The Portrait of a Lady

The Portrait of a Lady (2 volumes) #1-2

by Henry James

Money's a horrid thing to follow, but a charming thing to meet.

Isabel Archer is a beautiful, intelligent and independent young woman. Brought to England by her aunt who seeks to further her education and find her niece a husband, Isabel is determined to shape her own future--one that does not necessarily entail becoming a wife.. Isabel inherits a fortune when her rich uncle dies and feels even more inclined to turn down two eligible suitors on the basis that she is a woman of her own means. However, a trip to Italy heralds her downfall when she meets the charming Gilbert Osmond, a worthless yet ambitious and scheming dilettante.

Genres: Classics, Fiction, Literature, 19th Century, Historical Fiction, Romance, Novels

752 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1881

About the author

Henry 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."

Reviews

[Glenn Sumi · Rating 5 out of 5]

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!

[emma]

best thing for a portrait to be of

[K.D. Absolutely · Rating 4 out of 5]

*SPOILER ALERT* (Read at your own risk)

My first time to read a book by Henry James.

Reading The Portrait of a Lady, said to be his finest novel, is like getting your workout at a gym.

After a day’s work you are tired. You are already zapped of energy. You feel like going to a bar and have a couple of beer listening to a funky live band or the crooning of a lovely young lady. Or you want to go to a nearby mall and sit in the comfort of a dark movie house. Probably sleep to rest for a couple of hours if the movie turns out to be boring.

But you decide to go as you planned at the start of the day. Your gym bag is in your car. You drag your heavy feet to the parking lot. To the gym. You know you have to do it your friend has been telling you that Henry James is good but you imagine the taste of cold beer quenching your thirst or the soft seat inside the theater or the pretty songbird wearing a plunging neckline or showing her slim smooth legs there are quick reads waiting for you like Ray Bradbury’s Farenheit 451 or that Flowers for Argenon by Daniel Keyes. But you know your body needs exercise. You are becoming fatter, heavier and your waistline is expanding. You resisted the quick but empty lure of beer or sleep at the movie house. Your heart is telling you that Henry James is an author to read. Like a zombie, you continued sleepwalking to the gym.

After changing to your gym attire. You step on the treadmill. The solitude of working out. In the gym, you rarely talk to anyone. Henry James used a style that was distinctively his: wordy yet illuminating You are by yourself. Most of your friends don’t care about Henry James. You begin to walk. Warm up. After a couple of minutes, you increase the speed. Chug. Chug. Chug. It goes on and on. His storytelling went on and on. His characters came from New York, to England, went to Paris, then to Rome and then went back to England and finally went back to Rome. After the treadmill, you lift some weights as you also need to tone some muscles. His characters were varied. There was Isabel Archer fighting for her independence by refusing marriage proposals like there was not tomorrow but in the end she found with the wrong man: conceited, two-timer, treacherous and condescending. Some muscles are not supposed to be exercised right after a neighboring one. They could be contradicting each other and not only you will not get the maximum benefit from your workout but you are in the danger of having an injury like some pulled muscles. Isabel’s cousin Ralph Touchett is the “conscience” of the novel, telling by instinct whether the person-character is good or bad. He is sick but he is the only character that has the purest heart.

You came to the gym gloomy and dragged your feet as you did not have the energy even to go up a couple of stairs. Some people agonize reading this kind of 19th century Victorian English But when you came out to go back to your car, you felt energized and refreshed. You felt triumphant that Isabel Archer was going back to Rome for Pansy not necessarily for Oswald. But she decided whatever her heart was telling her. In the end, it was all that mattered: independence. She followed her heart: a personal triumph.

In the end, you did not regret going to the gym. In the end, I am happy I read a Henry James.

[Petra X · Rating 2 out of 5]

I've been reading a lot of Anthony Trollope's books recently and the stories, characters and writing is so much superior to this that I just can't get into it. "Frothy" is a word that comes to mind, also "was he paid by the word?" like Dickens.

I finished the book, finally. It was a chore. I did not find James' portrayal of a woman's personality convincing. That even though she had the financial power which was the reason why her husband had married her, she would still allow herself to be physically and emotionally abused and humiliated. It seemed to be a very conventional view of a woman, that eventually she would give in to her Lord and Master. A woman with an ounce of independence (she did have an ounce, maybe even two) at the beginning would not be the sad creature she was at the end. Marriages were made in light of money and status in those times, in this book, she had both, he had neither, there had to be some sort of mental shift that that would allow her to pretend that these were her husband's and she was in the lower and grateful position. But James didn't write it, so 'Portrait' really didn't make sense.

None of the characters, evil, good or milk-water gained my sympathy. Pansy, the daughter, nearly did, but I wanted to shake her and say 'how could you have lived all these years and not suspected who your mother is? Your father has palmed you off on the nuns all these years, what's with this unquestioning obedience? Its your step-mother has the money, not him, she's the one who can help you, would help you,not your daddy who just wants you to achieve his own social-climbing ambitions'.

I just don't see James as a man who understood women enough to write about them from any but a man's perspective.

I watched the Nichole Kidman film of the book and although Kidman did her best to flesh out the character she was no more rounded than in the book. And Poppy's submissiveness and ignorance were even more unbelievable. Obviously, to James, the main characteristic he associated with women and interpreted thusly by the director, was submissiveness.

Henry James may have deserved his reputation as a Grand Old Man of (American) letters, but not through this book, it just didn't do it for me.

[Lizzy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady touched me deeply. Since I finished this novel, I have found myself returning to it again and again, trying to organize my thoughts and feelings. There is no doubt that I was mesmerized by it. It is one of those books that continues to live in your mind after the final page, inviting reflection and making you search for a deeper understanding of its characters and its meaning.

At the center of the novel is Isabel Archer, one of the most complex and fascinating heroines I have encountered in literature. I loved entering Isabel’s conflicted mind: her confidence and uncertainty, her dreams and her fears, her desire for freedom and her difficulty in understanding what that freedom truly requires. She is a character who feels extraordinarily alive because she is not simply admirable or flawed — she is both, as real people are.

From the beginning, Isabel values her independence above everything else. She wants to see life, experience the world, and make her own decisions. Yet Henry James gradually reveals the dangers of an imagination that is not always guided by judgment. 

One of the most revealing descriptions of Isabel is that “her imagination was by habit ridiculously active; when the door was not open it jumped out of the window.” It perfectly captures both her greatest gift and her greatest vulnerability: her ability to imagine possibilities beyond what exists, but also her tendency to see people and situations as she wishes them to be rather than as they truly are.

The people surrounding Isabel each represent a different influence on her journey. Ralph Touchett, perhaps the person who understands and loves her most deeply, gives her the financial independence she believes will guarantee her freedom. Madame Merle and Gilbert Osmond, however, recognize that same independence as something they can manipulate. Lord Warburton, Mr. Goodwood, Henrietta Stackpole, and Pansy each reveal different aspects of Isabel and different possible paths her life could have taken.

What fascinated me most was the way Henry James uses places and houses as reflections of Isabel’s inner world. This aspect of the novel connected with something very personal in me. For many years, I had a recurring dream in which I discovered a hidden door inside my home. Behind it were new rooms, magnificent spaces, full of light and beauty, leading to endless discoveries. But sometimes the dream changed, and those hidden spaces became dark and oppressive, like a prison.

Because of this, I was especially moved by the way James transforms architecture into a metaphor for life. Gardencourt, with its beauty, history, and openness, represents a world of possibilities for Isabel. It is the place where she first feels the promise of a larger existence. In contrast, Osmond’s home in Rome becomes almost a physical representation of the life she has entered: beautiful on the outside, but cold, restrictive, and suffocating within. Even Rome itself becomes a place where Isabel seeks consolation, finding meaning in ancient ruins that have survived despite centuries of suffering.

