n  Four Portraits of a Noveln

An Interview with Sigmund Freud circa 1911

Vell, zis book by zis man--vhat vas his name? Henry James--vas very very interesting. He is obviously a deeply conflicted individual. Quite clearly an invert filled mit self-loathzing, desiring ze men und at ze zame time hating himself for doing zo. Ve haf ze heroine of ze novel, Isabel Archer, who is pursued by two men: both of zem handsome, manly (vun of zem is efen called Goodwood) and very rich. Both of zem prepared to gif her her freedom after she marries zem. Zis kind uf man, he does not exist in ze 19th century. Zey are razther ze product of James’s fantasies of ze men zat he desires but cannot haf.

Zo she rejects zem for an artiste, Gilbert Osmond. But vat does she find? Zis artiste is effete und in love mit all zings beautiful und artistic. He is not a real man, but only a simulacrum of vun. James vud haf us see zis effete artiste (so very like James, no?) as evil. He seeks to destroy Isabel, zis woman who can attract zese beautiful men, by crushing her under ze veight of convention. He vants her to be ze perfect vife, to behave exactly as ze rules of society demand. He is ze superego crushing her id.

She tries to escape him but ven her suitor comes for her, ven he embraces her and kisses her, she fears him, or rath-zer Goodwood’s “hard manhood”. Of course, James’s inverted desire cannot be fulfilled, zo, completing ze zircle of self-loathzing desire, she runs back to her effete husband.

An Interview with Bruno Bettleheim circa 1977

Well, this novel is quite clearly a fairy tale, and has all its classic hallmarks. We see the young heroine, Isabel Archer: the youngest of three sisters, and the prettiest and cleverest of the lot. Her father dies and so she sets off on a journey to find her fortune. She is assisted in this by her aunt, Mrs Touchett (playing the role of the fairy godmother).

On her journey, she meets a witch, Madame Merle (it is no surprise that her name sounds like that great wizard of legend, Merlin). She also meets three suitors: Caspar Goodwood (On one level, he is bronze for he is described as brown. On another, he represents money: “Caspar” means treasurer or keeper of the treasure), Lord Warburton (Both silver, and power-–“burton” meaning “fortified tower”), and Gilbert Osmond (Gold--he is described as a gold coin; while poor, as an artistic soul he is able to see beyond surface appearance).

Like all fairy tale heroines, Isabel has to make a choice among the three, and as in all classic fairy tales, she chooses the gold. As in all classic morality tales, she chooses that which is the least superficial. However, in her choice, she is influenced by Madame Merle, our witch, who helps Osmond to appear more attractive to Isabel.

All fairy tales are, as I discuss in my book, n  The Uses of Enchantment The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Talesn, to teach children valuable life lessons. James himself refers to his novel as a fable in his preface. But what is the lesson to be learnt? The ending certainly makes us think that it is not that Isabel’s desire for flight, for independence is a good thing, since flying too close to the hot Caspar Goodwood, she feels herself burnt. Is the lesson then not to want too much independence? To accept the strictures of the upper class? Is this why James says that it is after all her suffering, she finally becomes a lady?

An Interview with Robin Leech circa 1985

Welcome to Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Today, we visit the lovely Italian home of rich American heiress, Isabel Archer. Located in sunny, fabulous Rome, Isabel’s home is decorated with only the most stylish and tasteful of things. Isabel and her husband, Gilbert, host the most sought after soirées among the rich set. Paris Hilton eat your heart out. And what does it take to live like this? A stunning US$7 million!

An Interview with yours truly circa 2009

Meh. When all’s said and done, while this portrait of a lady may certainly have depicted Isabel in all her enigmatic glory, like a Carravaggio or a Rembrant, the background landscape is so dark and blurred with smufato that she seems to exist in a vacuum. The other characters are practically caricatures, and the patriarchal society of the 19th century is completely absent. Ultimately, this depiction of an heiress was just airless. Wharton’s n  The Age of Innocencen does a far better job of depicting the marriage market and the corrupting and stifling effects of rigid social convention at the fin de siècle. So, yeah, meh.

(And, yes, no need to point out that Paris Hilton was no celebrity in 1985. It's called artistic licence. LOL!

I'd give it two stars, but the depiction of Isabel's thoughts was a true tour de force, especially considering how innovative this was when it was written. So, that brings it up a notch to three.)

Well, cripes. My second time through. Review tk.

