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The Chateau
It is 1948, and a young American couple arrive in France for a holiday, full of anticipation and enthusiasm. But the countryside and people are war-battered, and their reception at the Chateau Beaumesnil is not all the open-hearted Americans could wish for.
402 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1961
81 people are currently reading
1558 people want to read
About the author
William Maxwell
120 books361 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
William Keepers Maxwell Jr. was an American novelist, and fiction editor at the New Yorker. He studied at the University of Illinois and Harvard University. Maxwell wrote six highly acclaimed novels, a number of short stories and essays, children's stories, and a memoir, Ancestors (1972). His award-winning fiction, which is increasingly seen as some of the most important of the 20th Century, has recurring themes of childhood, family, loss and lives changed quietly and irreparably. Much of his work is autobiographical, particularly concerning the loss of his mother when he was 10 years old growing up in the rural Midwest of America and the house where he lived at the time, which he referred to as the "Wunderkammer" or "Chamber of Wonders". He wrote of his loss "It happened too suddenly, with no warning, and we none of us could believe it or bear it... the beautiful, imaginative, protected world of my childhood swept away." Since his death in 2000 several works of biography have appeared, including A William Maxwell Portrait: Memories and Appreciations (W. W. Norton & Co., 2004), My Mentor: A Young Man's Friendship with William Maxwell by Alec Wilkinson (Houghton-Mifflin, 2002), and William Maxwell: A Literary Life by Barbara Burkhardt (University of Illinois Press, 2005). In 2008 the Library of America published the first of two collections of William Maxwell, Early Novels and Stories, Christopher Carduff editor. His collected edition of William Maxwell's fiction, published to mark the writer's centenary, was completed by a second volume, Later Novels and Stories in the fall of 2008.'
William Keepers Maxwell Jr. was an American novelist, and fiction editor at the New Yorker. He studied at the University of Illinois and Harvard University. Maxwell wrote six highly acclaimed novels, a number of short stories and essays, children's stories, and a memoir, Ancestors (1972). His award-winning fiction, which is increasingly seen as some of the most important of the 20th Century, has recurring themes of childhood, family, loss and lives changed quietly and irreparably. Much of his work is autobiographical, particularly concerning the loss of his mother when he was 10 years old growing up in the rural Midwest of America and the house where he lived at the time, which he referred to as the "Wunderkammer" or "Chamber of Wonders". He wrote of his loss "It happened too suddenly, with no warning, and we none of us could believe it or bear it... the beautiful, imaginative, protected world of my childhood swept away." Since his death in 2000 several works of biography have appeared, including A William Maxwell Portrait: Memories and Appreciations (W. W. Norton & Co., 2004), My Mentor: A Young Man's Friendship with William Maxwell by Alec Wilkinson (Houghton-Mifflin, 2002), and William Maxwell: A Literary Life by Barbara Burkhardt (University of Illinois Press, 2005). In 2008 the Library of America published the first of two collections of William Maxwell, Early Novels and Stories, Christopher Carduff editor. His collected edition of William Maxwell's fiction, published to mark the writer's centenary, was completed by a second volume, Later Novels and Stories in the fall of 2008.'
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April 28, 2023
Amidst the quiet gloom that hangs over post-war France, William Maxwell introduces us to Barbara and Harold Rhodes, American tourists who have come to find France and perhaps to forget themselves. They spend two weeks at a chateau in the country outside Paris and become intrigued with the family who own the chateau and the other inhabitants, both servants and guests. They are vaguely out of place amid the French, but they somehow long to be one with them, to fit, to be a part of this life that they fail miserably to understand.
It is almost sad to watch Harold struggle with his efforts not to commit faux pas and his attempts to understand and interpret the actions of these people with whom he so longs to share a true friendship.
In the mood he was in, he exaggerated, and his exaggerations gave rise to further exaggerations, and helplessly, without wanting to, analyzing and explaining and comparing one thing with another that had no relation to it, he got farther and farther from the truth.
Although the Americans move from the chateau in the Loire Valley to Paris, as their extended vacation progresses, they continue to be involved with the people they have met at the chateau, and it is these lives that capture their imaginations and attentions.
There is a sense of discomfort about this novel that never left me. The Americans are sincere in their desire to befriend the French, but they constantly overstep or underperform, and the general misunderstanding of the French people is evident, with both a pathos and a humor running throughout the tale. The sophisticated Frenchmen so often respond to the couple as one would to children, as if they should not be held responsible for themselves because they simply do not know any better. The Americans, on the other hand, are shy and tentative and puzzled by why their sincere overtures of charming acceptance are often received with a kind of coldness or even resentment.
Maxwell’s prose is absolutely beautiful. It is controlled and detailed and extremely visual, as in this passage regarding a couple Howard observes from his hotel window as they sleep in a room across the way.
The sleepers, both in one bed, were turned toward each other. She moved in her sleep, and he put his hand under her silken knees and gathered them to his loins and went on sleeping. Shortly afterward they turned away from each other, as if to demonstrate that in marriage there is no real resting place.
It is evident that Maxwell was very familiar with the French countryside and with the major cities. His descriptions are visceral. I have never been to France, but, when I closed the covers of the book, I felt as if I had strolled from one Parisian arrondissement to another and seen the ruins of ancient priories by moonlight.
This book was a firm 5-star read for me through page 354 when Part One ended and Part Two began. For me, this was the end, and indeed the proper end, to the book. Then for some strange reason that I cannot fathom, Maxwell decided to have a roughly 50 page Q&A regarding the future of the characters, both American and French.
This Q&A was posed in exactly that format, as if the reader were asking questions about the events of the book and the author, Maxwell, was forced to tie up loose ends. It was somewhat bizarre and did not have the effect of finishing off the story, as one might have supposed it was intended to do. I wondered that such a brilliant editor would not edit himself or have someone among all his erudite acquaintances suggest this was not an enhancement to his work. I felt it unnecessary, oddly disjointing, and deflating. It brought the rating, for me, down a full star.
It is almost sad to watch Harold struggle with his efforts not to commit faux pas and his attempts to understand and interpret the actions of these people with whom he so longs to share a true friendship.
In the mood he was in, he exaggerated, and his exaggerations gave rise to further exaggerations, and helplessly, without wanting to, analyzing and explaining and comparing one thing with another that had no relation to it, he got farther and farther from the truth.
Although the Americans move from the chateau in the Loire Valley to Paris, as their extended vacation progresses, they continue to be involved with the people they have met at the chateau, and it is these lives that capture their imaginations and attentions.