Freedom is the great theme running through Isabel’s story. She believes that having choices is the essence of freedom, but James asks a much more difficult question: what happens when we make choices without fully understanding ourselves or the people around us?

After inheriting her fortune, Isabel finally possesses the independence she always desired. Yet she is also frightened by it. As she says, “A large fortune means freedom, and I’m afraid of that.” This is such a profound observation because it reveals that freedom is not only a privilege; it is also a responsibility. To be free means to accept the consequences of our decisions.

Isabel’s marriage to Gilbert Osmond is the great mistake of her life, and perhaps the choice that defines her most. She is deceived by both Osmond and Madame Merle, but Henry James does not allow her to become merely a victim. Isabel must confront the consequences of her own judgment and her own choices. Her suffering is painful to witness, but it also becomes the source of her growth.

What makes Isabel remarkable is that she never loses her dignity. She may be wounded, disappointed, and profoundly unhappy, but she refuses to collapse. She remains upright despite adversity. Her journey is not one of simple tragedy, because she gains something through her suffering: a deeper understanding of herself and of the world.

Henry James’s greatest achievement, in my opinion, is the way he trusts the reader. He rarely explains everything directly. Instead, he suggests, hints, and leaves space for interpretation. He allows us to experience uncertainty alongside Isabel, to question motives, and to discover meanings beneath the surface. Reading James requires patience, but the reward is the feeling of having entered another person’s consciousness.

The ending is perhaps the most debated aspect of the novel. Isabel’s final decision is difficult because it is not the choice many readers would wish for her. Yet that is precisely what makes it powerful. Her life has always been defined by her choices, and even after suffering, she must remain true to herself. Her return to Osmond does not necessarily mean defeat; it may represent a more mature Isabel, one who understands the world better and accepts the responsibilities that come with her decisions.

The Portrait of a Lady is not a novel about a perfect woman who always chooses correctly. It is a profound exploration of human freedom, imagination, self-deception, and growth. Isabel Archer remains unforgettable because she is deeply human: intelligent, idealistic, proud, vulnerable, and courageous.

Years after finishing the book, I believe I will continue thinking about Isabel Archer. Like the hidden rooms in my dreams, Henry James’s novel reveals new spaces every time we enter it.
______

[Fionnuala]

I had many wonderful moments while reading this book, moments when the writing halted the reading, when I had to pause and admire and wonder.
Moments when the book seemed to speak to my own experience as if it were written expressly for the girl who was me at twenty-two, causing me to wonder how Henry James could have guessed so well the presumptuous ideas I had about life and love at that early stage.

All of that is very personal, of course, and not necessarily of interest to other readers, but there were other moments in my reading of The Portrait of a Lady that better merit mention in a review. I had read this book before, about twenty years ago, so although I knew the bare bones of the story, I remembered few of the details. I certainly had no recollection of reading a particular scene from early in the story, the one in which Isabel Archer meets a stranger in her aunt’s house.
And yet there was something about the lead-up to that scene that caught my attention this time: the house is very still because Isabel’s uncle is dying. Out of the silence comes the sound of someone playing the piano. Wonderingly, Isabel makes her way toward the source of the harmony.
Those six words were like a bell ringing in my mind. I felt a sharpening of interest, an awareness of how pivotal this moment would be in the story. I remember thinking: I've been reading this book with all senses on alert and this is my reward; I've sensed the author’s excitement at the turn his story is about to take.

There was another scene later in the book when I had a similar feeling of change about to happen: Isabel sits up late one night in Rome pondering a difficult decision, indeed pondering all the decisions in her life so far. The reader watches with her and wonders how she will act. And wonders again when she finally does.

There are other major shifts in the narrative but none stood out for me quite the way those two did. In fact, Henry James purposely avoids describing the most significant shift of all, by skipping a three-year section of Isabel’s life completely—which is a very effective narrative device of course, introducing both surprise and suspense in a story that has only a six-year span in total.
As a reader I appreciated both strategies: the emphasis he seemed to place on some scenes and the complete omission he allowed to others. It was all very wonderful.

In fact this book has revised my idea of what ‘wonderful’ means. 'The Portrait of a Lady' is vying for a place as the highlight of my Henry James reading year even though The Ambassadors was already firmly camped in that position. I've decided they can be the joint highlight—they have a lot of wonderfulness in common.

When I finished 'The Portrait', I turned to HJ’s 1906 appendix and found a paragraph about his concerns for the reader. He writes that he has purposely piled brick upon brick for our benefit, carefully including the details that will enable us to grasp the totality of his creation. And among those details, he mentions two in particular, keystones in the building of the story as it were.

The first is the piano scene I described earlier. He speaks of the rare chemistry of that scene in which Isabel recognizes that a huge change is about to happen in her life. I felt really validated as a reader to have been aware in advance of the significance of what I was about to read, and so I wasn't surprised when his other pivotal scene turned out to be the one where Isabel sits up late into the Roman night, pondering her decisions. This is the sixteenth Henry James book I've read in six months. Perhaps I've learnt something of the way his writer’s mind works!

More confirmation of that possibility came when he began to discuss the shape of this novel. He continues to speak in terms of bricks and architecture and proportions, and he says that of all his novels, 'The Portrait' is the best proportioned with the exception of a novel he was to write twenty-two years later: The Ambassadors. Alongside a certain ‘roundness’ in shape which they share, he finds they also share a kind of supporting beam or rib that runs through them. This rib is made from two minor but key characters, Henrietta Stackpole and Maria Gostrey. Both seem extraneous to each story at first glance yet both are central to the architecture of their particular story. I remember noting that Maria Gostrey was the thread that allowed me to find my way through the labyrinth that was 'The Ambassadors' so it was wonderful to hear Henry James confirm that, and underline the links between the two books as well.
I was also reminded that I had begun to look at his books in terms of architecture while reading The Wings of the Dove, so I really appreciated his architectural metaphors.

In fact the appendix left me amazed and wondering at every turn. In the updates, I quoted part of a paragraph on his theories about the ‘house of fiction’. I'd like to quote the whole thing here because it is really worth reading—and it provided me with huge insights into some Gerald Murnane books I've puzzled over in the past, The Plains and Inland, and offered a strong desire to read Murnane's Million Windows:

The house of fiction has in short not one window, but a million—a number of possible windows not to be reckoned, rather; every one of which has been pierced, or is still pierceable, in its vast front, by the need of the individual vision and by the pressure of the individual will. These apertures, of dissimilar shape and size, hang so, all together, over the human scene that we might have expected of them a greater sameness of report than we find. They are but windows at the best, mere holes in a dead wall, disconnected, perched aloft; they are not hinged doors opening straight upon life. But they have this mark of their own that at each of them stands a figure with a pair of eyes, or at least with a field-glass, which forms, again and again, for observation, a unique instrument, insuring to the person making use of it an impression distinct from every other. He and his neighbors are watching the same show, but one seeing more where the other sees less, one seeing black where the other sees white, one seeing big where the other sees small, one seeing coarse where the other sees fine. And so on, and so on; there is fortunately no saying on what, for the particular pair of eyes, the window may NOT open; “fortunately” by reason, precisely, of this incalculability of range. The spreading field, the human scene, is the “choice of subject”; the pierced aperture, either broad or balconied or slit-like and low-browed, is the “literary form”; but they are, singly or together, as nothing without the posted presence of the watcher without, in other words, the consciousness of the artist. Tell me what the artist is, and I will tell you of what he has BEEN conscious. Thereby I shall express to you at once his boundless freedom and his “moral” reference.

…………………………

This book is the final one in my 2017 Henry James season and I can't think of a better title to finish on. But in every ending there are beginnings—'The Portrait' has led me to another book: Henry James says he took the slight ‘personality’, the mere slim shade of an intelligent but presumptuous girl and created what he called ‘an ado about Isabel Archer’. That reference has prompted me to go back to Shakespeare and read Much Ado About Nothing.
I do love when one book leads to another!

