The Portrait of a Lady

n  The writing style of Henry James elevates the book, I can’t imagine anyone else writing this story and having such control over the narration as Henry James had.n
It’s a remarkable, stubborn work that requires the reader’s full attention, concentration, and engagement throughout the whole reading process.

In many ways, the character of Isabel Archer is a modern, new kind of heroine: The American girl. Her personality is strongly ruled over by curiosity, intelligence, and free spirit. The beauty in Isabel lies in her liberal nature, the inner qualities that make her magnetic to all of the observers in the novel, they make her a sort of a celestial body pulling and maintaining her satellites in their orbit.

The impression that the reader has of Isabel, the one which James is presenting, can be seen as a collection of individual experiences that the characters have with Isabel. Just like, Lord Warburton, Ralph Touchett, Caspar Goodwood, Henrietta Stackpoole, Gilbert Osmond, Madame Merle, etc. observe Isabel and paint their Portrait of a lady, so does the reader.

We see Lady Isabel Archer through multiple points of view, left to draw our own impression on her character. There is no concrete, fixed idea of who Isabel is, even the characters change their opinion of her as the novel progresses. Henry James managed to present one life seen through many people around it and still it not being an accurate representation of that life.

n   “We see our lives from our own point of view; that is the privilege of the weakest and humblest of us all.”n

In that context, the true antagonist of the novel wasn’t Madame Merle and Gilbert Osmond with their manipulative scheme, but the cold, dispassionate, lifeless aestheticism.
Both Osmond and Ralph are avid collectors of art, relatively young, rich, and with no distinctive career, both have a similar fascination with Isabel, one wishes to possess her and the other to observe her, the main difference is that Ralph gains the sympathy of readers because he feels the guilt of his actions that lead Isabel to the life she otherwise wouldn’t have had a chance to live. Both belong on the same scale on different ends, framing Isabel as a work of art, not an individual.

On the other hand, Isabel has only one goal – to reach independence and to live freely. Clearly, social expectations put certain pressure on her, but her true problem is her tragic flaw: her immaturity and inexperience. She doesn’t know of the existence of people as Osmond, Mme. Merle. She is attracted to Osmond because he presents something new, unseen, left to be filled with substance. He draws her in with his surface appeal of independence and mystery.
A characteristic of Isabel is that she wants to live and experience everything on her skin, she reaches independence on the closing pages of the novel – her decision is left to be carried out outside the sight of any perceiver, the reader included.

n   ‘‘Do you know where you are drifting?’’ Henrietta went on, holding out her bonnet delicately.
‘‘No, I haven’t the least idea, and I find it very pleasant not to know. A swift carriage, of a dark night, rattling with four horses over roads that one can’t see—that’s my idea of happiness.’’n

The conclusion of the novel echoes just as loudly as the closing of the door at the end of Ibsen’s Noora, both women are left to do with their lives what they want, achieving liberty.

A forte of Henry James is the brilliance of the form, the stylization of the language, the beauty of a wide array of words, phrases used in the novel.
I believe that if one would read this novel, read it carefully, they would understand life closely – more intimately than before.

n   "The peril for you is that you live too much in the world of your own dreams. You’re not enough in contact with reality––with the toiling, striving, suffering, I may even say sinning, world that surrounds you. You’re too fastidious; you’ve too many graceful illusions. Your newly-acquired thousands will shut you up more and more to the society of a few selfish and heartless people who will be interested in keeping them up.’

Isabel’s eyes expanded as she gazed at this lurid scene. ‘What are my illusions?’ she asked. ‘I try so hard not to have any.’

‘Well,’ said Henrietta, ‘you think you can lead a romantic life, that you can live by pleasing yourself and pleasing others. You’ll find you’re mistaken. Whatever life you lead you must put your soul in it––to make any sort of success of it; and from the moment you do that it ceases to be romance, I assure you: it becomes grim reality! And you can’t always please yourself; you must sometimes please other people. That, I admit, you’re very ready to do; but there’s another thing that’s still more important––you must often displease others. You must always be ready for that––you must never shrink from it. That doesn’t suit you at all––you’re too fond of admiration, you like to be thought well of. You think we can escape disagreeable duties by taking romantic views––that’s your great illusion, my dear. But we can’t. You must be prepared on many occasions in life to please no one at all––not even yourself.’n