10 Things I Love About Henry James’s The Portrait Of A Lady

1. Isabel Archer
The “lady” in the title. Beautiful, young, headstrong and spirited, the American woman visits her wealthy relatives in England, rejects marriage proposals by two worthy suitors, inherits a fortune and then is manipulated into marrying one of the most odious creatures on the planet, Gilbert Osmond. She’s utterly fascinating, and if I were back in university, I imagine having long conversations and arguments about her character. What does she want: Freedom? The ability to choose, even if it’s a bad choice? Is she a projection of James’s latent homosexuality? Is she a feminist or not? There are no simple answers.

2. The Prose and Psychological Complexity
Damn, James knew how to write long, luxuriant sentences that dig deep into his characters’ minds. Sometimes the effect can be claustrophobic – get me out of this person’s head! – but more often it’s utterly compelling and convincing. We partly read fiction to learn about other people’s lives, right? Well, James does that. (The exceptions: Isabel’s two wealthy, handsome suitors, Warburton and Goodwood, are less than believable, and remind me of eager (or horny?) dogs, their tails wagging whenever they’re around their love/lust object.)

3. The Story
Okay, not much really happens. But as the book progressed, even though I sort of knew the outcome (it’s hard to avoid spoilers from a 135-year-old classic), I was increasingly curious to see how Isabel would act. In fact, I raced through the final chapters, breathlessly. Who knew: Henry James, page-turner! And have a theory about that ending? Take your turn...

4. The Humour
It’s not a comedy, but there are lots of amusing bits. James’s narrator is genial and funny. Henrietta Stackpole, her gentleman friend, Mr. Bantling, and even Gilbert Osmond’s sister, the Countess Gemini, are all very colourful characters who elicit a chuckle or two. And Isabel’s aunt can be terribly cutting as well. I love Ralph (Isabel's cousin) and the dignified British Lord Warburton’s reactions to the enterprising, no-fuss American “lady journalist” Henrietta.

5. The Settings
Each one is significant: from the stately Gardencourt, home of Isabel’s relatives the Touchetts, to the bustle and anonymity of London, to the ruins of Rome, where Isabel finds herself stuck in a dead, fossilized marriage. James is a master at finding the right place to stage a scene. I could write an essay about interiors and exteriors in the book, but I’ll spare you.

6. The Villains
Madame Merle and Gilbert Osmond: individually they’re sinister, but together they’re positively Machiavellian. In fact, in one scene, it’s revealed that they both like Machiavelli, and Isabel doesn’t get the clue! They totally play her. And yet they’re believable, too. Osmond’s scene in which he professes his love is brilliant in its manipulation; and the final turn of the screw (asking her to do him a favour!) is very clever. Madame Merle’s motivations always keep you guessing. Does she see herself in Isabel? Is she jealous? Does she just want to exert her power over her? The scene in which Isabel sees both in her home, conspiring (evident from their attitudes) is so powerful James refers to it a couple of times. And of course, it’s missing from the Jane Campion film (see below).

7. The Themes
Does money corrupt? What do you really know about someone before you marry? What is the true nature of freedom? What happens when New World (American) "innocence" meets Old World (European) "experience"? All these themes – and many others – come across naturally, and never feel shoe-horned into the story.

8. The Technique
I remember hearing people go on about the architecture of Henry James’s novels, and this one is sturdily, handsomely built. The book begins and ends in the same setting. And there are some ingenious sections in the middle, where time has passed and the reader discovers major information through conversations. Like any great writer, James knows what to leave out. He makes you do work to fill in the pieces, but the novel becomes more memorable because of that. And he bridges the Victorian and Modern eras, in the same way that Beethoven bridges the Classical and Romantic eras.

9. Chapter 42
After a huge blowup with Osmond, Isabel stays up all night, staring into the fireplace, and ponders her life, thinking: "How did I get here?" James considered it one of the best things he’d ever written, and although I haven’t read a lot of his work (which I will soon remedy), I’d have to agree. It’s right up there with Hamlet’s soliloquies.

10. The Fact that the Book Doesn't Lend Itself Well To Adaptation
A couple days after finishing the book, I watched the Campion film starring Nicole Kidman. Besides an evocative score and a brilliant performance by Barbara Hershey as Madame Merle and a suitably slimy one by John Malkovich (basically changing costumes from his Dangerous Liaisons character), it was dreadfully dull. There have been other James adaptations – The Wings Of The Dove, The Golden Bowl, The Bostonians – but none of these films has achieved the critical or popular success of an Age Of Innocence, Howards End or Room With A View. Maybe it's hard to get that psychological complexity onscreen? Read the books.

