My first Forster and a quick, easy, fun read. Oh, those silly English; so pompous and Protestant and detached. Oh, those wacky, ignorant Italians with their papist leanings, their saints and their layabout cafe culture. This is a silly culture clash novel with a male character who does not change (but thinks he does) and a female character who is deep and unknowable and full of well earned condescension toward men. In an odd way it reminds me of Revolutionary Road; or maybe just real life. I enjoyed this in part because I make a sport of cataloguing film and literature condescension directed at Catholic and Mediterranean cultures.* The warm, Catholic countries always seem to be the places where uptight Americans and northern Europeans go to dance, watch street festivals, overeat without utensils and have saucy sex. After a while you start to wonder if anyone has ever reversed this migration and headed north in search of repression, hymns, and oyster forks.

The baby storyline here is ridiculous, but I assume that was the point.

*I catalogue these because my heritage is 3% oyster fork and 80% red sauce, and I'm vaguely offended (but mostly amused).

Catching up with the classics # 21

Oh my word! How tragic is this book! It’s by far the best Forster I’ve read.

"Just think of the shock value. Killing off the leading lady halfway through. I mean you are intrigued, are you not, my dear? Come on, admit it." (Hitchcock, 2012)

Fine, Lilia isn't truly the leading lady, but initially that seems to be the case. I'll keep it short and sweet by saying that the indifference shown by most of the characters at the end of this book is actually revolting. Maybe that's the point? Suffice it to say, I'd much rather spend a few hundred pages with serial killer Tom Ripley than with any of the remorseless and self-indulgent monsters in this book. And I'm usually the one who rolls his eyes when I read a I didn't like this book because I didn't like the characters review. I did like some of the characters, until the end. Can't we at least pretend that something terrible has taken place?

Very forgettable, I almost can’t remember anything from this book but I think I enjoyed it.

I would categorize this novel as an over-dramatic comedy that rests upon the characteristics of those who are extensively wealthy. Not that I will ever personify this condition, but I have noticed others that walk among us under such circumstances. It’s a condition where decisions focus on instant gratification and subsequent decisions have no need for consistency with previous ones. The inconsistency that ensues is essentially the source of the comedic irony used by Forster to drive his plot.

The story is adequately entertaining and thankfully short. It would seem that there was not a lot of effort by Forster to write something great. The characters are thinly sketched and adhere to their parts. At times, their words and acts border on literary slapstick. The best aspects of this novel are the descriptions of the Tuscany region of Italy and its inhabitants. However, the characteristics of the Italians were overexaggerated so that they could brightly contrast with the wealthy gentry from England.

Overall, Where Angels Fear to Tread seems like a quick attempt by Forster at generating something for publication rather than a serious effort at writing something that’s worth reading.

another case of should’ve been a short story

What an engaging read.

I love how Forster makes Italy this almost tangible part of the story, how Italy effects and influences the characters, making them do things differently and not even realize it. How Italy changes their opinions and feelings and everyone “falls” for it.

The plot moves along quickly, always leaving you wanting. Making this an easy two hour read.

I’ll defiantly try more of Forster’s books.

I've decided to revisit Forster. I've never really had a high opinion of his work, but I feel like that may be my problem, not his. I first read Where Angels Fear to Tread about four years ago and my original review is presented below (god I was so shit at 'reviews' back then why did none of you tell me!?)

What I can glean from my second reading of Where Angels Fear to Tread is that I enjoyed it more this time. I recall being quite bored with it the first time around but this time my boredom was replaced by amusement. I also appreciated the more farcical nature of the novel too. It brilliantly captures the fin de siècle folly of going on the Grand Tour and the type of people who took such a journey. However while I think that Where Angels Fear to Tread is a fun send-up of the upper-classes and their strive to keep up appearances, I do not think it is anything more than that.

What confuses me about the novel is its tone. What exactly was Forster going for? There are many moments of light comedy and it could also be called something of a comedy of manners but there are also some truly horrific moments of tragedy. To call the book comic would be crass but to call it tragic would be disingenuous.

There is also the problem of Forster introducing a cast of interesting characters in the first chapter, only to slowly shed them all as the narrative progresses.

I don't think I'm going to change my rating on this one. Last time I gave it two stars because I was bored, this time I am giving it two stars because it just isn't that great of a novel. I get what Forster was doing here. It's a valiant first attempt. But there's a reason why we still discuss Howards End and A Room With A View but not Where Angels Fear to Tread.


n  Original review from July 2014n

I expected more from Forster. Well, to be honest, this was his first novel and isn't one that is talked about all that much. There's obviously a reason for that. Even though this novel is less than 150 pages long, it feels much longer and that's not a good thing. It's kinda boring at parts which really doesn't help. Eh this novel is just meh as a whole. Meh.

Forster's Howard's End is one of my favorite novels ever, and I have yet to read Room With A View or Passage to India, but this was on my shelf so I picked it up. This is his first novel and it's good, but not great. The settings are the village of Sawston in England and Monteriano in Italy, both fictional. There's the inevitable culture clashes between the staid and proper English characters and the friendly and exuberant Italians. If I had read this one first my love for Forster would not be as great, but as a sample of what was to come from his pen, it's an interesting read.

This auspicious little novel is a tragi-comic tale of late 19th/early 20th century culture clash between English aristocracy and Italy. Hard to believe this is Forster's first novel and that he was in his mid-twenties when writing it. Lots of wonderful prose; it makes me want to revisit his later novels as I think I'd appreciate them more now.

Cultures collide in Forster’s first novel, which reads in many ways like a thematic rough draft of A Room With a View (in fact several sentences are even repeated verbatim in RWAV!). But it’s a great story in its own right. When an English widow goes to Italy and then, in what could only be a fit of madness, marries an ITALIAN, her respectable in-laws are scandalized. That she should discover her husband is a bounder and then subsequently die in childbirth is no more than can be expected from such folly. But allowing the baby from this union to be raised by Italians is clearly going too far, and a brother-in-law, sister-in-law, and family friend are dispatched to bring home the unfortunate child. Hilarity and tragedy ensue. Not nearly as delightful and optimistic as A Room With a View, but then again, not as grim as A Passage to India.

6.0/10

After a good night's sleep, I'm downgrading this one. As it simmered in my mind overnight, I thought, yes, my first instincts were correct: this is Forster at his vulgar best/worst -- a word in which he overindulges in this novel. Lots of vulgarity, in life in Italy, in his opinion. Lots of vulgarity in life, period. He threw around that word, and that phrase, like Italians throw pizza dough. Sigh. Not that I disagree with his conclusion, only that the manner of his delivery was ... well, quite vulgar. The language, the tone, did not agree with the story, and it jarred and jangled the nerves. I kept thinking I was reading a pantomime. Maybe it was. Maybe that was the whole point?

I found the novel riddled with cheap sentimentality; overwrought with mawkishness. This redefines the meaning of "throwing the baby out with the bath water" -- and only those of you who have read this will understand, so it's not technically a spoiler.

A bit of "bleh" from Forster -- who has fallen a peg or two, in my estimation. I'd better hurry back to one of his other novels, before I forget completely how much I like him.