There is a sense of discomfort about this novel that never left me. The Americans are sincere in their desire to befriend the French, but they constantly overstep or underperform, and the general misunderstanding of the French people is evident, with both a pathos and a humor running throughout the tale. The sophisticated Frenchmen so often respond to the couple as one would to children, as if they should not be held responsible for themselves because they simply do not know any better. The Americans, on the other hand, are shy and tentative and puzzled by why their sincere overtures of charming acceptance are often received with a kind of coldness or even resentment.
Maxwell’s prose is absolutely beautiful. It is controlled and detailed and extremely visual, as in this passage regarding a couple Howard observes from his hotel window as they sleep in a room across the way.
The sleepers, both in one bed, were turned toward each other. She moved in her sleep, and he put his hand under her silken knees and gathered them to his loins and went on sleeping. Shortly afterward they turned away from each other, as if to demonstrate that in marriage there is no real resting place.
It is evident that Maxwell was very familiar with the French countryside and with the major cities. His descriptions are visceral. I have never been to France, but, when I closed the covers of the book, I felt as if I had strolled from one Parisian arrondissement to another and seen the ruins of ancient priories by moonlight.
This book was a firm 5-star read for me through page 354 when Part One ended and Part Two began. For me, this was the end, and indeed the proper end, to the book. Then for some strange reason that I cannot fathom, Maxwell decided to have a roughly 50 page Q&A regarding the future of the characters, both American and French.
This Q&A was posed in exactly that format, as if the reader were asking questions about the events of the book and the author, Maxwell, was forced to tie up loose ends. It was somewhat bizarre and did not have the effect of finishing off the story, as one might have supposed it was intended to do. I wondered that such a brilliant editor would not edit himself or have someone among all his erudite acquaintances suggest this was not an enhancement to his work. I felt it unnecessary, oddly disjointing, and deflating. It brought the rating, for me, down a full star.
November 29, 2016
This is a well-written (Maxwell doesn't write any other way) novel with a nostalgic feel (again, Maxwell doesn't seem to write any other way), with the longer first part (of two) reading almost like a travel diary at times; and just when you're wondering, near the end of that first part, what it might all mean, you arrive at the second part, which is almost meta-fiction, and requires the first part to achieve its ends.
Though the novel is not at all derivative, Maxwell's love for Virginia Woolf shines through, especially in the second part. Insentient beings think and a grandfather clock ticks with no one left to wind it. Actually, this novel is pure Maxwell, with his gentle humor and trademark empathy. I loved the last line, which explains so well why a sleepless person picks up the book, again, that had just been returned to the nightstand.
Though the novel is not at all derivative, Maxwell's love for Virginia Woolf shines through, especially in the second part. Insentient beings think and a grandfather clock ticks with no one left to wind it. Actually, this novel is pure Maxwell, with his gentle humor and trademark empathy. I loved the last line, which explains so well why a sleepless person picks up the book, again, that had just been returned to the nightstand.
April 23, 2024
William Maxwell is one of my favorite writers. I have liked everything of his that I have read -- until now.
July 9, 2015
I had never read any Maxwell before, nor based upon the descriptions of his other work, am I likely to do so - those themes just don't interest me. But, I decided to spend an Audible credit on this one, after listening to the sample. A good choice as it turned out.
Without rehashing the plot (too much), a young American couple tour Europe in 1948, during the rebuilding of the former war zone. For the first part of the book, they're based at a country estate of a family that takes in lodgers to make ends meet, becoming gradually enmeshed in their doings. The second half sees them based in Paris, where several members of the family, whom they've come to know, are also based; they end of staying at the family apartment there, while exploring the city. They return five years later, to find that life has moved on, although they're still fond of the family. Finally, there's an epilogue, wherein the omniscient narrator and a (hypothetical) reader have a dialogue concerning the many loose ends.
I've seen criticism that the book was more like an overgrown novella, and I disagree. Had they stayed in the country, perhaps it would've seemed so, but moving to Paris exposes them to new characters and experiences. If I were to quibble with anything, it's that they had so much time off, and seemingly quite a bit of money for folks who didn't come from upper class backgrounds themselves. Otherwise, the personalities were well differentiated, not stock "French people" at all. Harold and Barbara struck me as quite the culture mavens, but otherwise quite likeable folks one could identify with. There was one "loose end" that either I missed, or was implied - the subplot concerning Mme. Strauss, a fellow lodger in the country, who also lives in Paris.
The audio narration was terrific, although readers who don't understand French might be a bit thrown at the few points of untranslated text.
Definitely recommended.
Without rehashing the plot (too much), a young American couple tour Europe in 1948, during the rebuilding of the former war zone. For the first part of the book, they're based at a country estate of a family that takes in lodgers to make ends meet, becoming gradually enmeshed in their doings. The second half sees them based in Paris, where several members of the family, whom they've come to know, are also based; they end of staying at the family apartment there, while exploring the city. They return five years later, to find that life has moved on, although they're still fond of the family. Finally, there's an epilogue, wherein the omniscient narrator and a (hypothetical) reader have a dialogue concerning the many loose ends.
I've seen criticism that the book was more like an overgrown novella, and I disagree. Had they stayed in the country, perhaps it would've seemed so, but moving to Paris exposes them to new characters and experiences. If I were to quibble with anything, it's that they had so much time off, and seemingly quite a bit of money for folks who didn't come from upper class backgrounds themselves. Otherwise, the personalities were well differentiated, not stock "French people" at all. Harold and Barbara struck me as quite the culture mavens, but otherwise quite likeable folks one could identify with. There was one "loose end" that either I missed, or was implied - the subplot concerning Mme. Strauss, a fellow lodger in the country, who also lives in Paris.
The audio narration was terrific, although readers who don't understand French might be a bit thrown at the few points of untranslated text.
Definitely recommended.
September 25, 2022
William Maxwell is an absolute craftsman of language and, without a doubt, one of my favourite writers. This novel made me feel that not only have I just been vacationing in France, I was doing so in 1948.
December 4, 2013
A strange book. When I try and say what it's about, all I can think to say is that it's about a couple on vacation. But there's so much more. Maxwell captures perfectly the feelings of alienation in the traveler. There's the social disappointments, the inadvertent offense given, the anxiety about being taken advantage of. The book has its own weird sort of suspense. It's by no means a potboiler, but you read to find out what's behind the mysterious behavior of other characters and to see if the Americans will find the happiness they're looking for, if it's out there. No one captures the sweep of life as gracefully as Maxwell. He is both devoted to the goodness in people and versed in the intricacies of their neuroses and cowardice and frailty. He forgives all. I love how, with his elegant prose, he gets away with the most outlandish techniques, like imagining that the furniture talks and that crazy ending where he addresses the reader directly and explains what happened. He is a master.
October 18, 2021
Très sympa! I loved it. I began it with no expectations, loosely aware of William Maxwell as a former editor of the New Yorker without realizing he was also a novelist. So I’m not sure why I happened to pick this book up but am so glad that I did.
It is the story of an American couple, Harold and Barbara Rhodes, who visit France post war, 1948 I believe, and stay at a formerly grande maison, le Château Beaumesnil, in Normandy. Later they move into Paris for most of the remainder of their European stay. In both locations they come to know the extended family of the chateau’s proprietor Mme Viennot, as well as other guests. There is much low-key comedy as the Americans practice their French and both succumb to and resist their own expectations, as their French hosts persist in their traditions and practice their welcome of these visitors. As is true of all travel, a certain mutual opacity can be counted upon.
On one level the whole novel is a beautiful evocation of what it is to be an American in love with France generally and Paris particularly. I should know. Upon retirement my plan was an annual stay in Paris, but of course, due to you-know-what, I’ve had to forego the last two years. So the book was like water in the desert, and it both amused and thrilled me that a book published in 1961, taking place in 1948, could present me, plus/minus 70 years later, the same enchanting city I know. At one point, Harold says to himself, I can’t go home, I have to have this city. I feel you, brother!
But there is more. It would not be right to go into it other than to say that Maxwell works magic with shifting perspectives and the errors that inhere. He also peoples the story richly and is brilliant with dialogue and mood, such that what might seem mainly a domestic comedy on vacation in France becomes quite a lot more. That’s not to say that the story ever swerves into high drama, rather it expands into a tour of human connection, of time and memory, and it does so movingly.
It probably goes without saying that The Château is beautifully written and that the Audible version, narrated by Karl Miller, is excellent.
It is the story of an American couple, Harold and Barbara Rhodes, who visit France post war, 1948 I believe, and stay at a formerly grande maison, le Château Beaumesnil, in Normandy. Later they move into Paris for most of the remainder of their European stay. In both locations they come to know the extended family of the chateau’s proprietor Mme Viennot, as well as other guests. There is much low-key comedy as the Americans practice their French and both succumb to and resist their own expectations, as their French hosts persist in their traditions and practice their welcome of these visitors. As is true of all travel, a certain mutual opacity can be counted upon.
On one level the whole novel is a beautiful evocation of what it is to be an American in love with France generally and Paris particularly. I should know. Upon retirement my plan was an annual stay in Paris, but of course, due to you-know-what, I’ve had to forego the last two years. So the book was like water in the desert, and it both amused and thrilled me that a book published in 1961, taking place in 1948, could present me, plus/minus 70 years later, the same enchanting city I know. At one point, Harold says to himself, I can’t go home, I have to have this city. I feel you, brother!
But there is more. It would not be right to go into it other than to say that Maxwell works magic with shifting perspectives and the errors that inhere. He also peoples the story richly and is brilliant with dialogue and mood, such that what might seem mainly a domestic comedy on vacation in France becomes quite a lot more. That’s not to say that the story ever swerves into high drama, rather it expands into a tour of human connection, of time and memory, and it does so movingly.
It probably goes without saying that The Château is beautifully written and that the Audible version, narrated by Karl Miller, is excellent.
January 28, 2018
It’s ridiculous but I have put off this review of William Maxwell’s The Chateau for over six months. Why? Well for the uninitiated Maxwell was a legendary mentor for many famous writer of his day and he edited The New Yorker from 1936 to 1975. So, how dare I critique his work. What could I have to say? But of course the other part of me was fascinated. What were his novels like? The Chateau intrigued me. Two young Americans visit in France in 1948.
Quite straight forward to start with. Harold and Barbara travel through war-battered France on their way to the Chateau Beaumesnil. They plan to stay a while, immerse themselves in the countryside and widen their knowledge of the French language. Of course they encounter all the troubles travellers often encounter. Problems with luggage, trains, lack of porters and a dingy hotel. Disappointment at Tours. Finally they arrive at the Chateau after a long dusty walk as a result of not being met at the station.
Mme Vienot is friendly but there is no hot water in their room, they can’t find the toilet and there is no wood for the fireplace. Gradually it becomes apparent when dealing with the other guests and sometimes even between themselves, that there are communication problems.
“Mme Vienot interrupted the flow of wit and anecdote to inquire if he understood what was being said.
“I understand part of it,” he said eagerly.
A bleak expression crossed her face. Instead of smiling or saying something reassuring to him, she looked down at her plate. He glanced across the table at Barbara and saw, with surprise, that she was her natural self.”
Through conversations and outings and meals the novel moves on with simple but effective prose - at times you wonder what are you missing? Am I, like the characters reading too much into the actions of the foreigners?
And suddenly we read Part II and Maxwell shows his hand. It is no longer a simple narrative. It is instead, a reflection on life itself - the missteps, the misunderstandings and the fact that sometimes, not everything can be known. Like other reviewers, I love the last line. A challenging but ultimately rewarding read.
Quite straight forward to start with. Harold and Barbara travel through war-battered France on their way to the Chateau Beaumesnil. They plan to stay a while, immerse themselves in the countryside and widen their knowledge of the French language. Of course they encounter all the troubles travellers often encounter. Problems with luggage, trains, lack of porters and a dingy hotel. Disappointment at Tours. Finally they arrive at the Chateau after a long dusty walk as a result of not being met at the station.
Mme Vienot is friendly but there is no hot water in their room, they can’t find the toilet and there is no wood for the fireplace. Gradually it becomes apparent when dealing with the other guests and sometimes even between themselves, that there are communication problems.
“Mme Vienot interrupted the flow of wit and anecdote to inquire if he understood what was being said.
“I understand part of it,” he said eagerly.
A bleak expression crossed her face. Instead of smiling or saying something reassuring to him, she looked down at her plate. He glanced across the table at Barbara and saw, with surprise, that she was her natural self.”
Through conversations and outings and meals the novel moves on with simple but effective prose - at times you wonder what are you missing? Am I, like the characters reading too much into the actions of the foreigners?
And suddenly we read Part II and Maxwell shows his hand. It is no longer a simple narrative. It is instead, a reflection on life itself - the missteps, the misunderstandings and the fact that sometimes, not everything can be known. Like other reviewers, I love the last line. A challenging but ultimately rewarding read.
June 24, 2011
This is a rare gem of a book. It is so perfect in its depiction of traveling and falling in love with another country that, not only would I not change a word, I found section after section I wanted to absorb into my skin. Although written sixty years ago and set just after World War II, the interactions and reactions of a young American couple with the French and in France remain relevant, painful, hilarious, and true.
Its peaceful pace belies the profound transformation of its principal characters, Harold and Barbara, and of the painful recent history from which the French were so eager to shake loose in the fragile years of the late 1940’s. It is counter to French nature to turn away from history and move on with assertive hope; Barbara and Harold arrive at the border just as France accepts that breaking the habit of reflection and debate and marching in concert with their European neighbors- including Germany- is the only way out of the post-war depression.
Whether or not it was the writer's intention, Maxwell’s characters personify specific national characteristics or conditions that were present in France during this tender and uncertain time.
Mme Viénot is the face of dignity. She endeavors to preserve the gentility of the rapidly disappearing class of landed gentry. Hers is the eponymous château, which suffers the indignities of no hot water, no heat, and a larder limited by ration coupons. She is wily, a survivor, one foot trailing in the France’s past, the rest of her thrust forward, ready to grasp what she can to keep her home and legacy intact.
Eugène Boisgaillard encapsulates a nation emasculated by war, and its co-conspirators helplessness, guilt, and frustration. He runs hot and cold- a character you don’t trust and but somehow you come to understand. He is surely suffering some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder, a condition not spoken of in a nation that had lost so many of its young men to war. He resents the vitality and hope of the American naïfs as he comes to terms with the loss of his gracious pre-war lifestyle.
Mme Straus-Muguet is a reminder that all is not as good as it seems in the land of your dreams. Pulling back the curtain of Emerald City to see an insignificant blunderbuss at the controls is a keen disappointment. But once you accept the flaws and the ordinariness of it all, you also begin to feel more at home.
Her awkward social status is also a painful but unspoken reminder that, although united during the war by hunger, fear, resistance, or mere survival, the different social classes would sort themselves out in peacetime. Peace means never having to say “I’m sorry,” to someone beneath your standing.
Sabine and Alix are the face of the new France: young, strong, independent women. Sabine is blazing her career path without the help of her connected family or a paramour; Alix is a busy mother in a passionate but difficult marriage with the mercurial Eugène. These women realize there is no time to stop and reflect on all that was lost in two generations of war; their lives are rich and full, the demands on their intelligence and heart too great to tarry.
It often feels that Harold and Barbara are more conduits than characters, particularly the winsome and vague Barbara. Harold works so hard to understand and to be understood, to fit in, get along, adapt; he wants desperately to be French, but understands that he is the quintessential American. The passages showing Harold falling helplessly in love with France, encountering the inexplicable and the maddening, and finally, saying goodbye to Paris are heart-wrenching to any one who has known and loved that beautiful, proud, contrary, gracious country.
The Château is a love letter to France, and an homage to the baffling, intoxicating experience of traveling abroad. It is also an astute portrayal of post World War II Europe, of a country that was on the losing side of the victorious.
Its peaceful pace belies the profound transformation of its principal characters, Harold and Barbara, and of the painful recent history from which the French were so eager to shake loose in the fragile years of the late 1940’s. It is counter to French nature to turn away from history and move on with assertive hope; Barbara and Harold arrive at the border just as France accepts that breaking the habit of reflection and debate and marching in concert with their European neighbors- including Germany- is the only way out of the post-war depression.
Whether or not it was the writer's intention, Maxwell’s characters personify specific national characteristics or conditions that were present in France during this tender and uncertain time.
Mme Viénot is the face of dignity. She endeavors to preserve the gentility of the rapidly disappearing class of landed gentry. Hers is the eponymous château, which suffers the indignities of no hot water, no heat, and a larder limited by ration coupons. She is wily, a survivor, one foot trailing in the France’s past, the rest of her thrust forward, ready to grasp what she can to keep her home and legacy intact.
Eugène Boisgaillard encapsulates a nation emasculated by war, and its co-conspirators helplessness, guilt, and frustration. He runs hot and cold- a character you don’t trust and but somehow you come to understand. He is surely suffering some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder, a condition not spoken of in a nation that had lost so many of its young men to war. He resents the vitality and hope of the American naïfs as he comes to terms with the loss of his gracious pre-war lifestyle.
Mme Straus-Muguet is a reminder that all is not as good as it seems in the land of your dreams. Pulling back the curtain of Emerald City to see an insignificant blunderbuss at the controls is a keen disappointment. But once you accept the flaws and the ordinariness of it all, you also begin to feel more at home.
Her awkward social status is also a painful but unspoken reminder that, although united during the war by hunger, fear, resistance, or mere survival, the different social classes would sort themselves out in peacetime. Peace means never having to say “I’m sorry,” to someone beneath your standing.
Sabine and Alix are the face of the new France: young, strong, independent women. Sabine is blazing her career path without the help of her connected family or a paramour; Alix is a busy mother in a passionate but difficult marriage with the mercurial Eugène. These women realize there is no time to stop and reflect on all that was lost in two generations of war; their lives are rich and full, the demands on their intelligence and heart too great to tarry.
It often feels that Harold and Barbara are more conduits than characters, particularly the winsome and vague Barbara. Harold works so hard to understand and to be understood, to fit in, get along, adapt; he wants desperately to be French, but understands that he is the quintessential American. The passages showing Harold falling helplessly in love with France, encountering the inexplicable and the maddening, and finally, saying goodbye to Paris are heart-wrenching to any one who has known and loved that beautiful, proud, contrary, gracious country.
The Château is a love letter to France, and an homage to the baffling, intoxicating experience of traveling abroad. It is also an astute portrayal of post World War II Europe, of a country that was on the losing side of the victorious.
June 12, 2016
What a refreshing change from the hectic melodrama of Haweswater! Maxwell's style is clipped and urbane, of its time (1961) with a hint of modernism (talking furniture ...). Somehow what should be a mundane travel journal with no plot to speak of is endlessly captivating, as the naive young American couple Harold and Barbara fall in love with France but consistently struggle to grasp what's going on around them and understand all the subtle nuances of social interaction with the family they stay with and the people they meet. Maxwell beautifully conveys that constant sense of just missing something that you get in unfamiliar places, the inadvertent social faux pas, the anxiety. And the characters are brilliant, from moody Eugene to the totally baffling Mme Straus, who is probably making everything up in order to conceal her inconsequentiality. The explanatory dialogue in part 2 didn't quite work for me, but I'm happy to have discovered Maxwell, whom I'd never previously heard of.
January 1, 2022
I discovered William Maxwell this fall and fell in love with his writing. I was drawn to him because he grew up in Lincoln, IL which is not far from where I grew up. In They Came Like Swallows and So Long, See you Tomorrow he captured the small town, Central Illinois setting that I remember so well.
If I had not visited Paris and the Loire Valley, I’m not sure The Chateau would have resonated with me. This book, albeit beautifully written, seemed mostly like a travelogue while hinting at the deeper stories of the cast of characters. The Epilogue attempts to answer some questions that are not resolved in the book itself, but it fell short.
I’m happy I read this book because it is such a pleasure to read Maxwell’s writing and his descriptions of a part of the world I loved visiting, but if you are looking for a plot, look elsewhere.
If I had not visited Paris and the Loire Valley, I’m not sure The Chateau would have resonated with me. This book, albeit beautifully written, seemed mostly like a travelogue while hinting at the deeper stories of the cast of characters. The Epilogue attempts to answer some questions that are not resolved in the book itself, but it fell short.
I’m happy I read this book because it is such a pleasure to read Maxwell’s writing and his descriptions of a part of the world I loved visiting, but if you are looking for a plot, look elsewhere.
August 30, 2010
A strange novel really. I discovered William Maxwell by picking up a copy of his novella 'They Came Like Swallows', which I loved, but this never quite gets going. It's the story of an American couple visiting France just after the Second World War, and the various French friends that they make along the way. It's a study of the friendships that we make when travelling, and though there is a precision and clarity to the writing that I enjoyed, it felt like an idea for another novella bloated by a publisher's hubris. The final section where a Guardian Passnotes style second voice is introduced is interesting, but faintly bizarre given this only features in the final 50 pages. There are also a few gaps to the narrative - the trip to Austria is talked about in the future and then retrospectively, so was obviously cut - giving the novel a disjointed feel.
I think Maxwell is a really talented writer, and TCLS is wonderful, but this was disappointing.
I think Maxwell is a really talented writer, and TCLS is wonderful, but this was disappointing.
November 14, 2010
Enough! Bastante! Abbastanza! I'm not gonna try to read this anymore. Can this be the same author who wrote the pointed and precise So Long, See You Tomorrow?
I spent days and days forcing myself to keep trying with this book. It was all I could do to get through a chapter a day, sometimes not even that. I made it to page 138. It felt more like drudgery than an enjoyable reading experience, so I quit.
The book has its good moments. I stayed with it as long as I did because it was interesting to see what travel in Europe was like in 1948, when the effects of World War II were still very evident. That factor wasn't compelling enough to keep me reading, because the plot is so dull and the characters so annoying. If you love France and are quite familiar with it, this story might grab you. Otherwise, it's a frustrating grind.
I spent days and days forcing myself to keep trying with this book. It was all I could do to get through a chapter a day, sometimes not even that. I made it to page 138. It felt more like drudgery than an enjoyable reading experience, so I quit.
The book has its good moments. I stayed with it as long as I did because it was interesting to see what travel in Europe was like in 1948, when the effects of World War II were still very evident. That factor wasn't compelling enough to keep me reading, because the plot is so dull and the characters so annoying. If you love France and are quite familiar with it, this story might grab you. Otherwise, it's a frustrating grind.
May 3, 2009
"The Chateau" doesn't measure up to William Maxwell's best novels in any way. I'm a big fan of Maxwell's lean, simple, evocative, very human writing, but this book was slow and dull; it's a big disappointment for those weened on Maxwell's much better novels such as "Time Will Darken It" (one of my favorites). I confess I couldn't even make it through "The Chateau," though I got well into it, hoping it would improve. I feel bad for those whose first Maxwell is this novel; they have no idea how good he can be.
May 4, 2017
Gave up half-way through, because it was so tedious. Watching paint dry would have been scintillating in comparison.
Harold and Barbara have breakfast in the French chateau they are holidaying in; Harold and Barbara go on an excursion; Harold and Barbara have lunch; Harold and Barbara go on an excursion; Harold and Barbara have dinner with their equally boring guests; Harold and Barbara go to bed in their cold, damp room.
Repeat for 402 pages, and rue the fortnight of your life that you will never retrieve.
I actually read this on holiday in France, but it didn't make it any more enjoyable.
Harold and Barbara have breakfast in the French chateau they are holidaying in; Harold and Barbara go on an excursion; Harold and Barbara have lunch; Harold and Barbara go on an excursion; Harold and Barbara have dinner with their equally boring guests; Harold and Barbara go to bed in their cold, damp room.
Repeat for 402 pages, and rue the fortnight of your life that you will never retrieve.
I actually read this on holiday in France, but it didn't make it any more enjoyable.
May 5, 2017
Having read most of the book before our Book Group meeting I felt that I should perhaps finish it. Now I wish I hadn't wasted my time. Such a tedious trek through Barbara and Harold's holiday and not saved by the final chapter "Some Explanations" which were also uninteresting. I will be glad to remove this book from my bookshelf.
February 6, 2018
This was a very delicate, slow book, and - without spoiling anything - it remained realistically focused on alienation and interior motives. I kept waiting for the kicker, the twist, the dark side of human nature to pop up, but no, this book was faithful to the good-natured and well- intentioned misunderstandings, frustrations, and miscommunications of being a foreigner. Post-war France was obviously not all roses and daisies, which the idealistic couple slowly learns as they tour bullet-pocked towns, stay in chateaux and hotels commandeered and billeted by the Nazis, and form gradual relationships with characters still rebuilding their lives. Some have criticised this as being more of a travelogue than a book with a plot, but I rather enjoyed Harold and Barbara's well-meaning desire to understand and be accepted, and their open wonder at their surroundings. Frankly, I'd take a meandering travel diary this well-written over some of the overly-terse MFA fiction I've had to put down recently any day.
April 28, 2017
I tried to finish this but couldn't. An American couple staying in France and paying money to stay in a Chateau but didn't like asking to have hot water, having use of bicycles etc. Blah! The story before they got to the Chateau was the most interesting! Once I found I was skipping pages I realised it was time to stop!
February 28, 2016
I was a bit disappointed. I found it a bit rambling.
September 12, 2025
In the midst of reading and reviewing (internally myself and with Booker Prize Bookclub friends) the 2025 long list for the Booker Prize I thought I needed to reach back into my archives to read something ‘other’. I have always absolutely loved William Maxwell’s novels and thought The Chateau was the reset my mind needed. It did not disappoint.
Maxwell transports the reader back to France in the immediate postwar period (1948 to be precise). An American couple arrive by boat to begin a European tour. They start by navigating themselves and a massive unrealistic mound of luggage (no wheelie cases then) by public transport with physical timetables to Mont St. Michel. Travel without a smartphone is still within my memory and the couples travails were poignant to me. By personal recommendation they arrange in advance two weeks in a family owned Chateau in the Loire valley intent on searching out the beautiful and prolific historic Chateaux in the area. Post war Europe is a shock to the ‘Yanks’: rationing even sugar! - hilariously everyone has their own cache; bombed out buildings and ravaged countryside; poverty and rampant inflation for the French people despite being on the ‘winning side’; the arrival of three German businessmen and how do you treat them - What about the Holocaust? Were they complicit Nazis? Should they apologise for their nation’s sins? Did they perhaps suffer too? The aftermath of war deserves our attention because it is horrific and its effects cloud generations.
Maxwell, who had travelled in postwar Europe himself, had other messages for his readers in addition to unravelling the World War trauma. The Americans speak a little French and are constantly being misunderstood and ignored: in their minds or are they being snubbed in reality? He subtly dissects the difficulty for a mere tourist trying to understand the foreign country they are visiting. So many things are unsaid and the tourists take everything too personally not realising what they are witnessing: the effect of WW2 on the French after capitulation and occupation by the Germans; that family crises, unspoken to them, underline a lot of the behaviours of the family in the chateau. Some backstories are not explained especially the background of the Americans: their childless state - is it intentional or not; why are they travelling; what is their back history.
The novel has an epilogue of sorts to give the reader closure on the storylines and explain mysterious or puzzling happenings. I found this intriguing but a dissonance within the novel. It was fascinating to read the imagined back stories and the future for the protagonists. But as readers don’t we need to fill in the dots? An interesting literary technique and I am still trying to ascertain whether it works or not.
Overall a fantastic novel and I am devastated he wrote so few.
Maxwell transports the reader back to France in the immediate postwar period (1948 to be precise). An American couple arrive by boat to begin a European tour. They start by navigating themselves and a massive unrealistic mound of luggage (no wheelie cases then) by public transport with physical timetables to Mont St. Michel. Travel without a smartphone is still within my memory and the couples travails were poignant to me. By personal recommendation they arrange in advance two weeks in a family owned Chateau in the Loire valley intent on searching out the beautiful and prolific historic Chateaux in the area. Post war Europe is a shock to the ‘Yanks’: rationing even sugar! - hilariously everyone has their own cache; bombed out buildings and ravaged countryside; poverty and rampant inflation for the French people despite being on the ‘winning side’; the arrival of three German businessmen and how do you treat them - What about the Holocaust? Were they complicit Nazis? Should they apologise for their nation’s sins? Did they perhaps suffer too? The aftermath of war deserves our attention because it is horrific and its effects cloud generations.
Maxwell, who had travelled in postwar Europe himself, had other messages for his readers in addition to unravelling the World War trauma. The Americans speak a little French and are constantly being misunderstood and ignored: in their minds or are they being snubbed in reality? He subtly dissects the difficulty for a mere tourist trying to understand the foreign country they are visiting. So many things are unsaid and the tourists take everything too personally not realising what they are witnessing: the effect of WW2 on the French after capitulation and occupation by the Germans; that family crises, unspoken to them, underline a lot of the behaviours of the family in the chateau. Some backstories are not explained especially the background of the Americans: their childless state - is it intentional or not; why are they travelling; what is their back history.
The novel has an epilogue of sorts to give the reader closure on the storylines and explain mysterious or puzzling happenings. I found this intriguing but a dissonance within the novel. It was fascinating to read the imagined back stories and the future for the protagonists. But as readers don’t we need to fill in the dots? An interesting literary technique and I am still trying to ascertain whether it works or not.
Overall a fantastic novel and I am devastated he wrote so few.
January 25, 2012
I listened to the audio version of this novel and I have no complaint with the narration. It is the content and tone of the story that didn’t work for me. Let me explain.
The story is about an American couple vacationing in Europe after the Second World War. The story focuses on the couple’s travels in France, although they also visited Italy, Switzerland and other countries. They stayed in a country manor near Blois, thus in the Loire valley with all its chateaux. And they visited Paris too. The trip was for a few months. They hoped to improve their French. They hoped that by staying in a chateau they would come to know some French on a more intimate level It was not merely the sites that drew them; but also a better understanding of the French mentality. But can you learn that over such a short stay? Do you truly become intimate when you are a paying customer? The book has a peculiar philosophical tone. It takes you into the lives of a group of people, but it also poses the question: is what you see really the truth? There is much the Americans do not understand about the past experiences of the people they come to know. The questions go even further. Is their any point in searching for an understanding of what has happened or why people act as they do? Yes, we may wonder, but there are so many interpretations! Is there one right answer? The book seems to say: so why bother? You will never understand any way! My response is: even if there is no right answer the search is tantalizing. How do you squash curiosity? is my response. The author seemed to be saying it doesn’t matter since we will never really understand anyway. But how do you stop curiosity. The message is clearly that people continually misjudge and misconstrue what happens around them. My question is: so where does that leave you?!
Furthermore the third person narrative makes it harder to empathize with the characters. I liked none! Even those that you warm to disappoint in the end.
What I did like very much in the book were the descriptions of places and often the author perfectly conjured a picture of how a French person would react to a given circumstance. For this reason it could be fun to read the book before visiting France. Maybe…… Or having visited France you will clearly recognize certain French behavior characteristics.
Put very simply the philosophical meanderings left me cold. The depiction of places and French people were wonderful. Although I felt like kicking the American couple at a few points, eventually they learned to appreciate French provincial life and Paris. And there is some humor concerning how French and Americans view each other. However I can only give the book two stars.
The story is about an American couple vacationing in Europe after the Second World War. The story focuses on the couple’s travels in France, although they also visited Italy, Switzerland and other countries. They stayed in a country manor near Blois, thus in the Loire valley with all its chateaux. And they visited Paris too. The trip was for a few months. They hoped to improve their French. They hoped that by staying in a chateau they would come to know some French on a more intimate level It was not merely the sites that drew them; but also a better understanding of the French mentality. But can you learn that over such a short stay? Do you truly become intimate when you are a paying customer? The book has a peculiar philosophical tone. It takes you into the lives of a group of people, but it also poses the question: is what you see really the truth? There is much the Americans do not understand about the past experiences of the people they come to know. The questions go even further. Is their any point in searching for an understanding of what has happened or why people act as they do? Yes, we may wonder, but there are so many interpretations! Is there one right answer? The book seems to say: so why bother? You will never understand any way! My response is: even if there is no right answer the search is tantalizing. How do you squash curiosity? is my response. The author seemed to be saying it doesn’t matter since we will never really understand anyway. But how do you stop curiosity. The message is clearly that people continually misjudge and misconstrue what happens around them. My question is: so where does that leave you?!
Furthermore the third person narrative makes it harder to empathize with the characters. I liked none! Even those that you warm to disappoint in the end.
What I did like very much in the book were the descriptions of places and often the author perfectly conjured a picture of how a French person would react to a given circumstance. For this reason it could be fun to read the book before visiting France. Maybe…… Or having visited France you will clearly recognize certain French behavior characteristics.
Put very simply the philosophical meanderings left me cold. The depiction of places and French people were wonderful. Although I felt like kicking the American couple at a few points, eventually they learned to appreciate French provincial life and Paris. And there is some humor concerning how French and Americans view each other. However I can only give the book two stars.
April 19, 2007
Despite my fascination with The New Yorker, I only found out about this writer through the TLS (and had to buy it at the time from Amazon.co.uk) and it sounded like the perfect book to buy for an upcoming trip to France. Maxwell's gentle prose and nostalgic story grabbed me at a time when I was no longer reading many novels and I fell completely in love with it.
May 28, 2008
Mmmmmm... a perfect depiction of miscommunications and misunderstandings between cultures and languages. Lacks passion, humor, or illicitation of any feelings other then "oh, that's too bad for them." Forgettable?
Read
March 3, 2013Every single word in this long novel is perfectly placed. Maxwell is remarkable.
June 5, 2016
I really liked his reflections on being abroad, but I didn't get anything out of the story itself. I would have preferred a non-fiction essay by him on travel, living abroad, etc.
May 6, 2018
If it weren't so well-written, William Maxwell's novel, The Chateau, would bore you to death. And if the inventive coda weren't so cheeky and authoritative, the novel as a whole would be a very great flop.
The problem is this: Two newly married Americans go to France in the late '40s and they suffer all the indignities four months of tourism can offer: luggage difficulties, overcharges, opaque cultural rebuffs lightly sweetened with polite formalities, dreadful rooms, no hot water, bad food, endless discussions about whether to break the schedule and hurry ahead, inscrutable and undeserved affections showered upon them by needy acquaintances...
In the hands of Henry Green, this tale would be delightfully comic. He'd make the most of the confusions, the squabbles, the endless dinners, the endless rain, etc. Maxwell chooses, instead, to honor French rigidities and reserve, letting Harold and Barbara peer at life as though through smokey plate glass. Some have called Maxwell a romantic in writing this way. I'm not sure about that. He becomes very sharp and pointed at least once on every page.
The centerpiece of the novel is a two-week stay at a once grand chateau now run as a country hotel, of sorts. Madam Viénot operates it. She's wise and tight-fisted, determined to keep up appearances and not let anyone in on what happened to the family money. Her daughter scrapes by as a commercial artist in Paris. She visits the chateau from time to time. Likewise Madam Viénot's son, Eugène, and his wife, Alix. Harold and Barbara would like to befriend all of them, the other guests included. Harold and Barbara are Americans, after all. Not uncultured Americans but still...Americans like to get on with people...and Americans tend not to think that having smashed France in the process of crushing Hitler should be held against them.
But Harold and Barbara can't figure people out, and there is no Jamesian middleman to explain to them why Eugène runs hot and cold or why Alix does the same. At times the sun shines. There are good days along the river and good days visiting other chateaux and a party or two from which it is at least enjoyable to leave.
All along Maxwell describes everything he's willing to reveal quite expertly. He is (was) a fine, fine writer. But he's got a narrative trick in mind. He's going to hold back on the backstory of the indecipherable French cast and force the reader to puzzle along...just as a reader of a book like this no doubt has puzzled along in France himself...or Italy herself...or Germany himself/herself.
We have too much luggage. We don't know what's in that bowl just set before us. We thought it was going to be a salad but it appears to be calf's brains. We think the sheets are mildewed or moldy or both. We look at so many paintings that we can barely recall any of them. We want desperately to carve out time for the Île de la Cité, but there are travelers checks to be cashed and tickets to be confirmed and a shoe that has to be picked up from a shoemaker who really doesn't repair shoes, he makes them, but is willing to do us a very expensive favor.
Do we need to read the memoirs of our own difficult spells as rookie tourists? Well, even if Barbara and Harold are a bit less interesting than we are, the cast of French characters is more interesting, and Maxwell scores point after point in presenting them. He does the same with foodstuffs, the moods of the day, the condition of an old chateau's plumbing, and the hazards of ferry rides.
Well, here's the deal, make of it what you will: He unravels all of his mysteries (and miseries) in his final section and we are able to see deeply into everyone's motivations. He does this after the fact. The story is over, but he goes back and in a kind of self-interview tells us what's bugging Eugène and Alix and so forth.
In other words, Maxwell masterfully (I think) violates that hoary old edict all the writing schools issue: He succeeds, in the end, by telling, not showing. This wrap-up is superb.
Now, would The Chateau be a better book if it showed more in a telling way throughout? I suppose not. I suppose I like writers who break rules, and in the end, I suppose I like The Chateau.
The problem is this: Two newly married Americans go to France in the late '40s and they suffer all the indignities four months of tourism can offer: luggage difficulties, overcharges, opaque cultural rebuffs lightly sweetened with polite formalities, dreadful rooms, no hot water, bad food, endless discussions about whether to break the schedule and hurry ahead, inscrutable and undeserved affections showered upon them by needy acquaintances...
In the hands of Henry Green, this tale would be delightfully comic. He'd make the most of the confusions, the squabbles, the endless dinners, the endless rain, etc. Maxwell chooses, instead, to honor French rigidities and reserve, letting Harold and Barbara peer at life as though through smokey plate glass. Some have called Maxwell a romantic in writing this way. I'm not sure about that. He becomes very sharp and pointed at least once on every page.
The centerpiece of the novel is a two-week stay at a once grand chateau now run as a country hotel, of sorts. Madam Viénot operates it. She's wise and tight-fisted, determined to keep up appearances and not let anyone in on what happened to the family money. Her daughter scrapes by as a commercial artist in Paris. She visits the chateau from time to time. Likewise Madam Viénot's son, Eugène, and his wife, Alix. Harold and Barbara would like to befriend all of them, the other guests included. Harold and Barbara are Americans, after all. Not uncultured Americans but still...Americans like to get on with people...and Americans tend not to think that having smashed France in the process of crushing Hitler should be held against them.
But Harold and Barbara can't figure people out, and there is no Jamesian middleman to explain to them why Eugène runs hot and cold or why Alix does the same. At times the sun shines. There are good days along the river and good days visiting other chateaux and a party or two from which it is at least enjoyable to leave.
All along Maxwell describes everything he's willing to reveal quite expertly. He is (was) a fine, fine writer. But he's got a narrative trick in mind. He's going to hold back on the backstory of the indecipherable French cast and force the reader to puzzle along...just as a reader of a book like this no doubt has puzzled along in France himself...or Italy herself...or Germany himself/herself.
We have too much luggage. We don't know what's in that bowl just set before us. We thought it was going to be a salad but it appears to be calf's brains. We think the sheets are mildewed or moldy or both. We look at so many paintings that we can barely recall any of them. We want desperately to carve out time for the Île de la Cité, but there are travelers checks to be cashed and tickets to be confirmed and a shoe that has to be picked up from a shoemaker who really doesn't repair shoes, he makes them, but is willing to do us a very expensive favor.
Do we need to read the memoirs of our own difficult spells as rookie tourists? Well, even if Barbara and Harold are a bit less interesting than we are, the cast of French characters is more interesting, and Maxwell scores point after point in presenting them. He does the same with foodstuffs, the moods of the day, the condition of an old chateau's plumbing, and the hazards of ferry rides.
Well, here's the deal, make of it what you will: He unravels all of his mysteries (and miseries) in his final section and we are able to see deeply into everyone's motivations. He does this after the fact. The story is over, but he goes back and in a kind of self-interview tells us what's bugging Eugène and Alix and so forth.
In other words, Maxwell masterfully (I think) violates that hoary old edict all the writing schools issue: He succeeds, in the end, by telling, not showing. This wrap-up is superb.
Now, would The Chateau be a better book if it showed more in a telling way throughout? I suppose not. I suppose I like writers who break rules, and in the end, I suppose I like The Chateau.
August 21, 2024
The story takes place in 1948, and France is still recovering from the war. Harold and Barbara, a couple of Americans, have decided to visit France as tourists. They discover that France is not quite ready for tourists and they experience many inconveniences. They have brought too much luggage and find that there are no porters to help carry their bags. After spending a few nights in small hotels they go to their destination, Chateau Beaumesnil but find no car waiting for them. When they finally get to the Chateau they find there is no hot water and a lack of toilets. They have difficulty communicating with the French and experience a lot of misunderstanding because of cultural differences. But they do their best to try to please their French hosts and the French try their best to tolerate them. The book concludes very strangely with Maxwell answering imaginary questions from the reader.
October 25, 2024
I really enjoyed the first three quarters of this. I wanted to give it four stars. Barbara and Harold Rhodes, Young Americans are on holiday in war ravaged France in 1948. They are like heavy footed, cloth-eared children - thirsty for a genteel European cultural experience, ridiculously blind to the weight of the war on the countryside, economy, buildings or people. In a rather touching, hopeless way, they hope to re-trace the footsteps of a pre-war trip that Barbara took as a child, and there’s a constant feeling of reaching out for something that isn’t quite there in every day trip, conversation, interaction they have. I was reminded of Withnail’s cry, ‘We’ve come on holiday by accident!’
Maxwell’s beautiful and thoughtful writing, rich in observation, doesn’t favour the French either. Most of the people they engage with are eccentric, slightly broken, curious about the couple but simply not able to offer the ‘friendship’ experience Barbara and Harold seem to be searching for. Theres a devastating moment at a party of young French people, where the cross purpose of their assumptions is revealed and a girl they are sort of relying on for social glue in a conversation suddenly says something horribly anti Jewish. Another moment on a jolly bicycle trip with ‘friends’ where Harold realises his French counterpart doesn’t actually like him. There’s a strong sense in all the beautiful descriptions of buildings, rivers, furniture, apartments, food - of needing to recover, of shortfalls, paucity, damp, bullet holes in masonry, of not being at one’s best.
The meta/post modern ending- where William Maxwell speaks to us directly, and says ‘what do you mean, what happened here or there? You can guess, you’re probably right’ is very jarring. I guess it matches the sort of futility of Barbara and Harold’s journey, the relationships that don’t work, are misunderstood, the mismatch of desire and assumptions. I read it as - ‘What did you think would happen, - life is disconnect, beautiful but difficult’
but if I’m honest, I’d have settled for a more traditional slightly happy ending for Harold and Barbara at least.
Maxwell’s beautiful and thoughtful writing, rich in observation, doesn’t favour the French either. Most of the people they engage with are eccentric, slightly broken, curious about the couple but simply not able to offer the ‘friendship’ experience Barbara and Harold seem to be searching for. Theres a devastating moment at a party of young French people, where the cross purpose of their assumptions is revealed and a girl they are sort of relying on for social glue in a conversation suddenly says something horribly anti Jewish. Another moment on a jolly bicycle trip with ‘friends’ where Harold realises his French counterpart doesn’t actually like him. There’s a strong sense in all the beautiful descriptions of buildings, rivers, furniture, apartments, food - of needing to recover, of shortfalls, paucity, damp, bullet holes in masonry, of not being at one’s best.
The meta/post modern ending- where William Maxwell speaks to us directly, and says ‘what do you mean, what happened here or there? You can guess, you’re probably right’ is very jarring. I guess it matches the sort of futility of Barbara and Harold’s journey, the relationships that don’t work, are misunderstood, the mismatch of desire and assumptions. I read it as - ‘What did you think would happen, - life is disconnect, beautiful but difficult’
but if I’m honest, I’d have settled for a more traditional slightly happy ending for Harold and Barbara at least.
March 3, 2020
The details and imagery in this novel are exquisite! A young American couple goes to France in the summer of 1948, both enthralled by the culture and sense of place, also puzzled and often derailed by disappointments. The chateau at the story's center contains various secrets: about the recent Nazi occupation, about the strange behavior of the family there, and especially about the reasons that people behave the way they do toward the Americans. It's a wonderful portrait of a time and people that reflects on beauty, romanticism and language.
July 7, 2022
An odd, nostalgic book which I found immensely compelling. Reading Maxwell’s prose is a sheer joy. Plot wise, not much happens but the characters and their relationships are so real. Proust and Woolf hover in the background and Paris comes to life.
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