***
Conclusion: James is The Master. Up til now, I’d only read his shorter works, like the novellas “The Turn Of The Screw,” “Daisy Miller” and “The Beast In The Jungle.” Now I’m eyeing his other major novels; perhaps I’ll even get through the notoriously difficult late period James. Can't wait to try!

Un grande romanzo come non se ne scrivono più con un eroina, la giovane americana Isabel che rimasta orfana, giunge nella vecchia Europa, animata da una grande voglia di vivere, di conoscere il mondo, di imparare a guardare dentro se stessa e gli altri, in compagnia della zia già da diverso tempo stabilitasi in Inghilterra con l'anziano marito. La sua progressista visione della vita tuttavia si scontrerà ben presto con la realtà continentale gretta e avida e nonostante i continui avvertimenti e consigli delle persone a lei più vicine, soprattutto l'emancipata amica Henriette Stackpole e il fedele cugino Ralph Touchett, pagherà duramente lo scotto del suo romantico apprendistato e della sua purezza d'animo rischiando di cadere nella subdola rete abilmente architettata da due anime "perdute". Fino all'ultima pagina, partecipi lettori della protagonista, ci si chiede se Isabel, nonostante tutto, riuscirà a sfuggire, grazie al suo insolito acume e alla freschezza del suo intuito, alla trappola così bene intessuta ai suoi danni, combattuta com'è tra senso del dovere e voglia di "volare". Una trama perfetta abilmente raccontata da un grande della letteratura.

I just...I don't know. I have now read The Portrait of a Lady and I'm just feeling a little flat. Like I stubbed my toe on something invisible, and I'm not quite sure what. I'm not sure why this book didn't grab me, I only know it didn't.

Note: The rest of this review has been withdrawn due to the recent changes in Goodreads policy and enforcement. You can read why I came to this decision here.

In the meantime, you can read the entire review at Smorgasbook

Boring, dull, and endless. Almost threw it against a wall when I was finally! done with it.

One of the most enthralling and enchanting novels that I've read in a long, long time. The Portrait of a Lady is early Henry James (written in 1881), and as cliche as it may sound, it is a veritable masterpiece. There is simply so much going on within the covers of this elegantly crafted and sophisticated novel that it will take me a while to sort out my swirling thoughts and emotions upon finishing it. Simply put though, this is the story of the young American woman, Isabel Archer, and her voyage of self-discovery among the staid and traditional landscape of British and European society. Isabel's ability to 'choose', and the 'choices' she makes are the thread that is carefully woven throughout the novel, and it raises her stature as a fictional heroine, in my opinion, to the level of that of an Anna Karenina or Dorothea Brooke. The novel's Chapter Forty-Two--with Isabel, by herself, sitting in the darkened room thinking for most of the night--is perhaps the greatest psychological tour-de-force I've encountered in fiction. I reread that chapter probably four times in a row, and simply marveled at the creative genius that is Henry James in writing this novel and creating the character of Isabel Archer. Stunning stuff!

This is an immensely powerful and profound novel that I am going to reread again very soon. I want to reread it in conjunction with a reading of Michael Gorra's recent book, Portrait of a Novel: Henry James and the Making of an American Masterpiece, a runner-up for the 2013 Pulitzer Prize for biography and autobiography. Give me a couple of weeks to reread The Portrait of a Lady and Gorra's book, and I'll be back in an effort to provide a more comprehensive review that will do justice to what just may be the 'Great American Novel'.

Update July 7, 2024--

I just finished my second careful reading of The Portrait of a Lady and it bears up to my earlier accolades. This is a novel of "thought balloons", sure there is a lot of verbal dialog amongst the characters, but James spends a lot of the novel on the internal thoughts of his characters and particularly those of Isabel Archer. Finally, I have to say that I find the character of Gilbert Osmond to be one of the most monstrous creations in literary fiction, rivaling that of George Eliot's 'Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt' in her last novel, Daniel Deronda. Now, I am going to read John Banville's 2017 novel Mrs Osmond which picks up where James ended his.

I listened to the audiobook version narrated by actor John Wood. This is the 1881 edition, not the later one from 1906, which is known as the "New York Edition". Unfortunately, the later edition, which many claim has a better ending, was not available anywhere as an audiobook.

While reading this I have been discussing it with first Simran (here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...) and then Margaret (here: https://www.goodreads.com/user_status...)

Review: I enjoyed this book because of the author’s writing style and his humor. The humor is often sarcastic, but not nasty. The humor is based on knowledge of different cultures, life styles and human behavior. It is this that made my reading of the book enjoyable. And I believe Henry James was laughing with me at the antics of Victorian mannerisms.

So what is the theme of the book? It is set in Europe, predominantly, Italy and England, during the 1870s. The author is comparing Americans and Europeans. Having spent the first 18 years of my life in the US and thereafter having moved to Europe, of course this is the theme that drew me to the book. Henry James has beautifully captured Victorian manners and how they differed, how Americans bent them. Americans are shown to be more independent, freer, less constricted by set norms....but also amusingly naive. The characters are all well-to-do, educated and aspiring. How to succeed, how to be happy, how to get what you are striving for - those are the questions posed. Each character has followed different paths, had different goals and widely varying scruples. For the main character, Isabelle, the prime question is marriage - to marry or not to marry, who to marry and how do you balance independence and against the constraints imposed in those times by propriety. This is a question that we still grapple with today. Every couple will find a different solution; some marriages succeed and other fail and even how you define failure and success is up for grabs.

The writing is elaborate, even wordy, but Henry James has a superb vocabulary. Over and over I was amazed at his ability to grab just the right word. Yeah, this really impressed me. It is for his writing ability and his humor that I will be reading more by the author.

What I didn't like: there isn't one single successful marriage in this book, and by the way Henry James never did marry. Also, the ending is extremely abrupt. I was so shocked by the conclusion that I figured I had missed something and so I listened to the last chapters again. No, I missed nothing. You, the reader, have to stop and figure out what you think will happen. Everyone can draw their own conclusion. I know what I think. For me this is clear, and I do not want things spelled out for me, but the ending is just too abrupt! Remember I read the author's original version, not the revised 1906 version.

I will tell you this. You will get a big surprise near the end, for which, when you think about it, you realize you have been given clues.

The audiobook narration by actor John Wood was good! It is so easy to listen to classics on audiobooks; they don't mix time-lines or jump around as so many contemporary novels do. You just get the story in a straightforward manner. Nice.

An Independent Woman
24 October 2015

tWell, I have to say that I finished this book the day after Back to the Future Day (which is probably not the best way to have celebrated that day, though it was quite interesting to note that my Facebook feed was flooded with news stories of how Marty McFly was arrested in multiple locations). In fact I probably wasted that day because I ended up going to work, and when I got home I didn't watch the Back to the Future Trilogy (though I suspect it would have been impossible to get at any of the video stores that still happen to exist – I don't have Netflix) but rather spent my time writing blog posts. Anyway, we are going to be talking about this book at bookclub on Sunday, and I had left it a little too late to read anything else.

tAnyway, here is a portrait of a lady:



tand another one:



t(I hope posting a picture on Goodreads isn't considered a commercial use, but then again I'm not making any money off of this post, though Amazon probably is), and another one:



tActually, I could probably go on ad-infinitum (and that is with pictures that don't show certain bodyparts) though I'm sure after three people are probably going to start to get a bit sick of this. While I could say a few things about portraits (and how I tend to find them pretty boring) I will refer you to my travel blog (as opposed to my philosophy blog, though I can't help but write such things in my travel blog as well) where I write about my experience at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Instead I will write a few things about this particular novel.

tAnyway, I have to say that I am not a huge fan of 19th Century Romanticism namely because the novels tend to be long, boring, mainly about women who spend the entire time crying 'oh woah is me, I can't find myself a husband so I will marry this absolute creep', and then come to an end. Oh, they are also incredibly verbose in that almost every detail about the scene is intricately described. So, when my Mum handed this book to me saying 'you should read this, every detail about the scenes are intricately described' I politely smiled, and proceeded to put it on my 'may get to one day in the future' bookshelf and promptly forgot about it until my bookclub decided to make it the October read.

tSo, the question is, have you ever met one of those really amazing women that seem to be really intelligent, and incredibly capable, and is simply not interested in you (I'm sure there is a male version, but since I'm a heterosexual male I'll won't try to speculate on what I simply can never know)? Well, this book is about one of those women. Mind you, in my time wandering around this Earth I have quickly come to discover that those type of women tend not to be worth it, though it is clear that poor Goodwood doesn't actually wake up to this fact because even though Isabel always rebuffs him, he just doesn't seem to get the picture.

tI think I have jumped a bit ahead of myself though. Portrait of a Lady is basically what the title of the book says it is about – it is the story of a lady named Isabel, and the portrait aspect comes out because James goes to great length to give her as deep and complex a character as possible. Basically she comes to England from America, meets a couple of people, but isn't interested in settling down just yet because she 'wants to see Europe' (I'm sure many of us hopeless romantics have recieved similar excuses, though funnily enough I'm now the one spurting out such rubbish). Anyway, she gets to see Europe, meets another man, marries him, and discovers that he is an absolute prick. However when she returns to England (without him knowing) she discovers that Goodwood is still in love with her, and wants her to divorce this cretin. She doesn't, and then the book ends. So much for a happy ending (but then again 19th Century Romanticism, especially in the vein of Flaubert, as this book is written, generally don't have happy endings).

tI guess it once again raises the question as to why women like Isabel always seem to end up with the creeps, and also why they continue to stick with the creeps. I suspect because of her character. We are made aware that she has this strong independent streak, and to be honest with you such a person is simply not going to be interested in a hopeless romantic. Sure they may be really nice people, but the thing is that Isabel isn't interested in a nice person – they're boring. She is interested in, well, an interesting person – it's just a shame that this really interesting person is a real jerk. However, as one friend pointed out to me once, the fact that she won't leave him has little to do with a sense of loyalty, or even with the fear of being alone, but more to do with the bond that she has formed with him. He suggested that this bond is actually a really strong bond, one doesn't necessarily equate to loyalty, or a fear of being alone, but rather a spiritual bond that ties people to others (though I won't necessarily say together because this bond does have a nasty habit of working only one way).

tAnyway, I'll finish off here and simply say that as I suspected, this wasn't really one of those books that interested me all that much, though I have discovered that they are actually really easy to speed read, namely because they happen to be incredibly verbose, and go into details that we really don't need.

Old. Dead. White. Gay? Why should it even matter, you say? Well, I think it does and it doesn’t. Any of the above distinctions matter in a sense of circumstance, because certainly a rich white person living in the late 1800s and early 1900s had a day-to-day life that was much, much different than a poor, newly-freed slave living in the American South, for example. It’s also, I believe, a mistake to discount one’s superficial descriptors completely when it comes to their art—even down to one’s prose style (and James’ is of the highest order). It doesn’t matter in the sense that, in my belief, the best books speak to universal human traits.

Portrait of a Lady is most definitely one of those books. So why mention any of his “superficial” traits at all? I do this because it seems too often the classics are relegated in estimation to the privileged ramblings of Old Dead White Men. But what happens when you throw something like Gay into the mix? Colm Tóibín, distinguished gay novelist and author of the above-referenced article, says of James that, “[the revelation of James’ homosexuality] removed him from the realm of dead white males who wrote about posh people. He became our contemporary.” How fortunate, that after years of revisionist history (James’ family sought to hide his romantic leanings from the public for years), a writer like James could be championed by the LGBTQ community. But isn’t it also a shame that it took something besides the book itself to do this? To think that a book as rich and emotionally astute as Portrait of a Lady should be missed out on, by anybody, because of superficial—and incomplete—biographical details, is heartbreaking. Not least so because “outsiders” such as Tóibín, or any other “marginalized class of society”, are precisely the type that can appreciate James’ mastery the most. And if I want to be thorough, I’d say that everyone can benefit from a book like this.

I was not, however, so willing to take this attitude for the majority of my life. It wasn’t so much that James belonged to the group of Old Dead White dudes, but more so because of his obvious—to me—inclusion into the group of writers for which I have coined the term “Victorian Chick Lit.” Anything remotely resembling TV shows like “Avonlea” or “Downton Abbey” for me was literary anathema. I read Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey a few years ago and found myself cringing with hatred as I endured another trip to the Pump Room for coffee and trinkets. If I had to sit through another labored account of Mrs. Piccadilly frolicking amongst the tea kettles I was gunna puke. It was only after reading Jeffrey Eugenides’ brilliant The Marriage Plot and listening to his remarks on writing it, that I decided to take a deep dive into what I thought I hated the most. What I found was a veritable GOLD MINE.

Where to begin. I was captivated from the very beginning by James’ prose. In today’s world, in America, it’s easy to forget that English is a language from England and was once practiced with something like pride. That’s not to say that emoji and meme culture is horrible in itself, but it is a very nice experience to be around someone that speaks as eloquently as Henry James. It is a kind of rest for the brain to have things expressed with such care and nuance. Sure, sometimes you want heavy metal, and sometimes you want trap music—those things aren’t “bad.” But sometimes it is very good to have a bit of classical in the afternoons, as the early-Spring light falls through the windows. James is this brand of sonic-literary mood.

The psychological traits associated with this kind of music include social insight par excellence, and deep questions about what it means to be happy in a capitalist-consumerist society. The questions of how and why we choose our mates—and friends—are no less important now than they were in 1881 when this book was first printed. Do we challenge ourselves or do we settle? Can it be construed as a sin to let romantic companionship slide in hopes of achieving something greater, especially if that ideal is nebulous and undefined? My eminent teacher and literary critic Harold Bloom had this to say about the titular Lady, Ms. Archer’s, complex psyche:

She is the archetype of all those young women, in fiction or in actuality, who are pragmatically doom-eager, because they seek complete realization of their potential while maintaining an idealism that rejects selfishness.

Whoa. Replace “She” with “He” or “They”, and how many people come to resemble our heroine Isabel? What does that even mean in a moral sense? Should we be more selfish? How can one bridge the paradox of being self-reliant but selfless? That’s a question that peers into all of our souls, and the soul, for me, has never had superficial traits that can be defined in terms of gender, race, sexuality, etc.

Henry James in Portrait of a Lady doesn’t give us any answers. He doesn’t tell us why people do things, and would never seek to tell us that we should do anything at all. His refinement instead illustrates crucial enigmas of the human soul through the lens of social interaction. Everyone should read this book for one’s own benefit. Reading this allows us to ask ourselves if we aren’t in fact doom-eager. Above all, what is possibly the greatest gift this book can give us, is a warning—to not give ourselves completely to others that do not appreciate us, and avoid at all costs those who would feast on our life-force like a vampire chugging blood.

This is the sexiest novel of all time. You’re screwing up your face right now, I can tell. It is though, it’s sexy as fuck. People often want to tell you that Henry James’ greatest flaw was his lack of passion. Nabokov, if I recall correctly, labelled his work blonde. I don’t think he meant that in the way that modern readers would understand it i.e. as a synonym for dumb, but rather as one for bland. Katherine Mansfield once said of E.M. Forster that he was like a lukewarm teapot [ha!], and that description also seems to nicely sum up the prevailing attitude towards James. It’s wrong though, that attitude; I’ve read numerous Henry James novels and I am of the opinion that he was a firecracker, a sexual viper.

Read the first 100 pages of Portrait of a Lady and then try and convince me that the male characters don’t all want to bash Isabel’s doors in; and that she, likewise, wants them to, or enjoys giving the impression that she wants them to. You won’t succeed. I’m serious. If you can’t see it then I conclude that you can’t recognise extreme sexual tension when it’s under your nose. The flirting is outrageous! You might think all this is cute, like 'oh [P]’s being theatrical.' I say again: I’m serious. It’s not as though I consider all so-called button-down and stuffy lit to be, in reality, hot shit; I mean, I’ve never claimed that Pride & Prejudice is really all about rimjobs and teabagging. There’s something about Henry James’ work, and this novel in particular, that seethes, writhes with unspoken frustration and desire. James’ art, the one thing that makes him stand out for me, is in how he somehow suggests, hints, implies but never outright tells you the juiciest bits of his story. It’s pretty magical really. I don’t know how to explain it; there’s a whole world beneath the surface of his work. In Portrait of a Lady I believe that world to be a sexual one. Why do all the male characters fall for Isabel? Because she is charming and pretty? Is she really all that? No, it’s because she gives the impression of being up for it; she’s, to put it more politely, sensual. She has great sex appeal, which is why she was not right for Lord Warburton, who is a bit of a sop and would make a conventional woman of her; by conventional I do not mean that he will not allow her to be herself, that he wishes to clip her emotional and intellectual wings, but that the match he is offering is conventional i.e. he is rich and handsome and terribly nice, and only a fool would turn him down.

Some people say that Portrait of a Lady is about freedom, and I agree, it is. But I think that involves sexual freedom also, although, of course, as stated, that is not made explicit. There’s a lot written in the beginning of the novel about Isabel’s independent spirit, about how she does not want to be tied down. Before she takes up with Gilbert Osmond the novel is strongly feminist in tone. This is because Isabel regards marriage as an impediment to her freedom, she rejects marriage [literally, she receives two proposals early on] as a barrier to her gaining experience [what kind of experience, huh? Huh?] and knowledge of the world. However, I would argue [as I am sure many would argue to the contrary] that the second half of the book, and by extension the whole book obviously, is feminist, because Isabel makes her choice, the one to marry Osmond, freely. It does not matter that it may be a bad choice, the important thing is that she rejected more beneficial matches in favour of the one that most pleased her. In fact Isabel says at one stage ‘to judge wrong is more honourable than to not judge at all.’

Isabel is one of the most fascinating characters I have ever encountered, because she is so extraordinarily complex, complex in a way that fictional people seldom are. She is strong-willed, arrogant, and yet thoroughly nice; she is perceptive and yet makes poor choices; she is warm and charming and yet sometimes stunningly cold. Indeed, her rejections of Lord Warburton are flawless examples of smiling iciness, of jovial dismissiveness. Isabel falls for Gilbert Osmond, to my mind, partly because he does not mindlessly adore her, does not fawn over her. He is mysterious, indolent; there is the hint of a darker side. He appears to be tired of everything, bored of everything, and so that he is interested in Isabel seems like a huge coup; it speaks to her ego. It’s pretty straightforward psychology to want most the thing that appears to be able to live without you with the least trouble. Isabel also credits herself with an original intelligence, therefore one could perhaps say that she likes Osmond, sees something great in him, precisely because others do not. However, the irony, the tragedy of their union is that Osmond is himself utterly conventional and tries to force Isabel to be so; Osmond, out of an anti-conventionality sentiment, demands that she be the most conventional wife.

Madame Merle, who first earmarks Isabel for Osmond, is often regarded as one of literature’s great villains, which is not really the case, because James’ novels don’t contain true villains. Having said that, however, there is something vile about her, despite her never really doing anything to deserve the charge. It’s James’ great art again; he makes Madame Merle a masterpiece of quiet menace. 'You are dangerous,' the Countess Gemini declares, as they chat together about the prospect of Osmond and Isabel uniting, and you quite well believe it, even without the accompanying evidence. Her entrance into the novel, her unannounced [to Isabel] presence in the Touchett’s home is strangely chilling. She is first encountered, sat with her back to Isabel, playing the piano; she strikes you as almost girlish, initially, despite her age. It made me shudder, and I don’t think I can express why that is. Ralph describes his aversion to her as being due to her having no 'black specks', no faults, and one understands that what he means by this is that only bad people appear to be perfectly good.

If Portrait of a Lady does not have a true villain, in the Dickensian sense of that word, it does at least have someone who it is very easy to hate [which is, of course, not quite the same thing]. As Isabel herself admits, Gilbert Osmond does not do a hell of a lot wrong – he does not beat her, for example – but there is certainly something disquieting about him, something not right. One only has to look to how he treats his daughter Pansy; he sees her as a kind of doll, one that is absolutely submissive to his will. She is entirely artless, which is interesting because Osmond approaches her like a work of art, as something that he has created, has formed out of his imagination; it is not a coincidence that Osmond is both an artist and a collector [he creates Pansy; he collects Isabel]. Pansy is, for me anyway, a little creepy; she is so in the way that dolls themselves are, in that they give the impression of being human, of being alive, and yet are lifeless. It is fair to say that while he may not be a wife-beater, Osmond’s attitudes towards women are suspect; he is a kind of passive-aggressive bully, a subtle misogynist.

Amongst other things Portrait of a Lady is a classic bad marriage[s] novel. The earliest indication of this is the relationship between Isabel’s Aunt and Uncle; the Uncle lives in England, and the Aunt in Florence. What kind of a marriage is that? Then there is, of course, Isabel and Gilbert. Isabel, as stated, marries Osmond, I believe, because she thrills to think that such a man might pay court to her, might be interested in her, when he takes so little interest in the world at large; she finds his attitude heroic, and his interest in her, therefore, as a boon to her sense of self-worth. Osmond, on the other hand, sees in her something that will do him credit, both financially and socially. He appreciates her, for all that she will benefit him, rather than truly loves her. This appreciation does involve admiring certain qualities she possesses, but he wants those qualities to work on other people, not on himself; for himself he would like her to be another Pansy [i.e. entirely submissive] and appears to think he can train her to be so. He enters the marriage, in a way that a lot of people do even now, believing that he can smooth her rough edges, make her perfect for him, instead of accepting and cherishing what she is. Finally, there is the courting of Pansy by Rosier and Warburton; Warburton as a Lord is, obviously, favoured by the girl’s father, but Pansy does not love him, she loves Rosier. While I won’t give away the outcome of this little love triangle, what is most interesting about it is that it again raises the question of whether one should marry to make the best match, or for love; should one use one’s head or heart when making the decision? Isabel used her heart, and came a cropper, but perhaps that was still for the best; it is better to choose with your heart and fail, than to choose with your head and benefit from it.

"Ci sono delusioni che durano quanto la vita"

"Ritratto di signora" è il capolavoro di Henry James, scritto intorno al 1880. Inizio parlando dei i lati negativi, così mi tolgo subito il dente.

Il libro, indubbiamente quasi statico nelle prime 150 pagine (che fatica, due caffè ogni mezz'ora per stare sveglio), descrive le vicende di un gruppo di ricchi americani aristocratici in Europa. Chi incontrano? Solo americani, ovunque vadano, che sia Inghilterra, Francia o Italia. I pochi indigeni vengono tediati ripetutamente (che tatto, santo cielo!) con dettagliate spiegazioni di quanto gli americani sian migliori degli europei.

Sport di questi aristocratici nullafacenti spocchiosi e snob (più cafoni dei peggiori camalli del porto) è chiedere in sposa ragazze (americane, ovviamente) appena conosciute. Dopo un paio di passeggiate nel parco, zac, via con la dichiarazione.

In questo simpatico ambiente spicca Isabel, la protagonista, intelligente e bella. Che vince però pure il premio antipatia, staccando di gran lunga tutti i concorrenti. Ma c'è una giustizia, a questo mondo...

Ok, mi sono sfogato (ma la prima parte è proprio pesante da digerire...).

Vediamo invece perché il libro, nonostante quanto detto, mi è piaciuto molto.

Innanzitutto la scrittura, allusiva, ironica e fluida; James è un grandissimo narratore che intreccia, anticipa, guida, confonde, sorprende. James ci convince di qualcosa per poi negarcela successivamente. Rimaniamo quindi sospettosi per tutta la durata del libro, pensando a possibili sviluppi o ribaltamenti.

Il personaggio principale è Isabel, intelligente e determinata, anticipatrice del femminismo odierno. La sua originalità risiede nella sua estrema libertà che, complice una eredità inaspettata ma assai gradita che ne eleva lo status sociale, si pone nelle condizioni di pilotare a suo piacimento la propria esistenza. In realtà la sua autonomia di giudizio, la sua facoltà di scelta, la sua indipendenza, la sua libertà cessano nel momento in cui decide di intraprendere il classico matrimonio sbagliato (ne esisterà uno giusto?).

"Adesso, aveva dinnanzi la luna piena, vedeva l’uomo intero. Si era mantenuta, per così dire, immobile, così da lasciargli libero il campo: eppure, malgrado questo, aveva presa una parte per il tutto."

Questo Ritratto di signora è forse è uno dei primi libri in cui viene lasciato tanto spazio alla descrizione interiore di un personaggio femminile. La trama è semplice, ma l'intreccio assolutamente no. Una ragazza libera come userà la sua libertà? Quali passi potrà compiere? Mille scelte sono possibili alla bella Isabel; che invece viene ingabbiata suo malgrado verso quella peggiore. Tra le righe, magari sbaglio, vedo in James un po' di misoginia strisciante...

Tutto qui? No, mentre ci mettiamo comodi per vedere come si evolverà la vita di Isabel in seguito a quella che pensiamo essere la scelta sbagliata, James ci spiazza e ci costringe a cambiare parere in continuazione, con una maestria notevole.

In fondo la storia di Isabel non è solo la storia di una libertà buttata via, ma piuttosto il cammino verso maturità e consapevolezza.

Come non ricordare Madame Bovary, libro di Flaubert di poco antecedente? Due protagoniste indipendenti e dal forte carattere, due matrimoni sbagliati, due modi diversi di intendere la passione e l'amore, due diversi modi di gestione del danaro. Dal punto di vista letterario, per me non c'è confronto, vince Flaubert!