On both sides of the sea — Story, Setting & Ideas

Recollection as a Framing Device

The novel’s first chapter is explicitly titled “Olive’s Recollections,” and the prose immediately grapples with the nature of memory. Olive admits that in recollection it is “difficult to disentangle feeling from fact, what we saw with our eyes and heard with our ears from what others told us.” This self-consciousness about the reliability of memory sets the tone for the entire work. The narrative does not pretend to offer an objective historical account; instead, it filters the execution of Charles I through Olive’s personal, sensory impressions: the “funereal black and white,” the “frosty ground,” the “mute and motionless river.” By foregrounding the act of remembering, Charles invites readers to consider how historical events are shaped by individual perspective. The use of the first-person plural (“we saw,” “our eyes”) further suggests that Olive’s recollections are not solely her own but represent a collective memory of those who lived through the Commonwealth.

Diary Entries and the Intimate Voice

In contrast to Olive’s retrospective recollections, Lettice’s Diary offers a more immediate, day-by-day account. The diary form implies a present-tense recording of events as they unfold, creating a sense of intimacy and urgency. While the excerpts provided do not include Lettice’s entries, the very existence of this alternating structure suggests a deliberate juxtaposition: Olive looks back from a later vantage point, while Lettice writes in the moment. This formal choice allows Charles to present two distinct temporal relationships to the historical events. The diary may also capture details that recollection might smooth over or reinterpret. The inclusion of “Notes by Magdalene Antony” as a single chapter further diversifies the narrative sources, hinting at yet another layer of documentation. Together, these multiple textual forms—recollection, diary, notes—create a mosaic of perspectives on the Commonwealth and Restoration periods.

Movement Between England and the Continent

The title On Both Sides of the Sea points to a geographical duality that is reinforced by the narrative’s movement. In the excerpt, Roger is appointed to accompany envoys sent by Oliver Cromwell to Paris, and the narrative follows him across the English Channel. This journey is not merely a plot device; it reflects the broader historical currents of the period, as English exiles, diplomats, and merchants traversed European waters. The description of Blake’s fleet “ranging the Mediterranean Sea” and the reference to the massacre of Protestants in the Piedmont valleys further expand the novel’s geographical scope. The sea itself becomes a connective and divisive force, linking England to continental affairs while also separating the characters from their homeland. Charles uses these movements to explore how national identity and religious solidarity are tested when characters find themselves on foreign soil.

Recurring Images of Cold and Silence

From the opening paragraph, the narrative is saturated with images of cold, frost, and silence. The execution day is described as “shrouded and silent,” with a “hushed, sunless, colorless world.” The river is “frost-bound” and “mute,” the ships “motionless.” Even the sounds of horses and soldiers “ringing from the hard and frosty ground” emphasize the frozen, brittle atmosphere. This imagery recurs in the later excerpt, where the Alpine massacre is described as a “slaughter on the Alpine mountains cold.” The cold is not merely meteorological; it becomes a metaphor for moral numbness, political repression, and the emotional distance between opposing factions. The silence, too, carries weight: the absence of trumpets and drums on the day of execution suggests a grim, reluctant solemnity rather than a triumphant spectacle. By repeating these sensory details, Charles creates a consistent tonal landscape that underscores the gravity of the historical moment.

Readers approaching On Both Sides of the Sea should attend to the formal choices Charles makes: the alternation of recollection and diary, the shifts between English and continental settings, and the persistent imagery of cold and silence. These elements are not mere decoration but structural principles that shape how the story is told. Because the excerpts are incomplete, the full interplay between Olive’s and Lettice’s voices remains to be discovered, as does the function of Magdalene Antony’s notes. The novel rewards careful attention to who is speaking and when, and to the physical and emotional landscapes that surround them.

Years at the desk have taught me how voices settle into familiar rhythm, and I remember On Both Sides of the Sea with its two souls whispering across time—Olive’s memory, Lettice’s page—each finding a quieter truth between them. There is a similar patience in Red aces — Inside the Classic, that steady unfolding of hidden things, like old friends finishing one another’s sentences.