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In the Cage
This long story centers on an unnamed London telegrapher. She deciphers clues to her clients' personal lives from the often cryptic telegrams they submit to her as she sits in the "cage" at the post office. Sensitive and intelligent, the telegrapher eventually finds out more than she may want to know.
Henry James, OM (15 April 1843 – 28 February 1916) was an American writer who spent most of his writing career in Britain. He is regarded as one of the key figures of 19th-century literary realism. 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 a number of novels showing Americans encountering Europe and Europeans. His method of writing from a character's point of view allowed him to explore issues related to consciousness and perception, and his style in later works has been compared to impressionist painting. His imaginative use of point of view, interior monologue and unreliable narrators brought a new depth to narrative fiction.
James contributed significantly to literary criticism, particularly in his insistence that writers be allowed the greatest possible freedom in presenting their view of the world. James claimed that a text must first and foremost be realistic and contain a representation of life that is recognizable to its readers. Good novels, to James, show life in action and are, most importantly, interesting.
In addition to his voluminous works of fiction he published articles and books of travel, biography, autobiography, and criticism, and wrote plays. James alternated between America and Europe for the first twenty years of his life; eventually he settled in England, becoming a British subject in 1915, one year before his death. James was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911, 1912, and 1916.
Henry James, OM (15 April 1843 – 28 February 1916) was an American writer who spent most of his writing career in Britain. He is regarded as one of the key figures of 19th-century literary realism. 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 a number of novels showing Americans encountering Europe and Europeans. His method of writing from a character's point of view allowed him to explore issues related to consciousness and perception, and his style in later works has been compared to impressionist painting. His imaginative use of point of view, interior monologue and unreliable narrators brought a new depth to narrative fiction.
James contributed significantly to literary criticism, particularly in his insistence that writers be allowed the greatest possible freedom in presenting their view of the world. James claimed that a text must first and foremost be realistic and contain a representation of life that is recognizable to its readers. Good novels, to James, show life in action and are, most importantly, interesting.
In addition to his voluminous works of fiction he published articles and books of travel, biography, autobiography, and criticism, and wrote plays. James alternated between America and Europe for the first twenty years of his life; eventually he settled in England, becoming a British subject in 1915, one year before his death. James was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911, 1912, and 1916.
128 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1898
33 people are currently reading
708 people want to read
About the author
Henry James
4,689 books3,985 followersHenry James was an American-British author. He is regarded as a key transitional figure between literary realism and literary modernism, and is considered by many to be among the greatest novelists in the English language. He was the son of Henry James Sr. and the brother of philosopher and psychologist William James and diarist Alice James.
He is best known for his novels dealing with the social and marital interplay between émigré Americans, the English, and continental Europeans, such as The Portrait of a Lady. His later works, such as The Ambassadors, The Wings of the Dove and The Golden Bowl were increasingly experimental. In describing the internal states of mind and social dynamics of his characters, James often wrote in a style in which ambiguous or contradictory motives and impressions were overlaid or juxtaposed in the discussion of a character's psyche. For their unique ambiguity, as well as for other aspects of their composition, his late works have been compared to Impressionist painting.
His novella The Turn of the Screw has garnered a reputation as the most analysed and ambiguous ghost story in the English language and remains his most widely adapted work in other media. He wrote other highly regarded ghost stories, such as "The Jolly Corner".
James published articles and books of criticism, travel, biography, autobiography, and plays. Born in the United States, James largely relocated to Europe as a young man, and eventually settled in England, becoming a British citizen in 1915, a year before his death. James was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911, 1912, and 1916. Jorge Luis Borges said "I have visited some literatures of East and West; I have compiled an encyclopedic compendium of fantastic literature; I have translated Kafka, Melville, and Bloy; I know of no stranger work than that of Henry James."
He is best known for his novels dealing with the social and marital interplay between émigré Americans, the English, and continental Europeans, such as The Portrait of a Lady. His later works, such as The Ambassadors, The Wings of the Dove and The Golden Bowl were increasingly experimental. In describing the internal states of mind and social dynamics of his characters, James often wrote in a style in which ambiguous or contradictory motives and impressions were overlaid or juxtaposed in the discussion of a character's psyche. For their unique ambiguity, as well as for other aspects of their composition, his late works have been compared to Impressionist painting.
His novella The Turn of the Screw has garnered a reputation as the most analysed and ambiguous ghost story in the English language and remains his most widely adapted work in other media. He wrote other highly regarded ghost stories, such as "The Jolly Corner".
James published articles and books of criticism, travel, biography, autobiography, and plays. Born in the United States, James largely relocated to Europe as a young man, and eventually settled in England, becoming a British citizen in 1915, a year before his death. James was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911, 1912, and 1916. Jorge Luis Borges said "I have visited some literatures of East and West; I have compiled an encyclopedic compendium of fantastic literature; I have translated Kafka, Melville, and Bloy; I know of no stranger work than that of Henry James."
