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The Madonna of the Future
We had been talking about the masters who had achieved but a single masterpiece -- the artists and poets who but once in their lives had known the divine afflatus and touched the high level of perfection. Our host had been showing us a charming little cabinet picture by a painter whose name we had never heard, and who, after this single spasmodic bid for fame, had apparently relapsed into obscurity and mediocrity. There was some discussion as to the frequency of this phenomenon; during which, I observed, H------ sat silent, finishing his cigar with a meditative air, and looking at the picture which was being handed round the table. "I don't know how common a case it is," he said at last, "but I have seen it. I have known a poor fellow who painted his one masterpiece, and" -- he added with a smile -- "he didn't even paint that. He made his bid for fame and missed it." We all knew H------ for a clever man who had seen much of men and manners, and had a great stock of reminiscences. Someone immediately questioned him further, and while I was engrossed with the raptures of my neighbor over the little picture, he was induced to tell his tale. If I were to doubt whether it would bear repeating, I should only have to remember how that charming woman, our hostess, who had left the table, ventured back in rustling rose-color to pronounce our lingering a want of gallantry, and, finding us a listening circle, sank into her chair in spite of our cigars, and heard the story out so graciously that, when the catastrophe was reached, she glanced across at me and showed me a tear in each of her beautiful eyes.
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First published January 1, 1873
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About the author
Henry James
4,561 books3,953 followersHenry James was an American-British author. He is regarded as a key transitional figure between literary realism and literary modernism, and is considered by many to be among the greatest novelists in the English language. He was the son of Henry James Sr. and the brother of philosopher and psychologist William James and diarist Alice James.
He is best known for his novels dealing with the social and marital interplay between émigré Americans, the English, and continental Europeans, such as The Portrait of a Lady. His later works, such as The Ambassadors, The Wings of the Dove and The Golden Bowl were increasingly experimental. In describing the internal states of mind and social dynamics of his characters, James often wrote in a style in which ambiguous or contradictory motives and impressions were overlaid or juxtaposed in the discussion of a character's psyche. For their unique ambiguity, as well as for other aspects of their composition, his late works have been compared to Impressionist painting.
His novella The Turn of the Screw has garnered a reputation as the most analysed and ambiguous ghost story in the English language and remains his most widely adapted work in other media. He wrote other highly regarded ghost stories, such as "The Jolly Corner".
James published articles and books of criticism, travel, biography, autobiography, and plays. Born in the United States, James largely relocated to Europe as a young man, and eventually settled in England, becoming a British citizen in 1915, a year before his death. James was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911, 1912, and 1916. Jorge Luis Borges said "I have visited some literatures of East and West; I have compiled an encyclopedic compendium of fantastic literature; I have translated Kafka, Melville, and Bloy; I know of no stranger work than that of Henry James."
He is best known for his novels dealing with the social and marital interplay between émigré Americans, the English, and continental Europeans, such as The Portrait of a Lady. His later works, such as The Ambassadors, The Wings of the Dove and The Golden Bowl were increasingly experimental. In describing the internal states of mind and social dynamics of his characters, James often wrote in a style in which ambiguous or contradictory motives and impressions were overlaid or juxtaposed in the discussion of a character's psyche. For their unique ambiguity, as well as for other aspects of their composition, his late works have been compared to Impressionist painting.
His novella The Turn of the Screw has garnered a reputation as the most analysed and ambiguous ghost story in the English language and remains his most widely adapted work in other media. He wrote other highly regarded ghost stories, such as "The Jolly Corner".
James published articles and books of criticism, travel, biography, autobiography, and plays. Born in the United States, James largely relocated to Europe as a young man, and eventually settled in England, becoming a British citizen in 1915, a year before his death. James was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911, 1912, and 1916. Jorge Luis Borges said "I have visited some literatures of East and West; I have compiled an encyclopedic compendium of fantastic literature; I have translated Kafka, Melville, and Bloy; I know of no stranger work than that of Henry James."
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Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews
August 6, 2019
Henry James wrote the long short story “The Madonna of the Future” (1873) at the age of thirty, but although it features his early, relatively straightforward style, it is subtle in the way it combines its themes: America’s discovery of Europe, the American artist’s particular challenges, the representations of woman in art (as contrasted with actual women), and the plight of the cerebral and tentative artist who wraps himself in preparatory notes and theorizing, afraid to begin the work which summons him now.
