Al di là degli stereotipi sugli italiani, come se fossero una tribù di scimmie (F. si dimentica di Leonardo e Michelangelo), come se l'unica cosa che conta nella vita fossero il riserbo e le "maniere" .... al di là di questo, grande ritratto grottesco sugli stereotipi inglesi.

Written in 1905, this was Forster's first novel. It is a comedy of manners, and does show signs of his great talent. Out of his four best-known novels though, this seems by far the weakest. I personally think it would have worked better as a novella or even a short story; later he did write very good short story collections.

The balance of this short novel feels wrong. The early descriptions of upper-class characters enmeshed in their own culture are really rather dull, and would have benefited from a lighter touch and more wit. One character in particular, Mrs. Herriton, is a very dislikeable matriarch figure, outraged by anything she feels is not correct, and manipulating all around her. Surely there is ample scope here for a more evident sense of the ridiculous?

The lengthy descriptions are tedious, and needed judicious editing. Additionally the first scenes at the station introduce nearly all the characters at once, which is confusing. The plethora of overbearing and unsympathetic female characters, plus rather passive male ones, can probably be attributed to the fact that Forster's early childhood was mostly spent in the company of women. He clearly tried to write about what he had observed. He set most of the action in Italy, where he had spent a year travelling. The fictitious town of "Monteriano" is apparently very similar to Monterrigioni, in Tuscany. But Forster has been criticised for portraying the Italians in a stereotypical way.

After many pages of build-up, the reader feels that inevitably something traumatic has to happen, and is not disappointed. Even then though, the important events in the story happen off-stage. The impression gained is that Forster was more concerned to contrast the social mores than to tell the story itself. This reminded me strongly of D.H. Lawrence; in fact much of this novel has the feel of Lawrence's writing.

By halfway the novel is much improved, and another very satisfying twist comes at the end. It is worth sticking with, I feel, as it does redeem itself.

3.5* rounded up because I love Forster.

This is the author’s first novel, published in 1905. The action is split between England and Italy, and raises questions about national character – the possibility of personal connection across social differences.

This is something that occupied the author throughout his writing career.

The action of the novel begins at a train station, as Lilia says her goodbyes before embarking on a trip to Italy.

She is a rather frivolous woman, a widow, who since her husband Charles death, has been living with his family. Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Herriton, and her two children, Philip and Harriet, have supervised Lilia closely to assure that she does not do anything to disgrace the family. However, they have allowed her this Italian journey in the hope that this experience will “civilize” her.

They expect her to be supervised by Caroline, a 23-year-old woman who is “good quiet, dull, and amiable,” and trustworthy. At 33, Lilia is midway on life’s journey, so what could possibly go wrong?

Lots… (no spoilers from me)

Forster makes it clear that this is a place where hypocrisy and repression rule, and where people are more concerned with maintaining appearances than anything else.

This novel explores themes of cultural differences, prejudice and the tension between family and romantic ties.

This novel also established Forster’s reputation as a new voice in British fiction.

In 1991, the novel was adapted into a film of the same name, starring Rupert Graves and Helen Mirren. Did you see the movie?

And of course, the question always is…

If you did see the movie, which did you like best…

The book or the movie?

I really enjoyed Forster's writing and will definitely read another one of his books (I'm particularly interested in Maurice), but this one didn't quite do the trick for me. The story wasn't really speaking to me and it felt a bit distant. Somehow it didn't really grip me. This may have been a case of wrong book at the wrong time, so if you feel like you would enjoy the story, I would definitely recommend reading it, even if it was only for the beautiful writing.

Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forster

I picked up this little paperback in Kabwe, Zambia, at the only used bookshop in this copper mining town which was famous for the site of the discovery of Broken Hill Man’s skull of the Middle Stone Age and of being the center of Zambia’s copper mining. (Kabwe is the same as Broken Hill.) In almost any burg throughout Zambia in May, 1970, or any town inhabited by Europeans in the previous 100 years, you could find a decent second-hand bookshop.

Forster’s book traveled with me from Zambia to Greece, to America, to Algeria, to America, to Arabia, back to Texas and here to Long Island where I finally read it. I’ve always liked Forster, having read “A Passage to India” twice and “Aspects of the Novel” along with a couple of his short stories.

Forster is easy to get into like Somerset Maugham even though he can go deep and you might need to mull over his thoughts occasionally. With that, sometimes you come out with nuggets of wisdom like you do when reading “Middlemarch” by George Eliot--good enough to write down.

“Where Angels Fear to Tread” was his first novel. Lionel Trilling said this about Forster and his novel:
"Forster's first novel appeared in 1905. The author was 26, not a remarkable age at which to have written a first novel unless the novel be, as Forster's was, a whole and mature work dominated by a fresh and commanding intelligence.” (Trilling, Lionel (1965) [First published 1943]. E. M. Forster: Columbia essays on modern writers. (Reprinted ed.). New Directions Publishing. p. 57. ISBN 0811202100.)