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February 9, 2017
A rueful, gently comic novella -- neglected because scholars couldn't explain its 'misfit' in the James canon. Its focus is the working-class whose lives are a grind for God & Country. In pre-telephone days, c. 1900, a likeable telegraphist, engaged to a grocer, becomes involved in the coded "messages" between a married Lady and her lover.
Crisis: a message is lost. The aristo couple need her help. Beware of changing technology, cautions James who sent 100s of telegrams himself. If not careful, techno-wizardy can spin out of control, not unlike a truant Email. Further, James asks, can technology best reality and direct sociality? A question I'll let you answer.
Crisis: a message is lost. The aristo couple need her help. Beware of changing technology, cautions James who sent 100s of telegrams himself. If not careful, techno-wizardy can spin out of control, not unlike a truant Email. Further, James asks, can technology best reality and direct sociality? A question I'll let you answer.
July 1, 2021
“Esta era, ni más ni menos, la extraña prolongación de la experiencia de la joven, la doble vida que acabó llevando dentro de la jaula. A medida que iban pasando las semanas, vivía más y más en el mundo de los soplos y las visiones fugaces, y descubrió que sus conjeturas eran más rápidas y se extendían más lejos.”
Un gran acierto es esta novela corta de Henry James, mi segundo libro leído del autor.
Aquí nos presenta a una joven sin nombre, quien labora en una tienda de telégrafos junto con dos compañeros, pasando la mayor parte de su día ahí. El establecimiento es visitado por los vecinos adinerados y de clase alta de la zona.
Así, nuestra protagonista desde el interior de “la jaula”, observa y se imagina cómo será la vida de los clientes que la frecuentan y entre ellos habrá alguien que le dará un significado diferente a su vida.
Como dije, disfruté mucho de esta historia porque a pesar de ser corta, y de no ‘pasar’ casi nada (el modo de lectura es lento y pausado), la prosa y las ideas que plasma el autor en ella son una maravilla. Los personajes son pocos pero son los necesarios, su desarrollo es bueno (en especial el de la protagonista); quizá me hubiera gustado saber un poco más de quien pasa a ser el otro personaje principal, pero tampoco me puedo quejar ya que al tener tan pocas páginas se comprende.
Me llama la atención además que la joven no tenga un nombre y pienso que posiblemente sea por como la miran las personas que entran en la tienda, apenas percibiendo su existencia y mucho menos interesándose en su vida, mientras ella vive atrapada en la jaula dadas sus circunstancias. Es una interpretación que le he dado, y en tal caso me parece muy buena la crítica que hace Henry James con esta obra.
En fin, no me queda más que recomendar esta lectura y esperando leer muy pronto más obras del autor; ya tengo un par en la mira y me entusiasma la idea de continuar con ellas.
Un gran acierto es esta novela corta de Henry James, mi segundo libro leído del autor.
Aquí nos presenta a una joven sin nombre, quien labora en una tienda de telégrafos junto con dos compañeros, pasando la mayor parte de su día ahí. El establecimiento es visitado por los vecinos adinerados y de clase alta de la zona.
Así, nuestra protagonista desde el interior de “la jaula”, observa y se imagina cómo será la vida de los clientes que la frecuentan y entre ellos habrá alguien que le dará un significado diferente a su vida.
Como dije, disfruté mucho de esta historia porque a pesar de ser corta, y de no ‘pasar’ casi nada (el modo de lectura es lento y pausado), la prosa y las ideas que plasma el autor en ella son una maravilla. Los personajes son pocos pero son los necesarios, su desarrollo es bueno (en especial el de la protagonista); quizá me hubiera gustado saber un poco más de quien pasa a ser el otro personaje principal, pero tampoco me puedo quejar ya que al tener tan pocas páginas se comprende.
Me llama la atención además que la joven no tenga un nombre y pienso que posiblemente sea por como la miran las personas que entran en la tienda, apenas percibiendo su existencia y mucho menos interesándose en su vida, mientras ella vive atrapada en la jaula dadas sus circunstancias. Es una interpretación que le he dado, y en tal caso me parece muy buena la crítica que hace Henry James con esta obra.
En fin, no me queda más que recomendar esta lectura y esperando leer muy pronto más obras del autor; ya tengo un par en la mira y me entusiasma la idea de continuar con ellas.
March 14, 2017
I've read Henry James before a few years ago (The Beast in the Jungle) and I really enjoyed his ideas, characters and intelligent storytelling but I found the writing extremely heavy and flowery to enjoy and after a while I found it difficult to follow the story. This time around though (and perhaps it has to do with me maturing as a reader) I really enjoyed his work. As expected, it was very difficult to read and it requires a lot of attention. It's not the kind of book that you can read lying in bed or in the bath. You have to sit down on a desk and read it carefully. The writing is very intricate and flowery. However, the experience is very rewarding and I really enjoyed trying to understand his prose and study his themes.
March 27, 2008
Only James could take an unnamed girl working in a telegraph office and turn her in to one of the most complex characters I've even studied.