The narrator is a Mr. H—, an American, “a clever man who had seen much of men and manners,” who relates an after-dinner story of an artist he met during his first trip to Italy. While taking a walk his first night in Florence, he encounters Theobald, another American, a painter, who guides him—on this night and subsequent nights—to some of the great artistic wonders of the city. He also speaks of the dilemma of the American artist:
“We are the disinherited of Art!” he cried. “We are condemned to be superficial! We are excluded from the magic circle. The soil of American perception is a poor little barren artificial deposit. Yes! we are wedded to imperfection. An American, to excel, has just ten times as much to learn as a European. We lack the deeper sense. We have neither taste, nor tact, nor power. How should we have them? Our crude and garish climate, our silent past, our deafening present, the constant pressure about us of unlovely circumstance, are as void of all that nourishes and prompts and inspires the artist, as my sad heart is void of bitterness in saying so! We poor aspirants must live in perpetual exile.”Eventually, he shares with his young friend some knowledge of his one great work, a painting of the Madonna, and even introduces him to Serefina, his model for the painting. The young Mr. H— is surprised and disappointed to observe that she is something less than aetherial ("She had been that morning to confession,” he tells us, “she had also been to market, and had bought a chicken for dinner"). But the most dismaying thing about her—though she is undeniably beautiful--is her appearance. Theobald—ever theorizing, ever taking notes--has too long delayed the completion of his painting: his perfect Madonna Serafina has grown old.
The rest of the story is melancholy, but moving and instructive. It haunts me, for I am a would-be novelist, given to too much note-taking. Who knows? Perhaps this story will haunt you too.
March 28, 2013
The Madonna of the Future is a longish short story whose resonance right now is audible, at the least. The story is an account of an American who has fallen in love with Florence and haunts it as he studies its art--notably Raphael's Madonna of the Chair in the Uffizi Gallery--and prepares himself to paint his own madonna, using a woman whose image as a young woman lingers with him even as she ages...and he cannot bring himself to paint her.
Years pass, and he talks about his intentions with visiting Americans as he guides them around Florence, but no one has ever seen his work...until our narrator makes an especially close connection with him and he is introduced to the aging woman, a handsome enough lady, and ultimately is able to see that she puts up with Theobald, as the artist is called, even though the only thing he has produced is a quick, lovely sketch of a child she lost long ago. The actual canvas upon which he intends to paint what James refers to as the Madonna of the Future is primed but unpainted; it bears not a single brushstroke.
Theobald claims he's been preparing himself diligently; he's been studying; and well...perhaps he is only half a genius, the kind who at least thinks even if he cannot act, but thinks well, thinks brillliantly, and has a response in mind that will match the Raphael that so enchants him.
What's the resonance today? The resonance, it seems to me, is that this is another one James's stories focused on Americans in Europe who have arrived only to be confronted by old Europe's staggering glories...which neither Europeans nor Americans can now match. The one continent is too old, the other too young.
And these last few years in particular have placed a lot of tension on the trans-Atlantic relationship for similar reasons. We are each other's closest friends and kin, but neither of us knows exactly what to do about it. Unfortunately Britain leaped into Iraq with the U.S., and just as unfortunately, all of NATO embroiled itself in the long war in Afghanistan. Tragic misadventures. Now we hear talk of a free trade agreement between the U.S. and the E.U. Well, how can there not be such a thing already? Because our cultures don't quite match up: because there are French fears we'll flood their movie market (more than we have?); and because there are little countries that could see whole industries wiped out if U.S. goods were cheaply available.
So we pivot to Asia? I'm all for Asia, but having lived in Europe for many years, I find James's image of an unpainted canvas to be a painful symbol of what we don't seem to be able to do with the civilization that gave us birth. It's beyond our imagination...and perhaps weighs down Europe's imagination, too.
Mixing Henry James in with free trade and Iraq makes for an odd cocktail, I'll admit, but his perplexity and sense of diminished capacity in the trans-Atlantic sense remains apposite. We're crippled in a two-sided political paralysis and Europe is fragmented ten times more than that.
James wasn't the kind of literary artist who, confronted with today's dilemmas, would deal with them broadly, but in this odd little story, he's got it about right: after all these years, and wars, and tourism, and talk, talk, talk... the madonna lingers beyond the horizon of the future.
For more of my comments on classic and contemporary fiction, see Tuppence Reviews (Kindle).