[Luís · Rating 4 out of 5]

Were the writers of the 19th century all psychologists before their time and specialists in the feeling of love to top it off? Like Jane Austen's books, Portrait of a Lady struck me with the accuracy of the in-depth psychological analysis of its many characters.
It is a real feat that aroused my amused admiration and left me with the impression of a better understanding of our functioning, but elicited very few emotions. In short, a piece of the bravery of 600 pages, which sometimes makes one think a little of Machiavelli or Dangerous Liaisons, and, in my eyes, has not aged a bit, except perhaps for the sometimes very convoluted style, and requires great concentration.
The novel portrays Isabel Archer, a free, intelligent, and beautiful young American who dreams of discovering Europe and life more ambitiously. Around such a heroine, there is no lack of suitors, schemers, and faithful. Isabel sometimes knows how to recognize them and make the right choices. But not always. Occasionally, she goes straight into the trap, especially as she wants to be independent in the face of her friends who have warned her. Moreover, his bad choices, stubbornness, and difficulties are the most exciting and realistic, making the book much more than a learning novel, a little cutesy and complicated.
Ironic and disillusioned but also courageous and generous, this portrait of a woman (which could moreover be in the plural as Mme Merle, Henrietta, Mrs. Touchet, and Pansy are present) deserves its place in the museum or your library.

[Paul Bryant · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ugh, ech, the elitism that breeds in readers! We think we're such nicey cosy bookworms and wouldn't harm a fly but we seethe, we do. Of course, readers of books just naturally look down on those who don't read at all. In fact they try not to think of those people (nine tenths of the human race I suppose, but a tenth of the human race is still a big number) because it makes them shudder. (How lovely it would be to go riding in a carriage through some dreadful council estate flinging free copies of Ulysses and Mrs Dalloway right and left (although Ulysses might catch some of those urchins a hefty blow on the temple (which might cause a shift in their brain landscape and evoke a sudden craving for modernist novels, like when people are struck by a bus and wake up talking in a French accent, that can happen))). So that's one obvious kind of reader elitism. But then, some readers think that what the majority of readers actually read is appalling (Hungervinciboneskitehelpslappery Twilit Shades of Pottery doo dah). It's not that you read, it's what you read. Of course. And then, amongst those elevated readers, some literary authors are considered greater than some others (why are you wasting your time with William Gaddis when you could be knee-deep in Proust, dwarling? I simply don't understand it). And then, even when you scale the heights and find yourself munching down some Henry James like he was the last well-done steak (with Chateau Lafleur) you were going to get before your solo trek (no huskies) to the south pole, you still get it - oh dwarling, why are you still dillydallying in the Middle Period when you still haven't read The Golden Bowl you naughty Jamesian you!

Thus it is that I say - oh no, not The Portrait of a Lady. Too too obvious. Try The Awkward Age or The Ambassadors. Much better.

[Fergus, Weaver of Autistic Webs · Rating 5 out of 5]

Remember when Jim Morrison of the Doors berated the Discrete Charms of the Bourgeoisie as a hell "carefully refined and sealed over?" It's funny. I have always vainly aspired to a life just like those winners.

I was like poor Hans Castorp.

When I was 20, I wrote in my diary, "oh, for a more solid gift of ataraxy!" Living my life with any kind of sophisticated aplomb was always out of reach. I was a clumsy oaf.

And yet that's exactly the kind of life Isabel Archer sees in Ralph Touchant and she aspires to it, too!

Reading this in the cold autumn of 1970 - on the hot isle of Barbados, of all places, where the hoar frost of Autumn is nonexistent - I was recovering from my violent coming of age, and craved what I also saw as the immaculate self-possession of the Touchants.

Alas.

That esteemed aplomb was the prevaricating tip of a Monstrous Iceberg!

Yes, I'm serious, folks. Looks like Jim Morrison was right, in the more perfect hindsight that this Plague Year, fifty years later, affords.

It's a grim world, guys.

Only now we KNOW it. We have seen Medusa's face and have been frozen into place by our Fear And Loathing.

The world's not safe anymore.

Bottom line, of course, is Ralph Touchant LIED to Isabel...

And, as she later discovers, Life's not REALLY a Bed of Roses.

[Natalia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ugh.


If I could describe this book in one word it would be "Laborious."

If I were allowed more space, which apparently I am, I would go on to say that in addition to being deathly slow and horrifically boring it is also a little brilliant, a little impressive, and, if you have the patience to look for it, more than a little interesting.

There's a LOT in here. James wanted this novel to be the antidote to the Jane Austen romance. He wanted to show life as it is- money as a burden, marriage as a trap, and people as egotistic, petty, manipulative, and kind.

If I told you how disappointing the ending is, though, you wouldn't want to read it, so I won't mention that.

If you have the patience, it's worth reading, but not unless you read it closely. I recommend a Norton Critical Edition.

[Emily May · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm not sure why it took Henry James 3x as many pages to tell a very similar story here to the one he told in Washington Square. Basically: give a woman her freedom and she will choose poorly.

[MJ Nicholls · Rating 5 out of 5]

Up until midnight finishing this exquisite superstar. Ah! The pleasures of lying on the couch with a muglet of alcohol-free wine, a series of nibbles, and a sexy Oxford Classic as evenfall descends and time melts into irrelevance. Is there more to life than this? Not much more. (And that suits me fine).

[Lara Amber · Rating 1 out of 5]

I made it 40% of the way through this monstrosity before I had to finally throw in the towel. Apparently no one ever told James "show don't tell" judging by the complete lack of action in this book. In fact nothing ever happens. It just drags on and on in an annoying narrative voice that is too fond of metaphor and long descriptive phrases that frequently cloud more then they illuminate. The characters are complete twits, without a single redeeming quality among them. Judging by the way he writes his female characters, Henry James either was never actually exposed to women, or the ones he met were given lobotomies at age 7. There is no sympathy for the main female character or any of her cohorts, not even amusement at their foibles. In fact if you were stranded in a life raft, you'd be chucking them overboard within minutes, the whole useless pile of them. You would see the rescue ship as a dot on the horizon and pray you could drown them in time.

Save yourself the agony and go read something else.

[Renato · Rating 4 out of 5]

Henry James' The Portrait of a Lady is considered to be one of the first American novels to make full use of social and psychological realism as European authors - such as Flaubert, Balzac and George Eliot - were already practicing in their works. Considered to be his biggest accomplishment along with The Ambassadors, Portrait added Isabel Archer to the company of great fictional heroines - as the likes of Elizabeth Bennet, Becky Sharp and Jane Eyre - and, in a century marked by unsatisfied bourgeois wives and adultery in fiction - Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina come to mind -, it was a breath of fresh air to accompany and delve into James' protagonist's thoughts and inner feelings.

Starting with a very slow pace, the narrative contains long and elaborate descriptions. It feels James is painting a richly detailed picture for every scene. As we arrive in Gardencourt - the Touchett's English country estate where our story opens and closes -, we encounter Mr. Touchett, his son Ralph and a family friend called Lord Warburton. Among other things, they discuss how Mrs. Lydia Touchett is in America and will bring along her niece called Isabel Archer to visit Europe.

Isabel is a young woman, from Albany, New York, who accepts her aunt's offer to initially stay with her in Gardencourt and then later travel through the continent, eager to explore and be enriched by the places she's never been before and experience life at its fullest. Upon her arrival, we begin to learn what her ideals and plans are, along with her hopes and dreams.