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n  Update: 15.12.2021.n I tried writing a review for the book and failed, Henry James has me stupefied by his greatness, I haven't stopped thinking about Isabel Archer ever since I finished this novel - which is the highest praise for any book.
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n   The absolute perfection of a novel!n

I admit it took a while(more like 200 pages) for me to really get into it, but I am so glad I continued reading - such a pleasant surprise, definitely will be thinking about this book in the next few weeks(my book is full of annotations) or so.
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داستانش خیلی قشنگ بود و خیلی از شخصیت ایزابل خوشم اومد ولی بااین وجود هیچ حسی نسبت به این کتاب نداشتم البته فکر می‌کنم بیشتر از ترجمشه چندان روان نبود

It strikes me that one's experience of reading "Portrait of a Lady", which in my edition clocks in at 630 pages, is likely to be colored by one's previous experience with James, and the resulting predisposition. Since my unlikely conversion upon reading "The Ambassadors", I am quite favorably predisposed. Thus, when instead of telling us that "the three people enjoying tea on the lawn were all men", Henry instead delivers himself of this sentence:

"The persons concerned in it (the tea party) were taking their pleasures quietly, and they were not of the sex which is supposed to furnish the regular votaries of the ceremony I have mentioned",

I just smile to myself and think, "O, Henry!" (no, not that one, you know perfectly well what I mean).

But this sentence, right there on the first page, is a good indication of what's to come. So you should either give yourself over and let Henry's orotund phrasing wash over you in all its florid glory, or if you don't have the patience for such verbosity, you should quit at once, because it's not going to be any different for the upcoming 600 pages.

Me - right now, I've got the time, and I am happy to discover that I find James's style in this book (which, the cover informs me, is a masterpiece of his middle period ) much easier reading than that in "The Ambassadors". As he's still got the same fascination with the psychological nuances of his characters' interactions that got me hooked in "The Ambassadors", I think that I'm going to enjoy Isabel Archer's story.

We'll see how it goes.

I really don't understand why this novel has gotten so many positive reviews as I personally found it dull and completely lifeless. The main character, Isabel Archer, is apparently such an amazing woman that three men fall completely in love with her, two of which never stop. She manages to choose the worst one to marry and, although in love at first he grows to hate her because she doesn't adore him and do everything he says without question (great love story right?). As James didn't really touch on Isabel's personality, thoughts, or beliefs too much I failed to see what was so extraordinary about her that made these men fall madly in love?

The only character I did like was Ralph, who was clever and observant, and knew so much more than anyone guessed. He tries to help Isabel at the end by helping her to see that there is a way out of the darkness and into the light, but his words (once again) fall on deaf ears. I have no sympathy for Isabel as she created her own despair and lacked the strength to try and fix it.

It is very unlikely that anyone would be able to articulate as well as Henry James himself did his intentions and method of writing The Portrait of a Lady in his New York Edition Preface, which was included in my Penguin edition. For this reason I recommend the edition over the Library of America version, or any other which lacks the Preface. He describes the building of his novel-cathedral as an effort of placing brick upon brick. Truly, each brick is well-moulded, carven with impressions of great interest to the reader of 19th-Century fiction. Henry James is very much of that particular century a paramour, if not the Demi-god, who employed all known instruments of the human intellect to construct a virtual portrait of several character archetypes in prose which seems in itself alive, even as it confounds with its arabesques, its circumlocutions, and its encumbrances. That there is any question whether it is relevant or readable is a testament to the author’s inscrutable style - an acquired taste if there ever was one. Insinuating that he utilized a large number of superfluous words is unnecessary. One acquainted with James should know that words were more of a malleable clay, the mere molecules of the organisms he crafted.