Years pass, and he talks about his intentions with visiting Americans as he guides them around Florence, but no one has ever seen his work...until our narrator makes an especially close connection with him and he is introduced to the aging woman, a handsome enough lady, and ultimately is able to see that she puts up with Theobald, as the artist is called, even though the only thing he has produced is a quick, lovely sketch of a child she lost long ago. The actual canvas upon which he intends to paint what James refers to as the Madonna of the Future is primed but unpainted; it bears not a single brushstroke.
Theobald claims he's been preparing himself diligently; he's been studying; and well...perhaps he is only half a genius, the kind who at least thinks even if he cannot act, but thinks well, thinks brillliantly, and has a response in mind that will match the Raphael that so enchants him.
What's the resonance today? The resonance, it seems to me, is that this is another one James's stories focused on Americans in Europe who have arrived only to be confronted by old Europe's staggering glories...which neither Europeans nor Americans can now match. The one continent is too old, the other too young.
And these last few years in particular have placed a lot of tension on the trans-Atlantic relationship for similar reasons. We are each other's closest friends and kin, but neither of us knows exactly what to do about it. Unfortunately Britain leaped into Iraq with the U.S., and just as unfortunately, all of NATO embroiled itself in the long war in Afghanistan. Tragic misadventures. Now we hear talk of a free trade agreement between the U.S. and the E.U. Well, how can there not be such a thing already? Because our cultures don't quite match up: because there are French fears we'll flood their movie market (more than we have?); and because there are little countries that could see whole industries wiped out if U.S. goods were cheaply available.
So we pivot to Asia? I'm all for Asia, but having lived in Europe for many years, I find James's image of an unpainted canvas to be a painful symbol of what we don't seem to be able to do with the civilization that gave us birth. It's beyond our imagination...and perhaps weighs down Europe's imagination, too.
Mixing Henry James in with free trade and Iraq makes for an odd cocktail, I'll admit, but his perplexity and sense of diminished capacity in the trans-Atlantic sense remains apposite. We're crippled in a two-sided political paralysis and Europe is fragmented ten times more than that.
James wasn't the kind of literary artist who, confronted with today's dilemmas, would deal with them broadly, but in this odd little story, he's got it about right: after all these years, and wars, and tourism, and talk, talk, talk... the madonna lingers beyond the horizon of the future.
For more of my comments on classic and contemporary fiction, see Tuppence Reviews (Kindle).
September 22, 2013
Free download available at Project Gutenberg.
Page 6:
The gallery of the Uffizi is not only rich in its possessions, but peculiarly fortunate in that fine architectural accident, as one may call it, which unites it—with the breadth of river and city between them—to those princely chambers of the Pitti Palace.
Page 7:
But doesn’t it occur to you that, besides being strong in his genius, Raphael was happy in a certain good faith of which we have lost the trick?
Page 10:
The women were all dying to sit to him for their portraits and be made immortal, like Leonardo’s Joconde.
Page 11:
It is a long time ago now that I heard that he was making studies for a Madonna who was to be a résumé of all the other Madonnas of the Italian school—like that antique Venus who borrowed a nose from one great image and an ankle from another. It’s certainly a masterly idea.
Page 13:
Theobald’s beauty seemed as loftily exalted above the line of common vision as his artistic ideal was lifted above the usual practice of men.
Pages 13-14:
She was dressed in plain dull black, save for a sort of dark blue kerchief which was folded across her bosom and exposed a glimpse of her massive throat. Over this kerchief was suspended a little silver cross. I admired her greatly, and yet with a large reserve. A certain mild intellectual apathy belonged properly to her type of beauty, and had always seemed to round and enrich it; but this bourgeoise Egeria, if I viewed her right, betrayed a rather vulgar stagnation of mind.
Pages 14-15:
The drawing represented a very young child, entirely naked, half nestling back against his mother’s gown, but with his two little arms outstretched, as if in the act of benediction. It was executed with singular freedom and power, and yet seemed vivid with the sacred bloom of infancy. A sort of dimpled elegance and grace, mingled with its boldness, recalled the touch of Correggio.
Like A Little Tour in France, Henry james provided us with his impressions on the Renaissance art period.