Since the beginning, her cousin Ralph seems to have been as curious as we were to see what Isabel would make of her life. In a way, we almost could say Ralph was conducting an experiment: Isabel had an independent mind, she was emotionally and psychologically self-sufficient - didn't seem inclined to get married for the time being, which was different for a girl of her age at the time. She was thirsty for knowledge first and foremost: “I don’t want to begin life by marrying”, Isabel asserts to Ralph. “There are other things a woman can do." But without money, how far could she go with her unattached ways? She was probably bound to eventually getting married. Her cousin, then, arranged it and she became financially independent as well. Certain that he was doing Isabel a good deed, Ralph convinced his father - who was very fond of Isabel - at his deathbed to leave her an impressive amount of money. Now she had all that was necessary to decide her destiny without any barriers or anyone to hold her back. The experiment was on.

After traveling for over a year, the now wealthy Isabel Archer is in Florence, where her aunt lives. A friend she greatly admired, Madame Merle - Mrs. Touchett's close friend who Isabel got acquainted with some time after she arrived in Gardencourt - skillfully introduces her to Gilbert Osmond: an American expatriate widower who's lived in Italy for years. Isabel is very impressed with his refinement and intelligence and thinks of him as having a beautiful mind. Despite her family and friends complaints about this relationship, Isabel - after having declined two previous suitors - accepts Osmond's marriage proposal.

The story then jumps in time and there's a narrative shift: for a bit, James leaves Isabel and Osmond in the background while he focuses on Pansy Osmond - Osmond's young daughter - and Edward Rosier - Isabel's childhood friend who's in love with Miss Osmond and is trying to get Madame Merle to help him marry his darling girl. Through their story, we still have glimpses of Isabel's life and we learn that she's been now married for two years and that she lost a son who died six months after his birth. Isabel and her husband seems to disagree about everything and we learn she's unhappy.

Henry James, who once conducted a very slow paced - almost contemplative - narrative, gradually started to accelerate it, adding drama and a sense of urgency to his words.

Right after an unsettling argument with Osmond one evening, Isabel, now feeling more distraught than ever, starts pondering and analyzing the many circumstances she finds herself in. The author immerses us in a deeply personal and intensely psychological account of her thoughts and emotions. Among the things Isabel reflected upon for a long time were the conclusion that her husband must hate her and the realization that Osmond had gained total control of her - the once independent and strong witted woman was now a subjugated spirit; the woman who once seemed to be against doing what was expected of her was now conforming to her husband's decisions. "When the clock struck four she got up; she was going to bed at last, for the lamp had long since gone out and the candles burned down to their sockets."

Complicating things even further is the revelation Countess Gemini - Osmond's sister - makes to Isabel of a long time secret, that leaves her completely shaken. This only comes to deteriorate even more her relationship with Gilbert. Now, fully aware of the situation she was put in through manipulations and schemes, Isabel is faced with a big decision: her cousin Ralph is dying in Gardencourt and her dictatorial husband is completely against her visiting England. Showing the old Isabel may still be somewhere locked inside of herself, she confronts her husband and leaves to be with her cousin.

The Portrait of a Lady, through its length, presents a number of opposites, but the most striking ones are the battles between freedom vs. destiny and affection vs. betrayal. In the book's final moments, we witness that Isabel is offered a way to go back to where and to whom she was when she first came to Europe: "The world's all before us - and the world's very big", she is told. She could once again explore life and fill herself with hopes - but declined the opportunity: "The world's very small", she answered. With a much talked about conclusion that has both fascinated and infuriated - another battle of opposites? - readers, James' ending remains open to a lot of interpretations.

It's disturbing to watch an unhappily married woman with an opportunity to leave it all behind - and the means to do it - simply not choosing freedom. Did Osmond finally accomplish to shatter her spirit? Another theory is that maybe marriage was an unbreakable vow and she felt she had a moral duty to her husband. Or was she trying to be protective of Pansy - who was mirroring Isabel's unhappiness and was another example of a woman who seemed to think that she was obliged to follow other's decisions even if it made her unhappy - and determined to stand by her side and not let the same happen to her step daughter? Innumerable possibilities...

James has been known for structuring his novels with a series of circles surrounding a center. With that in mind, a hopeful interpretation of the book's ending is that, in order to complete that circle, Isabel must return to her husband, properly end her marriage so she could once again be able to start anew and free her spirit once and for all.

Rating: for such an interesting and comprehensive analysis of freedom, human consciousness and ultimately, existentialism: 4 stars.

[Eric Byrd · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is my first James (not counting his little book on Hawthorne and scattered essays on French novelists), and I started it out of a sense of dutiful curiosity. I was not prepared for it to be such an engrossing masterpiece. There so much good stuff here: the psychological portraiture, the descriptive scene painting, the simple human energy of the plot.

James is such an odd bird because he was so steeped in the 19th century French fiction, was a social intimate of such Continental wellsprings of modern fiction as Flaubert and the Goncourts, but he doesn't really resemble them. The need to nimbly and precisely render the meaningful trifles of physical appearance and gesture that you find in Flaubert, and in his faithful heirs Joyce and Nabokov, is nowhere in James. He can evoke and scene-paint with the best of them (Osmond's Florentine villa, Isabel's melancholy wandering around Rome), but it's not his obsession. In his essay on Turgenev, James spends many pages almost chuckling at the energy and time Turgenev spends visually distinguishing and individuating his characters. James is, in that way, backward: by which I mean that his fictional aesthetic is very 18th century, aiming not at visual peculiarity and novelty, but at what Johnson called "the grandeur of generality." The style too is very redolent of Johnson and Gibbon in its rounded, formal pomp, in the pageantry of its circumlocutions. This backwardness may be one significantly "American" trait of James. Henry Adams, George Santayana and Van Wyck Brooks in various places point out that New England intellectual life remained firmly fixed in the 18th century well into the 19th. Johnson, Gibbon and Pope were the household gods of the colonial elite circa 1776, and they remained so long after the American Revolution. In Hawthorne, James actually singles out Hawthorne's vestigially "Augustan" style for special praise. In a book so mindful of American deficiency, the preservation of Britain's 18th century literary aesthetics is viewed as one of the new country's few cultural strengths.

So James's descriptive forbearance makes the vividness of the characters all the more spooky. I can't put my finger the device that does it. It's certainly well hidden (as Walpole said in praise of Gibbon, he is strong but doesn't show off his muscles). Maybe it's the close attention to how a voice quavers or modulates in emotionally significant ways throughout the course of conversation, or the pictorially vague but atmosphere-altering metaphors. I'm impatient to reread this novel, to become acutely conscious of its magic. I can count on one hand the number of times James tells you what Madame Merle is wearing or how she's moving, but she's as alive and embodied as the more closely drawn Emma Bovary or Anna Karenina. I mention Merle in connection with Flaubert's and Tolstoy's heroines and not Isabel because, after this reading at least, I prefer Isabel as a foil for the more interesting Merle, with her deceptively amiable social masks (Merle is a very 18th century figure as well--her scenes always made me think of Lytton Strachey's descriptions of the ready wit, the tact, the armored poise and smooth sociability of ancien regime manners). My interest in the book actually lagged for a month, after Isabel's marriage to Osmond--that is, when Merle was out of the picture. Not that I'd want Merle as the heroine--no, she's a secondary character, and like Ralph Touchett, like Pansy, she goes away having but insinuated or at most only partially revealed her private history. Poignantly mysterious is how I like it.

[James · Rating 3 out of 5]

Book Review
3+ out of 5 stars for The Portrait of a Lady, a classic story called the "Great American Novel," written by Henry James in 1881. I adore Henry James and found great enjoyment in his literary works when I began reading him in my freshmen year at college. As an English major, I was exposed to many different authors, but I felt a strong connection with him and this literary period. American realistic works spoke to me above any of the other "classic" books I had been reading. As a result, I chose Henry James as the primary focus of an independent study course I'd taken in my senior year. I read 6 or 7 of his books during those 3 months and am going back now to provide quick reviews, as not everyone finds him as enjoyable as I do. I also don't want to bore everyone with a lengthy review on how to interpret him or his books.