The Portrait of a Lady is as overwrought and sumptuous as anything else he wrote - a judgement based solely on the 1500 pages from his oeuvre I’ve thus far read. It is simple of plot and complex of texture. It is a potent and aromatic tincture. Only a refined connoisseur might pick out all its manifold emanations and insinuations. ****Trigger Warning **** There is quite a lot of gratuitous syntax in this book - but mentioning this again is extraneous. Furthermore, he is fond of the emdash. —As am I. I might also warn the reader that the level of obsession with the institution of marriage goes beyond unhealthy into the territory of the uncanny, even - dare-I-say - into the obscene. It was a common practice around this time for pudgy, well-leisured, stocky, balding, over-educated men to write of nothing else. James was perhaps leader and prime advocate for this cause. In fact the subtleties of his fictional universe might all trace their gravitational attraction to this central source. Put simply, this is a book about marriage. Women, according to the characters in this novel, had a duty to marry, and above all, to marry well. She, as a species, was capable of little else, one might gather from James’s theories. Isabel, our central character, throws a wrench into this mechanistic worldview - at least for a good half of the novel. She remains a captivating character nonetheless, as do even the least woke of James’s brainchildren.

Of course, the characters have no day jobs to trouble them. Not a single one of them has worked a day in his or her life. Their time is amply consumed sniveling and braying, offering a grotesque variety of overarching societal observations. The commentary is in large part as spinsterish as was James. The discussions are speculations and measurements upon the manifestations of propriety, also stipulating upon the various measures of men and women within the household - which in itself is a vehicle of procreation - and yet this facet of human existence, i.e. sex, was apparently a vast, unknowable mystery to our poor author. All of this immanent melodrama is inflicted unfairly upon the unsuspecting natives of the trendy European locales frequented by our players. They cannot spend their money fast enough. It flows like manna. Nor can they hope to inherit enough for their needs. James is so phobic of bachelorhood, so consumed with the importance of marriage, one wonders if he was at all a fisherman of eligible women, if he was not the most eligible of them all.

Furthermore, the story is not of much concern here, but the people are. James is capable of tenderness, as well as a lot of snideness. His powers of dialogue are only equalled by his extraordinary description. This novel offers ample prestidigitation in that regard. You will not tire of viewing the landscape he has painted, if you can stand the people in the foreground. Above all, this is a masterpiece of elocution, enlarging upon the above-mentioned questions and tensions, arising from quite natural human associations. The verisimilitude is a superstructure upon the underlying themes. The flabby sentences take on weight as they accumulate, barreling forward in that Jamesian snowball, until they finally hit home, touching upon the elusive natures of our fellow sufferers, gracing that beautiful pinnacle of textual refinement, sought after by such purveyors of the experimental mode as David Foster Wallace. No one else approaches James in my opinion when it comes to thick and rich adornment. The superhuman powers of articulation were possibly James’s forte, if not his charm.

Look for the clear signs of faith in the study of physiognomy. Bask in the splendor of the author's rhetorical aplomb as his inexhaustible sea of atmospheric minutiae congregates into a finely stippled rendering of moral ambiguities. Relish the witty banter, envy the swaggering Lord Warburton as he fulfills what you suspect will be a major role in the heroine’s life. This is an idyllic document of great power, if one can weather the grueling mental maneuvers required to keep pace. At bottom, it asks whether marriage is a prison or the relief from a meaningless existence. It would be a pity if James never defined the answer in his own case.

Elegant. Brooding. Curated. These are the three words that spring to mind when I consider how I might best describe this novel to others.

In his preface to The Portrait of a Lady, written decades after original publication, Henry James famously reported his method of first envisioning a forceful, vivid central character and only then supporting that individual with setting and circumstance. Isabel Archer is the maypole around which everyone else prances and weaves throughout this story. Her author was evidently quite taken with her, and places countless male characters in her way to give effusive narrative expression to his own infatuation.

Had I been similarly enchanted by her, I would have liked the novel that much more. The first half of this long work found me smitten, it's true; sadly, my fascination was not sustainable. I did not find that the Mrs. Osmond of the second half was entirely believable based on what James had so clearly shown of Miss Archer prior to marriage. Surely they are both still Isabel? While marriage and commitment certainly bring about changes - some of them massive - I don't see how such an independently-minded, spirited, iconoclastic heroine can so quickly become submissive, fearful, and chronically miserable. Given that she has an intelligent mind, financial means of independence, countless admirers, and is acquainted with several women who did not allow husbands to clip their wings, her choices after saying "I do" were unconvincing.