4* Daisy Miller
3* Washington Square
4* The Ambassadors
4* The Turn of the Screw
4* The Wings of the Dove
2* The Bostonians
4* The Portrait of a Lady
2* The Real Thing
4* The Aspern Papers
3* What Maisie Knew
4* A Little Tour in France
3* The Madona of the Future
TBR The Golden Bowl
TBR The Art of the Novel
TBR The Spoils of Poynton
Page 6:
The gallery of the Uffizi is not only rich in its possessions, but peculiarly fortunate in that fine architectural accident, as one may call it, which unites it—with the breadth of river and city between them—to those princely chambers of the Pitti Palace.
Page 7:
But doesn’t it occur to you that, besides being strong in his genius, Raphael was happy in a certain good faith of which we have lost the trick?
Page 10:
The women were all dying to sit to him for their portraits and be made immortal, like Leonardo’s Joconde.
Page 11:
It is a long time ago now that I heard that he was making studies for a Madonna who was to be a résumé of all the other Madonnas of the Italian school—like that antique Venus who borrowed a nose from one great image and an ankle from another. It’s certainly a masterly idea.
Page 13:
Theobald’s beauty seemed as loftily exalted above the line of common vision as his artistic ideal was lifted above the usual practice of men.
Pages 13-14:
She was dressed in plain dull black, save for a sort of dark blue kerchief which was folded across her bosom and exposed a glimpse of her massive throat. Over this kerchief was suspended a little silver cross. I admired her greatly, and yet with a large reserve. A certain mild intellectual apathy belonged properly to her type of beauty, and had always seemed to round and enrich it; but this bourgeoise Egeria, if I viewed her right, betrayed a rather vulgar stagnation of mind.
Pages 14-15:
The drawing represented a very young child, entirely naked, half nestling back against his mother’s gown, but with his two little arms outstretched, as if in the act of benediction. It was executed with singular freedom and power, and yet seemed vivid with the sacred bloom of infancy. A sort of dimpled elegance and grace, mingled with its boldness, recalled the touch of Correggio.
Like A Little Tour in France, Henry james provided us with his impressions on the Renaissance art period.
4* Daisy Miller
3* Washington Square
4* The Ambassadors
4* The Turn of the Screw
4* The Wings of the Dove
2* The Bostonians
4* The Portrait of a Lady
2* The Real Thing
4* The Aspern Papers
3* What Maisie Knew
4* A Little Tour in France
3* The Madona of the Future
TBR The Golden Bowl
TBR The Art of the Novel
TBR The Spoils of Poynton
November 13, 2018
Warning: spoilers ahead, but I can't imagine that anyone reads Henry James for the twists and turns of the plot.
As many know, the most-used web browsers have additional optional programs (called “add-ons” for Firefox, “extensions” for Google Chrome), easy both to download and to use. One I've discovered recently (perhaps I am late to the party) is called “Push to Kindle” by FiveFilters.org. After setup, it only takes two clicks to send normally-formatted web pages to your Kindle. On an Android device, the analogous program costs $3.49, but there is also a seemingly adequate free version, even if the name of the publisher -- Bad Apps -- does not inspire confidence. It's called “Upload to Kindle”.
The apps and extensions will format and display the latest long-form journalism from The Atlantic and The New Yorker (among others) for ease of reading. However, for reasons I don't understand, .html-formatted pages of Henry James's novella “The Madonna of the Future” (and other works) from The Gutenberg Project cannot be converted. Instead, the result is an error message explaining that a legal spat between the GP and the government of Germany over copyright has led the GP to block downloads to internet addresses in that land. I am not at German internet address, yet I am also somehow caught up in the dragnet. Happily, “The Madonna of the Future” (and other works) is also available from an ebook archive at the University of Adelaide, which also display beautifully using the apps, extensions, etc., mentioned above.
Discovery of this new method to acquire books led to a mini-orgy of public domain book acquisition, including this title. When I first read it, I was 24 years old. Now I am 58. Unsurprisingly, it made a different impression on my two selves.
My 24-year-old self felt it was a strange and unbelievable over-the-top gothic horror, or perhaps a precocious metaphor of existential dread of aging. My 58-year-old self read the same story and recognized it as a work of strict realism.
What happened between the two observations of Henry James was experience. By sheer good luck, I was able to travel the world and plunk down in various far-flung lands for years at a time, and becoming a member of the expatriate community. It was a common experience to run into a character like Theobald -- eccentric long-term expatriates who have alienated the affections most of the community. In this story, Theobald has been working in secret for years on a painting that will dazzle the world with its brilliance, while most of the Theobald-like characters abroad today seem to be working on a novel, blissfully unaware that the market for novels (never vigorous even in its best days) has grown vanishingly small.
