The Girl with the Hazel Eyes
by Callie Browning
Oprah Magazine calls it one of 16 Books by Caribbean Authors to add to your Reading List.
JAAWP Finalist.
Silver Medallist.
“A perfect read. ‘The Girl with the Hazel Eyes’ is well-written and compelling. I give this novel 5/5 stars.” - Bekah’s Bookshelves.
A beautifully written coming-of-age tale that examines the bonds of womanhood, feminism and pre-independence life on a small island.
Almost fifty years after Susan Taylor was exiled from Barbados for her famous whistle-blowing novel, ‘The Unspeakable Truth’, she contacts a young writer to pen her biography. Susan is crotchety and unpleasant but Lia Davis is broke so she has no choice but to stay and write Susan's biography.
As Lia starts to unravel the reclusive author's life, she realizes that some things just don't add up. Susan has been hiding a massive secret for decades and Lia is determined to find out what it is. The Girl with the Hazel Eyes is an endearing historical fiction that tugs at your heart with its examination of love, lies, and loyalty.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Kenneth’s eyes lit up mischievously as he contemplated me quietly for a moment. “Be honest: if someone had a gun to your head and threatened to shoot if you didn’t eat one, would you choose the fried biscuits or the fish dumplings?”
“I’d eat the bullet.”
Our eyes met as we tried to stifle our laughter but it didn’t work. Kenneth and I broke into a fit of giggles.
He smiled broadly, staring at me for a while. It made me a little nervous to have him watching me like that. I turned away and looked towards the horizon. The sun was setting just over the vast cane fields in the distance. It was late October and by then the land was stripped bare of canes and stretched as far as the eye could see. It was amazing to see it from that height and take in the majesty of the sunset from such a miraculous vantage point.
“Did you ever notice how the sunlight changes from white during the daytime to that pretty gold when it sets? The way it paints everything in the world in a colour that isn’t orange or yellow or pink but a soft blend of all three?”
Kenneth raised one eyebrow at me thoughtfully, both surprised and confused by what I was saying. He turned to the cane fields and a look of awe and comprehension dawned on his face before he smiled broadly.
“Yeah. I don’t think I ever noticed that before, you know. Did you read that in one of those old books I always see you with?”
I laughed. “No, I noticed it right before I climbed the tree.”
“Hmm…”
“What?”
“Are you sure you didn’t read that in a book?” he asked me again.
I glared at him and said haughtily. “I told you I didn’t.”
Satisfied, he nodded sagely and then surprised me by saying, “You should write down the things you say. You describe something really hard in just a few words. It would have taken me about ten hours to explain that sun thing.”
I felt quite pleased with myself at this nice compliment from a boy. A blush crept up my cheeks and he didn’t even try to make me feel embarrassed about it. He just took two more broken crackers from his pocket and handed me one.
We sat there as quiet as anything while the light waned and the crickets turned up the volume on their chirping but little did Kenneth realized that he had watered the seed that my mother had planted in my mind. Writing was my gift and when someone is truly talented, their gift comes so effortlessly that it’s easy to take it for granted. Even now, decades later, I still can’t believe that Kenneth honed in on that aspect of my personality so easily. At that moment something clicked between us. Just like the knack that Kenneth saw I had for writing, our friendship came to us effortlessly.
JAAWP Finalist.
Silver Medallist.
“A perfect read. ‘The Girl with the Hazel Eyes’ is well-written and compelling. I give this novel 5/5 stars.” - Bekah’s Bookshelves.
A beautifully written coming-of-age tale that examines the bonds of womanhood, feminism and pre-independence life on a small island.
Almost fifty years after Susan Taylor was exiled from Barbados for her famous whistle-blowing novel, ‘The Unspeakable Truth’, she contacts a young writer to pen her biography. Susan is crotchety and unpleasant but Lia Davis is broke so she has no choice but to stay and write Susan's biography.
As Lia starts to unravel the reclusive author's life, she realizes that some things just don't add up. Susan has been hiding a massive secret for decades and Lia is determined to find out what it is. The Girl with the Hazel Eyes is an endearing historical fiction that tugs at your heart with its examination of love, lies, and loyalty.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Kenneth’s eyes lit up mischievously as he contemplated me quietly for a moment. “Be honest: if someone had a gun to your head and threatened to shoot if you didn’t eat one, would you choose the fried biscuits or the fish dumplings?”
“I’d eat the bullet.”
Our eyes met as we tried to stifle our laughter but it didn’t work. Kenneth and I broke into a fit of giggles.
He smiled broadly, staring at me for a while. It made me a little nervous to have him watching me like that. I turned away and looked towards the horizon. The sun was setting just over the vast cane fields in the distance. It was late October and by then the land was stripped bare of canes and stretched as far as the eye could see. It was amazing to see it from that height and take in the majesty of the sunset from such a miraculous vantage point.
“Did you ever notice how the sunlight changes from white during the daytime to that pretty gold when it sets? The way it paints everything in the world in a colour that isn’t orange or yellow or pink but a soft blend of all three?”
Kenneth raised one eyebrow at me thoughtfully, both surprised and confused by what I was saying. He turned to the cane fields and a look of awe and comprehension dawned on his face before he smiled broadly.
“Yeah. I don’t think I ever noticed that before, you know. Did you read that in one of those old books I always see you with?”
I laughed. “No, I noticed it right before I climbed the tree.”
“Hmm…”
“What?”
“Are you sure you didn’t read that in a book?” he asked me again.
I glared at him and said haughtily. “I told you I didn’t.”
Satisfied, he nodded sagely and then surprised me by saying, “You should write down the things you say. You describe something really hard in just a few words. It would have taken me about ten hours to explain that sun thing.”
I felt quite pleased with myself at this nice compliment from a boy. A blush crept up my cheeks and he didn’t even try to make me feel embarrassed about it. He just took two more broken crackers from his pocket and handed me one.
We sat there as quiet as anything while the light waned and the crickets turned up the volume on their chirping but little did Kenneth realized that he had watered the seed that my mother had planted in my mind. Writing was my gift and when someone is truly talented, their gift comes so effortlessly that it’s easy to take it for granted. Even now, decades later, I still can’t believe that Kenneth honed in on that aspect of my personality so easily. At that moment something clicked between us. Just like the knack that Kenneth saw I had for writing, our friendship came to us effortlessly.