The Portrait of a Lady tells the story of a young woman who years to have her own life and make her own mark on the world. She doesn't want to be contained by marriage or the structure in place at the time in the late 19th century. She has different characteristics coming from American, English and continental European female archetypes. She has strong moral and ethical values. She knows who she is, yet she does not know all. As she moves through life, she makes choices that are not easy for her to execute. What I loved about this work is its deep exploratory view points, beautiful language and unparalleled characters. Though I only give it a 3, when compared to some of this other works, I would recommend you read a few chapters or sections, just to see if it is something you could find yourself getting lost in.

The impact you feel upon reading this book is questioning what is the true view of a lady, how is she different from generation to generate, location to location and societal class to societal class. James knows women. He is very accurate on many levels... wrong on a few, too. But to put out his thoughts, in a huge tome, at a time when women were beginning to get more rights... and be able to cross genres and genders... is amazing. It's less about what he says and more about how he says it. And that's why I enjoy reading him... but even I admit, I can only take 1 book every few years! :)

About Me
For those new to me or my reviews... here's the scoop: I read A LOT. I write A LOT. And now I blog A LOT. First the book review goes on Goodreads, and then I send it on over to my WordPress blog at https://thisismytruthnow.com, where you'll also find TV & Film reviews, the revealing and introspective 365 Daily Challenge and lots of blogging about places I've visited all over the world. And you can find all my social media profiles to get the details on the who/what/when/where and my pictures. Leave a comment and let me know what you think. Vote in the poll and ratings. Thanks for stopping by.

[Marc Lamot · Rating 4 out of 5]

Without a doubt a masterwork in width and depth. James has a very special writing technique: each chapter starts with a consideration from the author's point of view or introspection into one of the characters, usually followed by a dialogue that adds new information. James uses long, highly processed sentences, and sometimes very heavy grammatical constructions; the dialogues are intense, especially because of the things that are not said or are only subtly hinted at. And all that is very captiviting.

But there are also some downsides. In terms of characters: the scenes with Rosier are not quite credible, because they seem constructed to fit the plot; the element of sexuality is totally kept out of the relation between Isabel and Osmond; and the absence of a reference to the psychological impact of the dead son is striking.

In general James follows a chronological line in his story, but after some key events there's a leap in time, without explanation of major changes that have taken place; only very gradually some information is given to clarify things; also towards the end, there are some unlikely passages (the friendship between Osmond and Goodwood, and the final scene with Goodwood). All in all, truly a great novel, that I have enjoyed very much, but with some issues.

[Duane Parker · Rating 4 out of 5]

**spoilers**
Portrait is a beautifully written novel that exhibits Henry James unique writing style and addresses the social customs and differences in Americans, the English, and continental Europeans. Isabel Archer is a young American lady, for whom the novel is titled, who is adventurous and very independent. She turns down two marriage proposals in the 1st half of the book to preserve her independence, one from Casper Goodwood, a young wealthy American, and one from Lord Warburton, a wealthy English aristocrat. When her English uncle dies, she inherits a large sum of money and travels with her aunt, Mrs. Touchett, to her Italian villa where she eventually meets, falls in love with, and marries Gilbert Osmond. All of her family and friends try to dissuade her from this, but to no avail, and she finally learns that Osmond doesn't love her, married her for her money, and to own her as another of his possessions. Obviously there is a lot more intrigue to the story and the enjoyment for me came from the wonderful writing of James.

[sAmAnE · Rating 4 out of 5]

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ایزابل دختری کاملا و مستقل که بسیار مورد ستایش دیگران است. کتاب از ورود شخصیت ایزابل آغاز شده و تا ازدواج او و اتفاقات بعد از ازدواج او پیش می‌رود. مسئله مهمی که اینجا پیش آمده انتخاب درست یا غلط ایزابل، با توجه به شرایط حاکم در آن زمان و با توجه به دامنه‌ی روابط اوست. دختری که به قول پسرخاله‌اش، رالف، اگر مورد بی‌مهری قرار گرفته است، مورد مهر هم بوده. از این کتاب به عنوان یک رمان قوی یاد شده که خود هنری جیمز وصفی از این کتاب دارد که: «تصویر بانوی جوانی که تقدیر خود را خوار می‌کند.»
در این کتاب در گیر و دار دنیای آدم‌ها قبل و بعد از ازدواجشان، افکارشان و عقایدشان و نگرشی که به زندگی دارند؛ هستیم. مفهوم عشق و زندگی برای هریک متفاوت‌تر و پیچیده‌تر از دیگری‌ست.
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📝ولی چنین به نظر می‌رسد که دنیای پست و فرومایه، بلاخره همان چیزی است که انسان به خاطرش زندگی می‌کند، انسان می‌بایست همیشه آن را مدّنظر داشته باشد، نه برای آن‌که آن را راهنمایی کند یا عقیده‌اش را تغییر دهد یا از سقوط نجاتش دهد، بلکه برای اینکه آن را وادار کند تا به برتری خود انسان تا حدّی اذعان کند. دنیا از یک طرف پست و فرومایه و از طرف دیگر، معیاری به دست می‌داد.
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من کتاب رو دوست داشتم و تعریفش رو خیلی شنیده بودم هر چند که به نظر بعضی ممکنه یک مقدار طولانی باشد.
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🪴گفته شده جیمز سرچشمه‌ی تصویر یک زن( ایزابل آرچر) را از زندگی ناکام دختر عموی جوان و محبوبش که در ۲۴ سالگی بر اثر سل از دنیا رفته است، نشان می‌دهد. دختری که استعدادهای زیادی داشته و فکر جیمز را به سحر خود تسخیر کرده بوده، انگار که این دختر نماد همه‌ی جلوه‌ها و جادوها و شادی‌های جوانی است. به عبارتی، یعنی همه‌ی آن چیزهایی که زندگی به آن‌ها بی‌وفاست.🥀

[Ellie Hamilton · Rating 4 out of 5]

Welll I adored Isabel and I could read more books on her psychological profile but once you read the intro you have the book summed up pretty well 😫

[Jasmine · Rating 5 out of 5]

The ancient Greek tragedian Euripides popped up in my mind while reading Henry James' (1843-1916) masterpieces Daisy Miller and The Portrait of a Lady. (*) Readers of Euripides’ work have to ask themselves whether Euripides was a misogynist or if he showed true sympathy for the Athenian women who suffered from the rigorous patriarchy in Athenian society. I, on my part, was astonished by Euripides’ portrayal of women and their oppression and I came to the conclusion that Euripides indirectly criticised Athenian male society. Having read the mentioned two works by James, I’ve had the exact same feeling. The way he describes Isabel Archer’s succumbing to moral and social conventions is compelling and leaves the reader with an uneasiness that I have seldom encountered in Victorian Literature. In James’ notebooks from probably late December 1880, early January 1881 he writes:

“The idea of the whole thing is that the poor girl, who has dreamed of freedom and nobleness, who has done, as she believes, a generous, natural, clear-sighted thing, finds herself in reality ground in the very mill of the conventional.”

The Portrait of a Lady is first and foremost a psychological portrayal of an "intelligent but presumptuous girl” (p. 634) of the 19th century whose decisions differ greatly from what the reader (at least the modern reader) would expect from a lady with such characteristics. Even though the romantic settings in Florence and Rome are inspiring and enthralling they are not really important to the story and the plot itself is far from being spell binding. James notes in his preface to the New York Edition of 1908: "The result is that I’m often accused of not having a “story” enough. I seem to myself to have as much as I need – to show my people, to exhibit their relations with each other; for that is all my measure.”

