Reading James one feels caught between two safe harbors. On one side is the literature of the 19th-century. It is a fundamentally different world; a world to escape to. Yes it is vast, but from Austen to Dickens to Flaubert to Tolstoy, there is a similarity in the world the characters inhabit, and a similarity in authorial approaches to handling those characters. Across the way is the literature of the 20th-century, beginning with Modernism, and spiraling into all the chaos of its wake. Again, at the risk of being reductive, there is a connecting thread in the way novelists position themselves as dealing with an alien external cultural world, and the way interiority is used to explore one's place in an incomprehensible culture. James sits in the strait between these two terrains, likely in a very regal sailboat, as befits his style. There is a feeling of a detached reality that reminds of the 19th-century, but the interiority, and the slightest hints of a changing social reality, peek over at the 20th.
No writer is more thoroughly aristocratic in his being and his preoccupations; and all the good and ill that comes with such an appellation suits James. His stories are eminent explorations of character -- and the social worlds in which his characters move about. James plumbs the simplest of conversations for all their depth, casting a light on the emotional drama that exists in everyone's lives. He has an affinity for the social upstart. Examining those who break the code is always a method of reflecting on how social society operates, and creating indelible protagonists along the way. This volume also reveals James' preoccupations with hidden secrets, meanings, and revelations. The Aspern Papers, The Real Thing, The Turn of the Screw, The Figure in the Carpet, and The Beast in the Jungle all have central gambits, unresolved questions, that propel their narratives forward. James delights in that quest, using all his powers of allusive but inconclusive dialogue to tantalize the reader. I find keeping up with his meaning on a sentence-to-sentence level harder than any other prominent novelist I've read, but there is something delightful about trying to keep track of his sentences, like moving about an elaborately arranged garden. The secret-based stories are an embodiment of how despite his critical professions of commitment to "reality," there is an aspect of James that revels in the fictiveness of fiction, the game-playing nature of it--something replicated by people like Nabokov and Pynchon. That is not to say James avoids reality. Far from it. His emotional sensitivity is acute, one could even say too tender. Sometimes his characters are caught in the throes of emotion and I'm unsure how they got there. But that is altogether part of his charm. He lacks for social consciousness, and limns only a carefully removed segment of society, but he enchants the world he depicts, leaving one with a sense of lightness and delicacy in spite of the winding emotional roads James' takes you on.
The essays here are also great. James utter commitment to the world of literary fiction shines through, as does his typical insight into American society and its relation to European culture. Some of his criticism of Hawthorne and Whitman reveal much more about his own parochial view on America than theirs, but the comments on the nature of fiction, Balzac, Shakespeare, and Emerson are all penetrating. I always want to use the word "charming" to describe his work. He leaves you feeling charmed. It's not the full spectrum of what one could ask for from literature, but it is exquisite at doing what it aims to do.