewards the reader's patience. Once you persevere beyond the first 50 pages or so, the story becomes completely absorbing and builds up to a truly stunning climax.

Hazzard is not your typical narrator. She makes some rather unusual choices in the way she tells this story. Despite having an omniscient narrator, certain crucial information is withheld until very near the end. The reader only finds out when Caroline does. Conversely, the ultimate fate of one of the other main characters is hinted at in a seemingly throwaway sentence on page 12. In general, Hazzard assumes that the reader is paying close attention. The presentation of key plot information is often quite subtle, expecting the reader to connect the dots. Personally, I much prefer an author who is willing to give the reader some credit for intelligence rather than the type who bombards you with information. However, some readers might be put off by the indirectness of Hazzard's style.

One minor criticism I have is that I thought Caroline, the main protagonist of the book, was the least convincingly developed among the characters. She never quite managed to escape the impression of being an abstract embodiment of the qualities the author wanted her to represent. This shows in the writing. When it comes to Caroline, the author relies far too much on telling us what she is feeling rather than showing us through her words and actions. This slight awkwardness in the portrayal of Caroline's character stands in sharp contrast to the author's masterful depiction of other characters such as Dora or the various members of the Thrale family. Her descriptions of Christian Thrale's affair with his secretary or of Dora's emotional blackmail techniques, for example, are incredibly brilliant.

I give Shirley Hazzard four stars for telling a great story and for writing that assumes the reader actually has a brain and is willing to use it.

#####################################################

Original comments (May 5th, 2008)

I was initially puzzled by the recurring comments about Hazzard's writing style in people's reviews of this book. They seemed to be all over the place. But now, only fifteen pages into the book, I understand. The fourth sentence in the book is a perfect example: "Whatever there was of fresh white paint sprang out from downs or dunes, or lacerated a roadside with a streak of fencing." Or stuff like this: "Even his wet hair gave off an auburn smell" and "Her other discovery of consequence was also not original: that the truth had a life of its own. It was perhaps in such directions that her energies had flowed, leaving her looks to follow as they might."

Normally, I would consider sentences like these to be a very bad sign indeed. But there is so much other brilliant writing that I have to view them as the kind of slip-up that is inevitable when a highly talented writer isn't afraid to take risks.

That's what I tell myself, anyway, to justify continuing to read. And I remind myself that my good friend PB raves about this book.

The Transit of Venus is like a magnificent jewelled Faberge egg, featuring a complex and tricky mechanism that demands your utmost attention and effort to unlock and explore its interior. Many individuals will become frustrated and give up along the way, while some will persist until the end but still fail to crack the egg, leaving them feeling underwhelmed. However, there are others who will finally succeed in reaching the glittering inside and will be so enthralled that they will immediately want to experience it all over again.

When I initially began reading this book, I had an immediate sense that it was one that I would need to read twice. And indeed, upon conducting some research, I discovered that Hazzard's husband, Francis Steegmuller, was quoted as saying, "No one should ever have to read The Transit of Venus a first time."

Behind that statement lies almost everything you need to know about this remarkable book. It is a true masterpiece, but one that requires you to understand its unique ways in order to fully appreciate its beauty and depth. Hazzard operates in the rarefied air of literary excellence, and her writing is nothing short of flawless. She is the kind of writer who keeps other writers awake at night, marveling at her talent and skill.

As for the book itself, it delves into the themes of love and power. It explores the trials and tribulations faced by a talented and passionate woman in the 20th century. Throughout my reading, I couldn't help but wonder how much of Hazzard herself was reflected in the character of Caroline Bell. How much of Caroline's story was drawn from Hazzard's own experiences as a brilliant woman working in a male-dominated world, surrounded by and often overshadowed by mediocre men? I'm not sure if I'll ever truly know the answer to that question, but I firmly believe that a book with such profound and palpable emotion must have been sourced from a deep well of true personal experience.

Caroline Bell's life serves as a poignant reminder of the limitations placed on limitless talent in a restrained society. It is truly devastating to witness. Under different circumstances, Caro could have easily risen to become the doyenne of any field. It is in Caro's unrealized potential that we see the novel's exploration of power - the immense power required to suppress a person of such integrity and strength. And even more tragically, to gradually erode her strength until she is ultimately brought to her knees by a final, shattering realization.

The writing in this book speaks for itself, and Hazzard has an extraordinary talent for posing thought-provoking questions to her characters that are really intended for the reader to answer. The trials and tests that she subjects her characters to are, in fact, designed to make us examine our own souls as much as, if not more than, those of the fictional characters on the page.

I would challenge any man to disagree with the following statement: "Men go through life telling themselves a moment must come when they will show what they're made of. And the moment comes, and they do show. And they spend the rest of their days explaining that it was neither the moment nor the true self."

And Hazzard wasn't just a brilliant writer on the page; she also lived a life that befitted a literary master. She was likely engaged in daily races with Steegmuller to solve the cryptic crossword, traveling with literary luminaries like Graham Greene, enjoying leisurely lunches in Portofino, and dining in the glamorous city of Monaco. She was one of Australia's greatest literary treasures, and the literary gifts she has left behind are rich pockets of historical meaning and context.

At the end of The Transit of Venus, the reader is once again tasked with delving deep into the recesses of their own soul. Most will likely find the ending to be rather doom and gloom, but I was able to extract a glimmer of hope and a happy ending from what was presented to me.

When I reached the end of the book, I knew without a doubt that I would read it again some day, and I am confident that it will reward my efforts even more upon a second reading.

Now, let's take a look at some of the glorious prose that Hazzard has crafted in this book. She beautifully captures the sentiment of moving to Europe that countless Australians have felt (even if it may no longer be entirely accurate): "Going to Europe someone had written, was about as final as going to heaven. A mystical passage to another life, from which no one returned the same."

