n  “It will have been sufficiently seen that he was not a man to neglect any good chance for reflexion.”n

To say this might be somewhat of an understatement, in the manner of stating such introductions, would be to present Lewis Lambert Strether, our main character in search of the ideal, within the distinct lattice of James’s prose stylings which are replete with enough prepositional phrases and subordinate clauses to sublimate the already sublimated emotional and psychological complexities of his narrative. Jamesian sentences, like the one I just attempted, sometimes require a reverse tracing by the eyes just to re-identify the subject or verb. And yet, there is a strange kind of delight in parsing his style. It carries a kind of modernist formality that matches the tight class circles and intricate psyches his characters inhabit.

Strether has been sent to France by his fiancée to retrieve her adult son, whom everyone believes to be disgracing himself with an untoward woman. Chad, the son, is to return to the U.S., be married in advantageous fashion, and take his rightful place in the family business. What follows is a novel of unsettled expectations, as the charms of France and European culture work against Strether’s mission and shifting alliances obscure just whom to trust.

Regularly required to report back on his progress by post, much of his writing, as well as replies from back home are never shared directly with the reader. What we get is a man perpetually reflecting on his reflections.

n  “He had added that he was writing, but he was of course always writing; it was a practice that continued, oddly enough, to relieve him, to make him come nearer than anything else to the consciousness of doing something: so that he often wondered if he hadn't really, under his recent stress, acquired some hollow trick, one of the specious arts of make-believe. Wouldn't the pages he still so freely dispatched by the American post have been worthy of a showy journalist, some master of the great new science of beating the sense out of words? Wasn't he writing against time, and mainly to show he was kind?—since it had become quite his habit not to like to read himself over. On those lines he could still be liberal, yet it was at best a sort of whistling in the dark. It was unmistakeable moreover that the sense of being in the dark now pressed on him more sharply—creating thereby the need for a louder and livelier whistle. He whistled long and hard after sending his message… ”n

Intermixed with his reflections are a host of comical and commiserating characters. Miss Gostrey, with whom he strikes up quite a memorable friendship from the start, proves to be a pure delight, and the one character in the novel who forces direct questions upon Strether, rarely lets him off the hook. The denser prose sections are offset by rather fun and engaging exchanges of dialogue. Gostrey often provides droll and keen insights, such as commenting after Strether sings another man’s praises:

n  “Any man's nice when he's in love.”n

This is not so much a novel of action and occurrences as it is one of tensions and impressions. Strether views Paris through a romanticized lens, seeing himself cast in a type of drama, too often still feeling like a passive roleplayer, but one who has inevitably ended up on the other side of the stage from whence he entered:

n  “He was like one of the figures of the old clock at Berne. THEY came out, on one side, at their hour, jigged along their little course in the public eye, and went in on the other side. He too had jigged his little course—him too a modest retreat awaited.”n

(Incidentally, although I like James, I mainly read this in order to more properly appreciate Cynthia Ozick’s Foreign Bodies. I’m glad I did even if I never get to the Ozick book.)


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WORDS & PHRASES I LEARNED WHILE READING THIS BOOK
bêtise | circumjacent | ficelle | fuliginous | matutinal | gewgaws | Omnes vulnerant, ultima necat | porte-cochere | troisieme | entresol | Quoi donc | ouvreuse | tout betement | cicerone | et panem et circenses | cher confrere | ces gens-la | Allez donc voir! | fiacre | vieille sagesse | salle-a-manger | banlieue | cariole | côtelette de veau à l'oseille | invraisemblance

The word I keep thinking of in regards to this novel is charming. Seems a bit odd to think of James this way, but this narrative is so amazingly tender, thoughtful--yes, slow, slow as paint drying, sublimely, beautifully slow--that it charmed me all the way through. I think it's James's masterpiece and I guess my favorite of his novels. I, too, have been charmed by Europe so I suppose I was bound to love this one the most.

Lewis Lambert Strether 55, a prim widower considers himself a failure completely dependent on the kindness of wealthy widow and still attractive Mrs.Newsome, from fictional Woollett, Massachusetts his fiancee for a living (set circa 1900) he's the editor of a small magazine review that is financed by her, owner of a company that manufactures.... it is never said in the novel. Sent by Mrs. Newsome ( thus the title ,"The Ambassadors," there will be others) to get her son the immature Chad(wick) 28, living in Paris for three years, back home and do his duty run the family business but there are complications, he is involved his relatives believe in a sordid affair with a married woman, but quite a charming one beautiful Marie de Vionnet 38, separated from her brute of a husband. Mr.Strether first lands in England, to meet his best friend the laconic Waymarsh, an American lawyer who has made a great deal of money there but does not like Europe and wants to go home. He encounters too, bright, pretty Maria Gostrey 35 another American who skillfully guides tourist around the continent, she is very popular they become very close, (maybe romantically? ) and Lambert confides in her his many troubles. Arriving in the French capital our hero looks around meets all the important people he needs to, and strangely begins to change his views becoming more tolerant of different ways of living, the morality of Woollett seems not to fit here, he starts to enjoy the magic of Paris the great museums, impressive churches renowned restaurants fun cafes the food , wines, the river Seine slowing traveling through the metropolis, the many boats and people on them the unhurried style of life, freedom is intoxicating can this be wrong? The remote Mrs.Newsome is not happy, months have passed no progress reported by Strether, she has her daughter Mrs. Sarah Pocock, her husband and his sister also, go to help the unsuccessful "Ambassador", talk to the reluctant Chad, this lady's brother is made of sterner stuff than our friend the gentle Lambert. Slowly it dawns on the always too trusting gentleman that some inhabitants are lying to Mr. Lambert Strether, shocking him it makes him think has he been a simpleton...Besides our would -be hero has to go back home to America and face the music, his life will never be the same...This novel will be enjoyed by fans of Henry James, the European and American differences which the author writes about... I being both relish, but it can be difficult for others, his sentences run on some much too long and clarity is not his strength, yet the talent shows ...P.S. my guess and it's only mine, what Mrs. Newsome makes are ...clocks ?

This book asks a lot from the reader and offers precious little in return. Of course, those who gave it five stars must disagree and think this frustrating word salad was all worth it.

I could barely stand it. The neurotic prose, that seemed so unsure and self-conscious, constantly checking itself, in turn clarifying and contradicting, almost drove me to insanity. When James gave voice to his characters it hardly got better as everyone talked to each other in Sphinx-like riddles.

Friends, I did want to like this book. The premise was excellent - puritanical New England meets flamboyant Paris. I promise you I’m not that lazy of a reader, but by the end of this novel I started doubting whether I could speak English or if I was even literate. An occasional insightful observation was sure to get lost in all that verbiage and when something did eventually occur I almost missed it altogether as I was having an out of body experience where my soul had vacated my earthly shell to go read something more riveting, like the phonebook of the Cieszyn county from 1985. This could've been a great novel - if only someone else had written it.

And after struggling through seven million convoluted sentences that never had the decency to end when a well-behaved sentence should end, I was rewarded with a revelation that it is, in fact, in people’s nature to have sex.

For a novel about an older man who realises he has never lived, may I direct you towards the Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro.

Please recommend novels about prim and proper Americans in Europe, but novels that are actually good.