Regarding Henry

Can someone explain to me why I have such a struggle with Henry James?  I love his writing, I love the period in which he has set his books, the characters and plots are both interesting and engage the reader’s attention, and yet and yet…

I have tried, really I have.  Many years ago I managed to start and finish Portrait of a Lady.  This might have had something to do with the fact that at the time, and I am talking many moons ago here, it was on  the BBC (can you imagine them serialising a James now?  Don’t think so) and Richard Chamberlain was cast as the consumptive Ralph.  This was the clincher of course. I was not that so precocious a teenager that I was a Jamesian, but I had just emerged from watching him as Dr Kildare and the chance to see him looking all romantic and gaunt was irresistible.  I therefore watched it for all the wrong reasons, but then became drawn in and went out and bought the book.  This was pre-video days and I remember being at a boyfriend’s flat the night the very last episode was being shown and I insisted on watching it.  As with the boyfriend who took me to Handel’s Semele, throughout which I slumbered gently (see earlier post on Handel opera), this one did not stay the course either. First one because I did not appreciate culture enough, the second because I did.  Sigh.

One of the most accessible of his works is Washington Square.  Those of you who have seen the simply  wonderful old movie, entitled The Heiress, starring Olivia de Haviland and Montgomery Clift with Ralph Richardson as the tyrannical father, need no introduction to this story.  I remember watching this one Saturday afternoon as an 11 year old, not realising that it was a book, and being riveted by it. The ending with Montgomery Clift banging on the front door and watching the lights in the house go out and know that he is being ignored and rejected is one of Hollywood's classic endings.

Next up was The Spoils of Poynton.  Another BBC dramatisation and I remember that it starred Gemma Jones who was the flavour of the month as she was starring in The Duchess of Duke Street at the time.  (Those of you spring chickens out there will probably remember her later as Mrs Dashwood in the film of Sense and Sensibility). She played Fleda Vetch (yes it is Fleda not Freda) in love with Owen who is in conflict with his mother over a houseful of precious antique furniture. I found this story more accessible (sorry to keep using this word), again I watched and then purchased the book, and I have to been honest and say I think it was mainly because of its length, more of a novella that I got through it successfully.

OK we have now reached The Bostonians.  Initially I did not wish to see this as the cast contained Vanessa Redgrave who I find, and always have done, an incredibly mannered actress. Recently she has popped up in the odd blockbuster or two such as Deep Impact and Mission Impossible where I thought she was truly dire.  You may say that she was going through the motions and was just treating these parts as fun, but I have seen her in plenty of other films where her roles were thoughtful and serious and I still found her style of acting off putting.  I appreciate this is a personal thing so no need to tell me how wonderful she is, I fully admit there will be a divergence of opinion.  I adore Maggie Smith and yet I know that some make the same charge of being mannered about her, so you pays your money and takes your choice. 

No, I will freely admit that the reason I watched this film was because of Christopher Reeve, the late lamented Superman, in a role that showed he was more than just a man who wore his pants outside his tights. He played a political conservative from Mississippi who falls in love with Verena Tarrant, a protégé of his cousin Oliver Chancellor (Redgrave) in the feminist movement. The story line concerns the battle between Ransom and Olive for Verena’s allegiance.  Again, I watched and then read. 

I also remember reading Daisy Miller, another shorter story, more a novella about the trials and tribulations of a young American girl in Europe on her travels and not knowing how to behave in accordance with the current society rules.  She came to a sad end to prove that you have to toe the line or ghastly things will happen to you.  Saw this film on TV with a very young Cybil Shepherd playing the free spirited Daisy.

The Turn of the Screw is another novella, but totally chilling and features a character beloved of novelists, the governess. She is in charge of two very weird children indeed and sees the ghosts of her predecessor, Miss Jessel and her lover, Peter Quint. (Not a huge fan of Britten, but I well remember being taken to see the opera version of this at Covent Garden with Peter Pears as Quint. Not exactly a fun evening but this was another boyfriend who was determined to introduce me to more culture………)

More recently we have had Wings of a Dove, set in Venice so of course I watched it, enjoyed, nipped out and bought a copy of the book, but came to a grinding halt.  It is still sitting there looking reproachfully at me from my bedside table but I think it is now going to graduate to my main shelves wherein repose some hundred or so to read when I have stopped work, am a lady of leisure and have time to devote to reading whenever I like.  Not sure if that day will ever arrive but I live in hope.

This weekend I am absolutely determined to finish reading In the Cage.  This was one of a lovely selection of books sent to me by Hesperus Press and though I have started it, still have to get to grips and find out what happens. It is not long so I should be able to do it. Hope to report on that soon.

This is turning into a long ramble but bear with me, nearly there.

My other knowledge of Henry comes from reading the biography and letters of Edith Wharton (Hermione Lee where art thou? I am going to read your book this winter I promise) with whom he had a curious friendship. As I understand it, from my admittedly limited knowledge, he seems to have viewed her with slight alarm as she swooped down on him, took him over and carted him on hair raising car journeys all over Europe and generally seemed to overpower him. No doubting that he adored her but the relationship was slightly marred by the success of her books and her standing in the literary world and he had to fight quite hard to stop feeling resentful that she was more famous than he . There is no arguing that Edith Wharton was influenced by James, they both inhabit and write about the same world, but whereas I have no trouble becoming totally absorbed in any of her books, I do have to concentrate with Henry. I sometimes think it is because his writing is, simply, perfect. Every sentence is structured so beautifully, every dot and comma in the right place, no extraneous verbs or adjectives. Perhaps perfection is too much for us?

But we are still back to the question I posed at the start of this post.  I have the same problem with Virginia Woolf as I have with Henry, try though I might. The esteemed Susan Hill started a Warming to Woolf  forum last year – is there anybody out there who could try a Heating up Henry equivalent?