She also paints a vivid picture of Sydney and its relationship to Europe: "Those returning in such ships were invincible, for they had managed it and could reflect ever after on Anne Hathaway's Cottage or the Tower of London with a confidence that did not generate at Sydney. There was nothing mythic at Sydney: momentous objects, beings, and events all occurred abroad or in the elsewhere of books. Sydney could never be taken for granted, as did the very meanest town in Europe, that poet might be born there or a great painter walk beneath its windows. The likelihood did not arise, they did not feel they had deserved it. That was the measure of resentful obscurity: they could not imagine a person who might expose or exalt it."

And here is another beautiful passage that simply takes your breath away: "They Crossed to the entrance of the Underground.... In the rush of tunnelled air they turned to stare at one another. A look two persons might exchange who, having carried an immense weight to some forlorn halt, now set it down and meet each other's eyes. Grace had come as far as she could; Ted would go down alone."

Shirley Hazzard truly nailed it with these words: "In modern buildings opposite the Vail house, all ground floors were doctors' offices. In the early mornings ageing men and women would arrive without breakfast to ring these doorbells."

Adam Vail gets some of the best lines in the book, such as: "Our great and secret fear is that America may turn out to be a phenomenon, rather than a civilization. Hence, in part, the scale, the insistence, the need to prove the great mysteries obsolete or serviceable. We want our lust to be loved and called beautiful. To receive the homage due to love."

We also get a glimpse into the grim Scottish childhood of one of the characters: "The house, which was in the Black Isle, was always cold, not only from heatlessness but from austerity. 'They like it bare. Predictably enough my sister and I tend to clutter.' There was only one picture in the house: 'A framed photograph of the Tirpitz, which was sunk the day I was born.....'"

Poor Ted has this tragic realization: "In the restaurant, Ted Tice was watching Caro's lowered eyelids: the tragedy is not that love doesn't last. The tragedy is the love that lasts."

And we see the true villainy of Paul Ivory in his own words: "It seemed incredible I couldn't get the better of them with the weapons I had—superior intelligence, good connections. Victor had—not intelligence, but a quickness. The children of brutes develop that early, trying to keep one step ahead of horror. He was clever, for instance about my play—knew exactly what was wanted when I needed help with speech or responses. There were no ideas in him, just this astuteness. But he put an immoderate value on his intelligence, because of the set he'd come from. Offspring of brutes have that in common with the children of affluence—they have no context for assessing their limitations."

Finally, Grace has this profound thought: "At first, there is something you expect of life, Later, there is what life expects of you. By the time you realise these are the same, it can be too late for expectations." What we are being, not what we are to be. They are the same thing."

There seem to be two distinct camps regarding this book. On one hand, there are those who absolutely love it, while on the other, there are those who despise it. Personally, I thought the author's use of language was generally 'over the top.' In the first 50 pages, it felt a bit excessive. However, she does tone it down after that (maybe the effort of maintaining such a flowery pace was too taxing for her as well). So, if you are among those who initially hate it, it might be worth giving it at least the first 60 pages to see if it grows on you.

I didn't have much affection for the story either. I felt that the author bombarded me with a plethora of details that I didn't really need to understand the narrative. This led me to start skimming, and soon enough, I realized that I was skimming parts that actually turned out to be crucial. This is precisely why it can be so frustrating when an author provides a whole bunch of information that you don't really require. Imagine that reading a book is like climbing a mountain, with the resolution being reaching the summit. If the author hands you a Volkswagen at the beginning and expects you to haul it all the way up, it better be of great significance... and not get in the way of the minivan that she gives you at the end of chapter 4, which you also have to haul.

All in all, this book had its pros and cons, and it really depends on the reader's personal preferences and tolerance for excessive detail and flowery language.

Grace had made a rather interesting discovery. She found that men generally tend to shy away from seeing things through to the end. However, when the opposite happens, it often makes history, something that will be etched in one's memory forever.

She once said, "Women have no choice but to go through with things. Take birth, for example, or a hopeless love. Men, on the other hand, can evade such situations forever."

Of course, there were exceptions. Ted Tice was one, and so was her own son. The thought of Rupert laying down his life, as Ted had done, was truly dreadful. It was not only dreadful but also not entirely unlikely.

In the room, light filtered through the long windows, and the sweet scent of stock flowers in a vase filled the air. Two women, one seated and the other standing, remained silent. Meanwhile, in an adjoining room, a man slept peacefully, like a baby.

Kieran casts his gaze upon the book resting on the bedside table. It lies there, turned down on its face, much like a corpse with a bookmark stabbed right in the middle. He is not done with the book, or perhaps, in a sense, he is done with it forever.

Shirley Hazzard presents us with this overwrought novel that revolves around uninteresting people engaging in uninteresting activities. The writing is indeed exquisite and crafted to a point of artifice. However, the plot is mostly left off the page, requiring the reader to discern it through opaque references.

Here is a typical passage: "She looked again out the window, full face like a child, and thought that here the very fields seemed intended for pleasure. As to the multiplication and subtraction of seasons, she had of course known perfectly, beforehand, how leaves fall in deciduous England. But still been unprepared for anything extreme as autumn--more, in its red destruction, like an act of man than of God." This kind of overly analogous writing reveals more about the writer than the character.

Perhaps this is the wrong book for me at the wrong time. But deep down, I have a feeling that I would never be able to finish this book at any point in my life. If you have a love for language纯粹 for its own sake, then this book might be suitable for you. But I love language for the impact it has on me, both in my mind and spirit. And this well-crafted, yet seemingly empty, piece of work fails to engage either of those aspects within me.