When Theobald-esque personalities thrust themselves into my attention, I reacted similarly to H------ (the novella’s “inner narrator” -- further explanation below), that is, I gave into the temptation to take the opportunity to feel superior to my fellow expatriates. This outcast, you tell yourself, is not such a bad soul, just inadequately socialized and a bit misunderstood, while the expatriate community from which they are excluded is populated by a somewhat snobbish set, who really should just get over themselves and acquire a sense of charity, or, failing that, humor. However, like H-------, if you spend enough time with the eccentric, he (only very occasionally she) will reveal a rather prickly side, and the reason for the eccentric’s social isolation will become clear, if not justified.
Although I have known several who fit into this type, I thought while reading this of one man that the Long-Suffering Wife and I knew a while ago as a particularly good example of a Theobald-like character. When I told the LSW the plot of this novella over dinner recently, the first thing she said was: “Sounds just like [name of same guy].”
Change of topic: This novel also uses the old “unreliable narrator” trick -- the inner story of H---- and Theobald is framed in another story in which an unnamed person (the “outer narrator”) describes H----- as a man of refined sentiment. I tend to accept the world the way it is presented to me, but I’ve hung around books long enough to know that such layering of narrators has kept professors of literature in tenure for decades, at least, while they argue about the real meaning of the story. The unreliable narrator goes at least as far back as Don Quixote, but I guess it still managed to seem daring in the 1870’s, when this novella is written. I thought that the real value of the unreliable narrator wheeze is as a kind of insurance policy against the vagaries of future changes in attitude. Posthumously, others can re-tailor your opinions to current political/social/literary fashion.
For example, if you entertain a Graham Greene-ish conviction that Americans are idiots who cause the most damage when they are convinced they are doing the right thing (a la Alden Pyle of The Quiet American), this fits nicely into your world-view, since you may cast H----- as a similar bumbler, who causes the death of a man by, with the best of intentions, puncturing the illusions which have kept him alive for decades.
As for our own age, I think the world would be a better place if this cheap literary trick was laid aside for a generation or two. I'm tired of reading books in which characters engage in self-serving misrepresentations of the truth. If I wanted to read self-serving misrepresentations of the truth, I'd pick up a newspaper.
As many know, the most-used web browsers have additional optional programs (called “add-ons” for Firefox, “extensions” for Google Chrome), easy both to download and to use. One I've discovered recently (perhaps I am late to the party) is called “Push to Kindle” by FiveFilters.org. After setup, it only takes two clicks to send normally-formatted web pages to your Kindle. On an Android device, the analogous program costs $3.49, but there is also a seemingly adequate free version, even if the name of the publisher -- Bad Apps -- does not inspire confidence. It's called “Upload to Kindle”.
The apps and extensions will format and display the latest long-form journalism from The Atlantic and The New Yorker (among others) for ease of reading. However, for reasons I don't understand, .html-formatted pages of Henry James's novella “The Madonna of the Future” (and other works) from The Gutenberg Project cannot be converted. Instead, the result is an error message explaining that a legal spat between the GP and the government of Germany over copyright has led the GP to block downloads to internet addresses in that land. I am not at German internet address, yet I am also somehow caught up in the dragnet. Happily, “The Madonna of the Future” (and other works) is also available from an ebook archive at the University of Adelaide, which also display beautifully using the apps, extensions, etc., mentioned above.
Discovery of this new method to acquire books led to a mini-orgy of public domain book acquisition, including this title. When I first read it, I was 24 years old. Now I am 58. Unsurprisingly, it made a different impression on my two selves.
My 24-year-old self felt it was a strange and unbelievable over-the-top gothic horror, or perhaps a precocious metaphor of existential dread of aging. My 58-year-old self read the same story and recognized it as a work of strict realism.
What happened between the two observations of Henry James was experience. By sheer good luck, I was able to travel the world and plunk down in various far-flung lands for years at a time, and becoming a member of the expatriate community. It was a common experience to run into a character like Theobald -- eccentric long-term expatriates who have alienated the affections most of the community. In this story, Theobald has been working in secret for years on a painting that will dazzle the world with its brilliance, while most of the Theobald-like characters abroad today seem to be working on a novel, blissfully unaware that the market for novels (never vigorous even in its best days) has grown vanishingly small.