The main appeal of this novel for me was the ancient struggle of form vs. substance—“keeping up appearances” vs true feeling and real meaning, substance winning out. You’ll see what I mean after reading this fine little tale.

Wowww so much thought been put into this book what an emotional, sad and poignant read that was if you haven’t read this and need a good cry then read this …

listen I like classics a lot... but this was a boring classic. I mean it has aesthetic appeal but fgjfs nothing happened this whole book is literally a custody battle

As per usual, I save my full review until after I've gone to the tutorial for this book and heard the smart postgrads opinions, because then I can steal and claim them for my review obviously.

rtc

3.5 stars.
A tragic yet entertaining story about not very sympathetic people, some of whom you end up liking anyway because of their sheer humanity and the humour and pathos with which they are portrayed. Though there is unfortunately some stereotyping, particularly national stereotyping.

Oddly, the character who at first appears to be the main character, isn't who the book is about at all, and the entire story is all there to show the personality change and growth in another character. There is no hint of this in the first half of the book, which makes the reader sort of scramble to readjust expectations.

I read this book directly after reading A Room with a View, and I know from the preface that Forster alternated between writing the one and the other. I think this shows, not just in that they are both largely set in Italy, but in the characters themselves. Phillip is a more personable Cecil. Harriet is a more religious Miss Bartlett with no redeeming features. Miss Abbott is a Lucy who can think for herself when she wants to. I was about to say that Gino is an Italian George without Weltschmerz, but that doesn't quite fit. George was unconventional, Gino conforms to stereotypes.

The edition I read had an appendix containing correspondence between Forster and the poet/translator R. C. Trevelyan. I felt vindicated seeing that Trevelyan had some of the same objections that I have, that the reader is kept unaware and not primed to accept the true focus of the story. And that the author's narrative should have been kept free of the prejudices, emotions and judgments of the characters. It is one thing for a character to experience a transition from ugly, beer drinking Austrians to beautiful, wine drinking Italians, but when this is stated as fact in the narration it confuses the issue of what is the author's opinion and what is the author's tongue in cheek portrayal of a certain type of English mentality.

I don't think this is a masterpiece, but I find Forster's obsession with Italy very endearing and endlessly interesting. Some marvellous philosophical musings too, as well as memorable characters.

I only realized half way through that E M Forster was 26 when he wrote this which is his first. If I’d known that I wouldn’t have read it, I have a violent prejudice against novelists under 30. It’s too early to start. In other art forms it’s essential to be under 30 – the Beatles were in their mid-20s when they did Sgt Pepper, Brian Wilson was 23 and 24 when he created Pet Sounds and Smile, Picasso was churning out brilliant realist works in his mid-teens, and not to mention Mozart’s unpleasant precocity, sitting up in his pram and scribbling oratorios onto every available surface; but the art of the novel lays bare the author’s mind too eloquently, it’s far more intimate and therefore cruelly revealing than music or painting, your under 30 crassness and callowness will be exposed, you’re caught in the fierce headlights forever.

Perhaps I am harsh – let us see what Forster himself said about this novel. The story takes place mostly in a small town in Italy called San Gimignano (retitled Monteriano here) which is a medieval version of Manhattan, very remarkable. I went there once. It looks like this.



An English widow falls in love with a local guy called Gino who probably looked like this




Forster said later :

The tourist may be intelligent, warm-hearted and alert, and I think I was that much, but he has to go back every evening to his hotel and he can know very little of the class structure of the country he is visiting. My limitations were very grave. Fortunately I was unaware of them, and plunged ahead….

What’s so remarkable here is my own temerity. For I placed Gino firmly in his society although I knew nothing about it. I guessed at his relatives, his daily life, his habits, his house, and his sketchy conception of housekeeping…

Young novelists have to make up a lot of stuff, for sure. That said, Where Angels Fear to Tread (the lurid title was foisted on Foister by the publishers) is pretty good. Forster has a patented style – you think you’re reading light frothy social satire but he keeps upsetting his own applecart with acidulous barbs and then the whole thing suddenly swerves into stark horror and goes all to hell. It’s a very good style.

This book literally fell apart while I was reading it (1985 paperback, spinal glue dried to powder) and it would be far too glib to say as did the story itself so I won’t! What you have here is a strange case history. The MacGuffin in the story is a baby, and I’m not sure you should turn a baby into a MacGuffin. But it does put under the spotlight the strange ideas humans – especially upper-class English Edwardian humans – had about children. The sheer unsentimentality – as soon as they’re born, turn them over to a nanny. When they reach school age, off they go to a boarding school. You hardly ever had to bother with your children if you were rich enough. It spared you of all those tiresome aspects of child-rearing and gave you time for cruising down the Grand Canal and attending fabulous balls and eating ptarmigans' brains.

What Forster seems to want to delineate (according to him) is the spiritual awakening of his protagonist Philip. As in so many novels, I think what he thought he was doing and what he was actually doing were two different things. This is a surprisingly bitter tirade about ugly English upper class morality. A really good start.

I can't be objective regarding E. M. Forster. Simply love his novels...