Having said that, it requires the mastery of one Henry James to make his readers stick to the more than 600 pages without hesitation. The omniscient narrator carefully describes Isabel’s marriage without being melodramatic and its presentation is therefore much more realistic and modern than in other Victorian novels, such as those by Charles Dickens for example. I was deeply touched by James’ awareness of women’s struggle in those days. When I mention ‘women’s struggle’ I have to point out, however, that Henry James’ portrays exclusively women of his social class (at least in the two books I read) and I can imagine why: One cannot describe a social and cultural milieu with such perfection without observing meticulously the immediate environment one lives in. In my opinion he knew exactly what he was writing about (James apparently took his inspiration for Isabel’s character from his cousin Milly Temple) and he showed immense respect and sensibility towards his literary characters, not only towards Isabel, but also towards minor characters who are all portrayed with care.

This work goes straightforward to my ‘favourites shelf’ and deserves my highest rating. It is an outstanding masterpiece by an outstanding author and I am eager to read more by him.

(*) I choose the Penguin Classics Edition for my reading of The Portrait of a Lady edited and with an Introduction and Notes by Philip Horne. The text reprinted in this edition is the book edition of 1882 and not that of the revised 1908 New York edition.

[Paula Mota · Rating 5 out of 5]

Por mais encantadora que ele a achasse, a rapariga impressionava-o mais pelo seu ar de desafio, que constituía, na realidade, um dos seus atractivos. (...)
- Não tenho medo, bem sabe – declarou então Isabel, de uma forma, na verdade, um tanto impertinente.
- Não receia o sofrimento?
- Sim, do sofrimento tenho medo, mas não dos fantasmas. Acho que nos deixamos invadir facilmente pela dor. (...) Não é necessário sofrer; não somos feitos para tal. (...) O pior é que, se não sofremos passamos por insensíveis.

Nem se fosse mulher Henry James conseguiria criar heroínas com mais personalidade, e é esse o maior elogio que hoje posso fazer-lhe. Quer seja pespeneta como Daisy, serena como Catherine, decidida como Gertrude, esplêndida como Isabel, o que sinto sempre com cada protagonista deste autor é que, se ela fosse de carne e osso e eu pudesse recuar até ao século XIX, gostaria de ser amiga dela. Foi por me ter afeiçoado tanto a Isabel Archer que, a determinada altura, fechei o livro zangada com HJ e o pus de lado durante uns tempos. Poderia culpar os quase dois quilos de páginas ou as 26 horas de audiobook para explicar os sete meses que levei a ler esta obra-prima, mas foi só a pura indignação que tive de deixar dissipar que me impediu de avançar a bom ritmo num livro que até aí fluía com diálogos espirituosos e personagens fascinantes.

Disse a Sra. Touchett: - Eu, por exemplo, gosto de ser tratada de uma forma pessoal. Miss Stackpole prefere que a considerem membro de um grupo.
- Não compreendo o que quer dizer – ripostou esta - O que prefiro é ser tratada como senhora... e senhora americana!
- Pobres senhoras americanas! – exclamou a dona da casa. – São escravas de escravos.
- Companheiras de homens livres – emendou a jornalista.
- Companheiras dos seus servidores: da criada irlandesa, do criado negro. Ajudam-nos ao trabalho.
(...)
- Companheiras de homens livres... Apreciei a sua frase, Miss Stackpole – interveio Ralph - É uma definição admirável.
- Quando falo de homens livres não me refiro a si, Sr. Touchett.

Os escritores banais criam triângulos amorosos. Os mestres criam pentágonos, e não deixam nenhuma das arestas mais fraca que as outras. Isabel Archer, não sendo particularmente bonita, tem quatro pretendentes e o mais espantoso é que eles estão sempre a entrar e a sair de cena ao longo de toda a obra. Temos Caspar Goodwood, que veio dos Estados Unidos atrás de Isabel, Lord Warburton que se apaixona por ela logo no início da sua estadia em Inglaterra, Ralph Touchett, o primo inteligente e generoso, e um quarto homem odioso que não será aqui nomeado. O casamento, porém, não está nos seus planos imediatos.

- Se casasse consigo, fugiria à minha sorte.
- Não entendo. Por que razão o seu destino se deve desenrolar longe do meu?
- Porque é assim – respondeu ela, como só as mulheres respondem – Sei que é assim. Está escrito que não deve renunciar a ele. Sinto que não posso.
O infeliz Lord Warburton ficou perplexo, com uma expressão de dúvida.- Então casando comigo, renunciaria...?
- Não no sentido usual da frase. Ganhava até... ganhava muito. Mas desistia de outras possibilidades. (...) É-me impossível impedir a infelicidade. Casando consigo, tentaria fugir a ela...

Vi o filme homónimo de Jane Campion quando estreou nos cinemas, mas não me lembro rigorosamente de nada a não ser do grande erro de casting que foi no geral. Nicole Kidman, com a sua eterna cara nº 17 na alegria e na tristeza, na saúde e na doença, não faz justiça a Isabel Archer, e John Malkovich, para mim, há-de ser sempre Valmont das “Relações Perigosas”, e no fundo é esse papel maquiavélico que lhe coube aqui, com direito até a uma espécie de Madame de Meurteill, com quem conspira contra Isabel.
Se de boas intenções está o inferno cheio, “Retrato de uma Senhora” é um exemplo disso. Trazida dos Estados Unidos para a Europa pela tia, depois de ter ficado órfã, Isabel a todos encanta, mas é o seu primo Ralph Touchett, a minha personagem masculina preferida, que mais se deslumbra com o seu carácter, com a sua curiosidade em relação ao mundo e com a resposta sempre na ponta da língua. Num gesto altruísta, para lhe proporcionar a total independência e a possibilidade de realizar os seus sonhos, Ralph consegue que a prima receba uma avultada herança.

- Absorvi-me demasiado em mim mesma; encaro a vida como se ela fosse uma receita médica. Porque havemos de estar sempre a magicar se as coisas são boas para nós, tal se fôssemos doentes deitados numa enfermaria? (...) É porque tenho medo. – deteve-se. A voz tremia-lhe um pouco. – Sim, tenho medo. Não lhe sei explicar. A riqueza implica liberdade, e a liberdade assusta-me. É uma coisa admirável! Deve-se saber empregá-la senão, cobrimo-nos de vergonha. Além disso, é preciso que nunca deixemos de pensar. Obriga a um esforço contínuo. Quem sabe se ser-se pobre não será maior felicidade?

É esta tentativa de brincar aos deuses que acciona toda a trama e empurra Isabel para situações fora do seu controlo, levando-a numa viagem puramente emocional.

Sim, ele quisera dizer isso: gostaria que a mulher não possuísse nada no cérebro e se limitasse à sua bela aparência exterior. Ela própria sabia que possuía excesso de ideias – e até talvez tivesse mais do que ele supunha, muitas mais do que exprimira quando fora pedida em casamento. De facto, mostrara-se hipócrita, mas só porque o amava tanto, tanto! Tinha muitas ideia para si somente: todavia se casasse, poderia partilhá-la com mais alguém. Não era fácil arrancá-las pela raiz, embora, com certeza, fosse possível reprimi-las, tendo o cuidado de nunca as manifestar.

[Melcat · Rating 1 out of 5]

I would recommend this book if you like:
- Extremely entitled and capricious main protagonist ;
- Very poor decision making ;
- Claustrophobia from being inside a character’s dull head for so many pages ;
- A true effort to convince the reader that Isabel is interesting (EVERY man is love with her, isn’t that the best proof??) while giving her the enticing personality of a plastic chair ;
- People that just sit around to discuss things and never resolve anything ;
- Pointless thoughts, interminable dives into internalized masochism and the queen of denial ;
- A character study from someone that writes like he has never met a woman in his life (or just insufferable ones) ;
- The “I’m not like other girls” of Victorian era.

No offence to Henry James but I was bored out of my mind by this book and never want to read something like this ever again. I can’t remember the last time I disliked a main character that much.

[Emilio Berra · Rating 5 out of 5]

Un'americana in Europa
Isabel, "inquadrata nella cornice (...) della porta, colpì il giovane come un bel ritratto di signora".

Romanzo ambientato negli anni '70 dell'Ottocento fra Inghilterra e Italia, si presenta bellissimo per stile, struttura narrativa e approfondimento psicologico, tutto pervaso da quel sottile senso dell'umorismo, tanto diffuso nella letteratura inglese, ritmato sull'arte della conversazione che spesso caratterizza il romanzo britannico. Un testo per chi ama il piacere della lettura di alta qualità.
Comprendiamo come l'americano H. James apprezzasse talmente la cultura inglese da trasferirsi in Inghilterra e assumerne la nazionalità.

Chi ha letto lo splendido "The Master" di Toibin, documentato romanzo biografico dedicato a Henry James, sa come la figura della protagonista di "Ritratto di signora" sia stata ispirata dalla figura dell'amata cugina dell'autore, tanto desiderosa di viaggiare per l'Europa, sogno irrealizzato per la prematura morte in giovane età.
Lo scrittore pare abbia voluto 'risarcirla' dandole le parvenze del personaggio di Isabel, una ragazza americana che invece in Europa giunge e dove si dispiega interamente il suo futuro.

Isabel, dunque, arriva in Inghilterra accolta dalla facoltosa zia in una magnifica dimora con esteso parco.
La giovane era sempre stata considerata "l'intelletto", ma anche una persona (troppo) originale.
"Ella aveva un desiderio insaziabile di pensare bene di sé", riteneva che "fosse necessario essere fra i migliori" , "aveva una speranza infinita di non dover fare mai nulla di male" e amava molto la propria indipendenza.
Con queste premesse, non c'è da stupirsi che tutti si chiedano che cosa farà della sua vita e a quali vertici sarà capace di giungere, tanto più che H. James la rende pure ricchissima.

La vicenda si sposta poi a Firenze e a Roma, dove Isabel verrà a contatto con l'alta società degli stranieri, fra gran dame e uomini raffinati.
Il paesaggio italiano è descritto meravigliosamente, con pennellate di generosa fascinazione. Non manca però qualche stoccata : un colto straniero, imbevuto di estetismo, sostiene che "l'Italia, comunque, aveva guastato molta gente; lui stesso (...) riteneva che sarebbe stato un uomo migliore se non avesse trascorso lì tanta parte della sua vita. Faceva diventare pigri e dilettanti e mediocri; non offriva nessuna disciplina per il carattere".

L'ultima parte del libro, in particolare, presenta sviluppi di altissima abilità letteraria. 'Tutti i nodi vengono al pettine' in modo , nel contempo, inaspettato eppur convincente : ciò che solamente un grande scrittore riesce a realizzare.

[Julie]

8.5/10

This won’t get written the way I wanted to write it, as life has taken as many turns, in the past 6 weeks, as Henry James has commas ... and I can’t be spending much time reviewing — in writing, at least. More’s the pity since I had a lot to say on this one, this time ‘round.

I’ve become a bedside sitter, attendant, to a family member who has been, is, quite ill, ... and so while my time is spent in reading, I’m not sure I'm taking in all that much.

The end of this novel brought me to the beginning of the real life illness, and so Ralph and Isabelle’s last interview brought me to my (emotional) knees, as only those who have read this can appreciate. Hence no spoiler warnings necessary.

Not to turn this into a FB moment, which I loathe, I felt I just wanted to explain to my nearest and dearest goodreaderly friends that I haven't done a runner on you or my reviews, I’m just in a bit of a fog at the moment, from which I hope to emerge soon, and re sharpen my tongue for more irony and sarcasm laden reviews.

I’m sadly missing Ovid’s Metamorphoses group, in which I longed to participate, but the personal metamorphosis which is taking place at the moment is proving to be more transformative than even Ovid could hope to influence on me.

Still reading all your wonderful, witty, charming, insightful, inspiring ... and, most gratifyingly acerbic, reviews. They provide such a joyful, sustaining moment in my day.

Isabelle Archer will have to wait another day for my critique; but as she is the very Queen of Procrastination... and even perhaps Prevarication (since she seems to be so good at lying to herself, if nothing else), she won’t mind at all, as she sits through the night, watching for its end, as we all must do, have done.

[Apatt · Rating 5 out of 5]

Henry James would probably get on well with Thomas Hardy The Portrait of a Lady is a tragedy almost of Tess of the d'Urbervilles proportions.

Character study novels are extraordinary things, the plot is mostly fairly mundane but when you get to really know the characters when they resonate with you, the personal crises they go through become fascinating because they are like people you know. It has that lovely fly on the wall appeal for nosey parkers like myself. However, it takes an immense talent to create vivid and vibrant characters that the readers would care about; this is a gift Henry James seems to have in abundance.

The story, in a nutshell, concerns a young American lady, Isabel Archer (the subject of the titular portrait), comes to England to stay with her aunt, she soon receives a vast amount of inheritance from her uncle, is proposed to by three men, and proceed to choose the absolute worst of the three. From then on her life is a 24/7 misery. If anybody shows me this micro-synopsis and ask me if I would want to read the book I’d probably tell them to eff off (in the nicest possible way of course). However, the simple storyline belies a psychologically complex and endlessly fascinating book.


Nicole Kidman Isabel Archer

At the beginning of the book, Isabel is described as “a young woman of extraordinary profundity”. Certainly, she seems to be an intelligent, lively and charismatic young lady with a strong sense of independence and seemingly indomitable will. She also has an infectious enthusiasm to experience what the world (which is her oyster) has to offer. That several men fall at her feet and practically worship her is not hard to believe. What is harder to believe is how—in spite of her wit and intelligence—she allows herself to be manipulated into marrying a total poseur. The book is an account of how her vibrant sense of independence seeps away during the course of her awful marriage. We follow Isabel’s thought processes, feeling swept along with her enthusiasm for life and crash-land with her when things go south. As Henry James puts it in his intro:

“The idea of the whole thing is that the poor girl, who has dreamed of freedom and nobleness, who has done, as she believes, a generous, natural, clear-sighted thing, finds herself in reality ground in the very mill of the conventional.”

The ending is a little too ambiguous for my taste, James seems to like this kind of WTF ending, his novella The Turn of the Screw has an even more infuriatingly ambiguous ending which I found so aggravating I wanted to write him for a refund (hampered by the fact that I got the book for free, and James is pushing up the daisies). The ending of The Portrait of a Lady is ambiguous to a lesser degree and leaves an interestingly melancholic aftertaste.

So, yeah, read it, it’s pretty great!

__________________________

Notes
Read mostly in audiobook format, narrated by the extremely wonderful Elizabeth Klett in her melodious and expressive voice (download link). I often wondered why so talented a reader would only read free Librivox books, it turns out that she has also narrated many contemporary books for the decidedly not free Audible.com. Still, that she has read so many books gratis, for the public domain is amazing.

__________________________

The following footnotes are inspired by my dear friend Cecily. I find it very difficult to review a character novel, because I want to talk about the characters and why they are interesting. The trouble is I feel like I would have to introduce each of the character I mention, and that would be a drag for me and— I imagine—the review reader. If you have an opinion on this issue please let me know in the comments section. Anyway, Cecily has suggested several ways to integrate the character bits, which I will do in future reviews but for this one I can’t think of a suitable entry point so I’ll just shove them here in the footnotes, and I won’t introduce any of them!

Thoughts on some of the main characters

Gilbert Osmond: I wonder if he has big, bright teeth like most of the Osmonds I have seen. In the 1996 film he is portrayed by John Malkovich who doesn’t look much like an Osmond. I reckon Gilbert is not deliberately evil, I am not even sure he misrepresented himself to Isabel, she just saw some nobility in him that is not there. Silly cow.

Ralph Touchett: Capital fellow, he is the only one who loves Isabel selflessly. He is very wise, observant and witty. Shame about his health.

Lord Warburton: Nice bloke, a bit of a snob. Looking for a trophy wife I suspect.

Caspar Goodwood: Hate him, stupid stalker bastard. I don’t think leaving Osmond for him would be much of an improvement.

Madame Merle: Awesome kickass villainess who doesn’t even kick any ass and is not really all that bad. It’s not actually her fault that Isabel decides to marry that poseur, she only introduced them, she did not force the girl to marry the cad at gunpoint.

Pansy Osmond: Tragic silly kid, a total doormat.

[Roman Clodia · Rating 5 out of 5]

** Spoilers below **

She could live it over again, the incredulous terror with which she had taken the measure of her dwelling. Between those four walls she had lived ever since; they were to surround her for the rest of her life. It was the house of darkness, the house of dumbness, the house of suffocation.

Re-reading this, I was struck by how James uses Gothic motifs in a text which is quite deceptively ungothic on the surface: the poisonous secrets; the claustrophobic interiors of Osmond's houses in Florence and then in Rome; the monstrous marriage; the entrapments; the innocence of Pansy and Isabel herself; even the way Osmond's control is insidious, never physically violent, but a serpentine, hypnotic form of coercion which will not brook any resistance, hence Pansy's lesson of the convent at the end.

James' control of the shift from sunny novel of manners built around the 'marriage plot' to where we end up is masterly, as is the forensic attention to psychological details, tracing every small shift of Isabel's consciousness. It is, then, notable that expected big scenes - Osmond's proposal, the wedding, the early years of marriage including the loss of a baby - are all off-stage and we hear about them through brisk exposition. The interest is on what happens in this marriage when Isabel gets restless, when the closed environment of the Osmond home is breached by not just Isabel's past suitors, but at least one man who wants to marry Pansy. Osmond's retaliatory moves are fascinating, if terrifying, to watch - and part of me regards this as a horror novel, though the monster is an extreme patriarch.

Throughout, James balances the precision of his exposition with vicious scenes of confrontations where voices are never raised and the malice is chill and almost polite - and it's that lethal quiet voice that makes Osmond such a baneful, toxic figure for me.

Once again, I'm pondering the ending - why does Isabel return? She has options to take refuge at Gardencourt, with Henrietta Stackpole, she could return to the US. But there's something about that kiss with Casper Greenwood, imposed on her, which seems to make up her mind: 'his kiss was like white lightning, a flash that spread and spread again, and stayed; and it was extraordinarily as if, while she took it, she felt each thing in his hard manhood that had least pleased her, each aggressive fact of his face, his figure, his presence, justified of its intense identity and made one with this act of possession.' Something about this possessive masculinity causes her rejection and frees her from it. But I'm still left not knowing how Isabel's return can be a form of freedom from here. But that's Henry James - a third reading of this book and I'm still thinking about how to make sense of Isabel Archer and her decisions.

--------------Original review ------------------
The real offence, as she ultimately perceived, was her having a mind of her own at all

Perhaps one of James' most accessible novels, this asks moral questions which still trouble us: what does it mean to live a 'free' life? how can we balance the constrictions and responsibilities of marriage, family and friendships with a sense of an independent self? how to negotiate the ethical character of having/not having money? That James manages this without preaching, without offering up easy or polemical answers, and wraps the whole thing up in elegant, nuanced prose is an art.

The social comedy is both sunny and deeply ironic, and the labyrinthine architecture of the novel which turns back upon itself a number of times is masterful. Reading this for the second time, I was struck by how many feelers this book puts out to previous and future literature: it looks ahead to James' own The Wings of the Dove but surely also back to Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Middlemarch's Dorothea Brooke, as well as forward to Virginia Woolf's heroines who also have a sense of 'affronting [their] destiny'.

James' style is definitely more 'telling' than 'showing' but proves the inadequacy of any easy 'creative writing' hierarchy: in the hands of a craftsman, 'telling' enables polyphony and debate as much as dramatising.

Close attention to words, detail and imagery is absolutely essential to navigate our way through this narrative - the first description of Gilbert Osmond's Florentine villa, for example:

this antique, solid, weather-worn, yet imposing front had a somewhat incommunicative character. It was the mask, not the face of the house. It had heavy lids, but no eyes; the house in reality looked another way

or an early description of Osmond himself: 'he was the elegant complicated medal struck off for a special occasion', which intersects with the systematic imagery of expensive objects throughout the book - paintings, porcelain, bibelots.

So a wonderfully complex, subtle, nuanced story that kept me both gripped and enthralled.

[[P] · Rating 5 out of 5]

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.

[Katia N · Rating 3 out of 5]

After having read this “Portrait”, I’ve started to respect Emma Bovary’s life choices much more:-)

Update:
I am currently reading Borges’s essays. The one of them is a prologue to James’s story “The Abasement of the Northmores”. I’ve never heard of this story before and generally I loved James’s shorter fictions. So I am going to read it. However, Borges formulates something that expands and explains what I felt about James’s characters and his way of creating his fiction.

Paradoxically James is not a psychological novelist. The situations in his books do not emerge from his characters; the characters have been fabricated to justify situations.”

That was exactly what I felt reading this novel. It is certainly pertinent to Isabel Archer as a character. It was driven by the situations and James puzzling what to do with them picking up not the most realistic scenario, but the way that interested him even if by sacrificing the depth of his characters. We’ve discussed this in the comments under this box, but I was excited that Borges expressed it that way. I also agree that James’s novels are not necessarily psychological. But he can do a very deep psychology though when he chooses so; especially through subtle details.

[Rakhi Dalal · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it."
----- G.B.Shaw

With no offence to men at all, I quoted the above because of its relevance with this work by Henry James.

Essentially written about the idea of freedom / liberty, its assertion and realization, in the wake of limits imposed by conventions or moral ideals, specifically in case of women, is at the heart of this work. A beautiful Portrait, a work of art. An art work not because the protagonist is looked upon as an object by other characters, but also because one can look upon the portrait, marvel at the depth of her character and contemplate what her final gesture meant.

While Ralph, her cousin, is amused by her and helps her to inherit a fortune, if only to witness what the liberal woman would make of it, a reader looks upon her, empathetically. While Madam Merle orchestrates (arranges) her meeting with Osmond and make sure that she marries him, the reader is appalled at the apparent innocence on her face. While Osmond thinks of her as a material to work with, thereby decorating his house with her, the reader is apprehensive about her next step. While Mr. Goodwood never looses interest in her life and come back again and again to see how she is living, the reader is curiously stirred by mere thought of a passion.

So everyone, including the reader, look upon her, judge her decisions and contemplate her steps.

But this work by James is not mere that. It is a reflection upon the ideal of freedom and its execution in a woman’s life; an action, struggle and the consequent decisions taken, by choice. This is what James has achieved with this work; that liberty is not only an ideal but a responsibility too. Though the reader may not approve of her step at the end, keeping in mind the betrayal of trust brought about by Madam Merle and Osmond, but it is to kept in mind that her decision at the end is her own will too. A will which comes not merely from the limitations imposed but also from the vow to remain true to oneself. In Isabel’s case, it must be attributed to her choice to remain present in Pansy’s life.


P.S.A star less because of the apparent infatuation of H.James with aristocracy; big houses, paintings, idle ways, travels and interestingly, no one seemed to be doing anything of importance whatsoever other than taking an interest in Isabel’s life.