When Theobald-esque personalities thrust themselves into my attention, I reacted similarly to H------ (the novella’s “inner narrator” -- further explanation below), that is, I gave into the temptation to take the opportunity to feel superior to my fellow expatriates. This outcast, you tell yourself, is not such a bad soul, just inadequately socialized and a bit misunderstood, while the expatriate community from which they are excluded is populated by a somewhat snobbish set, who really should just get over themselves and acquire a sense of charity, or, failing that, humor. However, like H-------, if you spend enough time with the eccentric, he (only very occasionally she) will reveal a rather prickly side, and the reason for the eccentric’s social isolation will become clear, if not justified.
Although I have known several who fit into this type, I thought while reading this of one man that the Long-Suffering Wife and I knew a while ago as a particularly good example of a Theobald-like character. When I told the LSW the plot of this novella over dinner recently, the first thing she said was: “Sounds just like [name of same guy].”
Change of topic: This novel also uses the old “unreliable narrator” trick -- the inner story of H---- and Theobald is framed in another story in which an unnamed person (the “outer narrator”) describes H----- as a man of refined sentiment. I tend to accept the world the way it is presented to me, but I’ve hung around books long enough to know that such layering of narrators has kept professors of literature in tenure for decades, at least, while they argue about the real meaning of the story. The unreliable narrator goes at least as far back as Don Quixote, but I guess it still managed to seem daring in the 1870’s, when this novella is written. I thought that the real value of the unreliable narrator wheeze is as a kind of insurance policy against the vagaries of future changes in attitude. Posthumously, others can re-tailor your opinions to current political/social/literary fashion.
For example, if you entertain a Graham Greene-ish conviction that Americans are idiots who cause the most damage when they are convinced they are doing the right thing (a la Alden Pyle of The Quiet American), this fits nicely into your world-view, since you may cast H----- as a similar bumbler, who causes the death of a man by, with the best of intentions, puncturing the illusions which have kept him alive for decades.
As for our own age, I think the world would be a better place if this cheap literary trick was laid aside for a generation or two. I'm tired of reading books in which characters engage in self-serving misrepresentations of the truth. If I wanted to read self-serving misrepresentations of the truth, I'd pick up a newspaper.
January 21, 2022
An interesting discussion on artistic ideals VS craftsmanship, the difference between a craftsman, an aesthete, and an artist, what constitutes genuine artistic appreciation, and the position of fine arts in a fast-paced, consumeristic society. It's been three years since I last read a work by Henry James. I expected his language to be convoluted, but it is actually very hilarious (dark humor?) at times, and extremely engaging & thought-provoking throughout.
April 19, 2020
More like 3.5-stars rounded up.
I like Henry James. But he spends his words freely. A bit too freely. I feel a good story is made better by an economy of words. Too many words dilutes its impact. Henry James felt differently.
I like Henry James. But he spends his words freely. A bit too freely. I feel a good story is made better by an economy of words. Too many words dilutes its impact. Henry James felt differently.
November 16, 2024
What of the artist with genius of mind but dolts for hands, whose mental masterpieces by the hundreds can never flow through his fingers, and who dreamed forever in masterful preparation with never a single stroke on canvas, whose realization of this only comes late in life, through a well-meaning, newly minted friend from abroad, who unwittingly killed him with this kindly gifted revelation which vanquished the “artist’s” raison d’etre? This is that story. Eloquently told. By a genius writer.
April 20, 2022
Pretty good, especially if you haven't read Balzac's "The Unknown Masterpiece" beforehand; James gives a fairly accurate portrait of a world of faced aristocrats and sexually-repressed people who are not entitled to vote for their representatives in government.
October 11, 2022
Easily, this is the book I’ve analyzed the most. I think one must read slowly when the lines get jumbled and the words get more complex, but just as slow when the words move fast and the lines look simple, don’t be facile.
March 23, 2018
Good companion to The Beast in the Jungle.
November 25, 2018
Excelent Story 💕💕💕
April 7, 2022
Boa introdução aos temas para os quais ele sempre volta - deslumbramento americano pela Europa, arte e processo criativo (inclusive das personagens, realidade X representação etc.
April 18, 2022
Fico pensando quantos gatilhos pelo mundo essa história despertou
May 22, 2021
Henry James é a melhor homenagem que a América ofereceu à Europa.
Read
September 14, 2023Read for class.
Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews