The Portrait of a Lady (Penguin Classics) (original 1881; udgave 2011)

I'm sure this is one of those books that is supposed to be studied for greater meanings, but I didn't do that. I'm so aggravated at Isabel. She had so many people in her corner and still ends up with a POS man. I love her sweet cousin. ( )

A style of narration taken to such an extreme that it demands a glace for anyone interested in the history of English Literature. Yet, how can such a great eye for detail spend so much time on such the silly questions of who should I marry and can I put her flower in my buttonhole. This novel was a real chore to read and ultimately I felt it said surprising little in six-hundred thirty some pages. Money and marrying poorly will doom you. Be more careful when dealing with charming people. Having experienced his style, I don't think I'll be reading anything else by James. ( )

I just cannot believe in James' female characters--they are dead from the neck down.

Portrait was the first James I read, many years ago, and I enjoyed it enough that I've read almost all the rest of his novels (Casamassima can wait until I have my eternal rest) and the best known stories. So, it did the trick there. On re-reading, I confess to being a bit disappointed. The first third (we meet Isabel) is perfectly charming; the middle third (Isabel meets Osmond) is kind of a mess; and the final third (we meet the 'real' Osmond) just brings home how nonsensical the middle third is. All of this is because of my love for the later James.

That love comes from his turn away from plot, towards interpretation: what interests him is watching his characters try to make sense of the world, including themselves and their own actions. In Portrait, we get only a tiny bit of that, and instead a whole lot of plot, which was never James' strong suit. This is all made terribly obvious by the statement and restatement, by narrator and characters, that these people don't know why they do what they do, and that nobody can find out. We do finally learn why Madame Merle acts as she does, but even then it's resolved at the level of plot--a character, one who otherwise gives no sign of intelligence whatsoever, just blurts it out.

All of what works here carries over into the later novels (problems of love, of pain, of loss, of confusion), but it's done with much more skill and craft and insight in the second half of James' career. It's also much harder to read, and I understand why people might rather stick with Portrait. And I'm going to read a book about this one, in the hope that it changes my mind.

But I have a hard time imagining that I'll pick this up for a third time. ( )

"—it was her only revenge:"