The writing is excellent, of course. This is said to be one of this writer's most accessible novels, and many readers really like Isabel, so perhaps this will be more to your liking than it was to mine. As it is, there are still several Henry James novels awaiting me in my TBR stack. I hope most of them are this good. I also hope some of them are much better.

Klasika yra klasika ir aš ją ne tik mėgstu, bet ir jaučiu pareigą skaityti. Ne vieną po kitos griaužti, bet karts nuo karto paįvairinti savo skaitymo meniu. Henry James "Moters portretas" priklauso būtent šiai kategorijai, o be to paskutiniu metu mane tiesiog užvaldžiusios storulės, tai aš tam norui jas skaityti per daug nesipriešinu ir skaitau vieną po kitos.

Naratyvas paprastas - jauna, daili amerikietė Izabelė atvyksta į Senąjį žemyną. Čia ji apsuka galvas daugumai. Visi ja žavisi, tad natūralu, kad jauna moteris sulaukia pasiūlymo tekėti ir net ne vieno. Deja, niekas jos širdies nepaliečia taip, kad ši ištartų lemtingąjį "taip". Miršta Izabelės dėdė ir palieka jai didžiulę sumą pinigų, tačiau jis net nenumano, kad toks jo poelgis iš esmės sugriaus Izabelės gyvenimą.

Pasakojimas, manau, patiks tokių kūrinių kaip "Forsaitų saga", "Ponia Bovari", "Belgravija" mylėtojams. Centrinė figūra, nieko nenustebinsiu pasakydama, - Izabelė. Tipiška amerikietė, bent jau kaip tai įsivaizduoja britai. Sako ką galvoja, svajoja, na ir, aišku, ta jos nepažabojama laisvė. Izabelei atvykus į Europą tarsi susiduria dvi kultūros - amerikietiška bei europietiška. Pasakojimas dalinai pastatytas ant šios įtampos. Kitas atramos taškas - jaunos moters vidinis pasaulis ir laimės paieškos.

Kiek keistas man pasirodė vidinis Izabelės posūkis nuo laisvės ir noro keliauti iki moters, kuri uždaryta, kuri turi atsiklausti dėl kiekvieno žingsnio ir kuri net nenori ištrūkti. Pasakysiu atvirai - arba aš nesupratau arba autoriui nepavyko pagrįsti kodėl įvyko toks didžiulis posūkis.

Mėgtu aš tokias knygas. Suprantu, kad nepatiks visiems, bet čia, kaip sakoma, my cup of tea. Gana lėtas pasakojimas, kuriame vidinis vyksmas daug svarbesnis, o dar ta aristokratišką aplinka mane galutinai nuginkluoja. Patiko, bet vis tik liūdna, kad su tokiu polėkiu startavusi Izabelė, kaip įkvepianti jauna moteris, mano vilčių nepateisino.

O carte la superlativ. Avem una din cele mai bine conturate eroine din istoria literaturii dar si personaje secundare pe masura. Isabel Archer este frumoasa si inteligenta, cu o viziune independenta si aspiratii feministe, insa, ca un joc al destinului, dar si al propriilor actiuni, ajunge practic sclava unui barbat parvenit: Osmond.
Consider ca tandemul Osmond - Madame Merle este unul dintre cele mai malefice din cate am citit iar impreuna sunt in stare sa faca cele mai atroce si nemiloase lucruri. Sunt atat de legati in rautatea lor incat singuri par pierduti fiind dependenti unul de inteligenta si iscusinta celuilalt.
Osmond este unul din cei mai cruzi si cinici barbati dar aceasta trasatura a sa nu are nimic romantic sau atragator, el pur si simplu fiind meschin, introvertit si prea putin stralucitor.
Desi cartea este din toate punctele de vedere una reusita, mai ales prin prisma descrierilor si a stilului lui Henry James, nu a putut sa imi trezeasca nicio emotie. De foarte mult timp nu mi s-a mai intamplat sa nu ma atasez de niciun personaj, pur si simplu neatragandu-ma niciunul dintre eroi.
Cu toate ca romanul a fost ecranizat, cu Nicole Kidman in rolul protagonistei, eu recomand ca mai intai sa fie citita cartea si abia apoi sa fie vizionat filmul - poate chiar deloc, pentru ca nu se ridica la valoarea cartii.