March 21, 2011
Sometimes I get the sense that Henry James hates women and woefully misreads them. Other times I get the sense that Henry James understood women on a more desperate level, at least for the times. This little novella straddles the two.
November 5, 2011
how does he know so well what it's like to have a shitty job?
April 3, 2017
A menudo, los libros de Henry James son como una partida de póker. Es decir, una reunión de personajes sentados alrededor de una mesa, observándose mutuamente mientras guardan silencio y preparan su jugada. Por un momento no ocurre nada; sin embargo, en la mente de esos jugadores ocurre todo. En sus pensamientos encontramos un mundo de posibilidades que se reservan como un as bajo la manga para aparecer en el momento justo, por si acaso la partida nos ofrece la oportunidad de ganar. En sus novelas los personajes juegan astutamente, debatiéndose entre la frialdad y el sentimiento... o quizás no; quizás sean demasiado torpes para obrar con claridad, tal vez carezcan de prudencia y se anuncien demasiado, tal vez se adelanten y pierdan la oportunidad. Nunca existe la certeza de quién lleva las de ganar.
Algunos escritores han tenido la virtud de escribir historias cuya misterio se apoya, no "en lo que se dice", sino en "lo que no se dice"; los vacíos de información son un recurso que los autores modernistas explotaron con gran acierto. En esta novela James parece ir más allá, escribiendo una historia, no sobre los personajes que viven un conflicto, sino sobre los personajes que no lo viven (pero desearían vivirlo). Tal es el caso de la anónima protagonista de "En la jaula", obra escrita en 1998 y editada recientemente por Alba Editorial.
¿Ha sentido usted que su vida es aburrida y que parece que todo mundo está en constante movimiento excepto usted? Si su respuesta es "sí," podrá empatizar con esta joven mujer que trabaja como una humilde empleada de telégrafos en un popular almacén de Londres. Su "jaula" es el lugar donde gestiona los telegramas que han de ser enviados (un estrecho cubículo, separado del público por una malla metálica).
Ante la falta de una vida propia, excitante y satisfactoria, es común que recurramos a la observación o incluso intromisión de la vida ajena. En esta novela, la protagonista aprovecha su posición de telegrafista para conocer los movimientos de las personas que acuden enviar telegramas. Ante su posición de acceso a los mensajes (cuyas palabras debe contar y tasar), siente que ha adquirido algún tipo de poder. Su curiosidad se centra en aquellos clientes de clase social alta, cuya vida considera glamurosa y pecaminosa. Por ellos (los aristócratas) siente una especial fascinación pero también un desprecio moral. Su obsesión más grande es el Capitán Everard, un joven y bien parecido caballero que parece estar enredado en una relación comprometedora.
Como es costumbre en las novelas de James, todo se reduce a un punto de vista. Esto significa que la interpretación de los mensajes que llegan a manos de nuestra telegrafista puede ser incorrecta; Quizás exagera, o quizás las cosas sean mucho peor de lo que ella se imagina. Aparte de su egocéntrico placer vouyerista, la joven siente una responsabilidad por saber demasiado y se propone salvar (¿por amor?) a su capitán.
El autor describe con agudeza la psicología de las clases humildes. Aquella persona que se siente insignificante tratará de ocultar su precariedad y para ello puede dejarse llevar por la fantasía reivindicatoria de codearse con personas de una mejor posición social. En la mayoría de las sociedades existe una admiración hueca y enfermiza por las clases altas (que en este libro se manifiesta en el personaje de la Señora Jordan). No obstante, también existe una especie de revanchismo social, que puede manifestarse en el prejuicio de que "allá arriba" sólo puede existir la perversión y la inmoralidad. Quizás esta amarga animosidad sea sólo un mecanismo de defensa para poder sobrellevar una vida llena de carencias y aburrimiento.
La lectura no es tan simple como en otras ocasiones. En este libro James se entrega con mayor ahínco a las descripciones extensas y profundas. El primer capítulo es apabullante, pues consiste en un sólo párrafo de gran complejidad (uno se pregunta porqué James no es tan famoso como Edgar Allan Poe o Victor Hugo, siendo capaz de escribir de manera similar), sin embargo, esto no debería desalentar al lector, ya que a partir del segundo capítulo la lectura se vuelve un poco más simple. Aunque los párrafos largos parezcan un tanto intimidantes, los episodios son más bien cortos y la novela muy breve. El estilo del escritor (El Henry James viejo, el que dicta; el de las "parrafadas") podría chocar con aquellos lectores más prácticos y ansiosos.
Si se trata de fomentar la lectura de Henry James, tendríamos mejores resultados escribiendo reseñas ingenuas (del corte de "Me ha gustado mucho la historia y la recomiendo mucho"). Si nos esforzamos por describir hasta dónde llega el escritor con sus novelas, podríamos terminar asustando a los lectores. Lo extraño del caso es que el argumento de sus relatos es casi siempre sencillo y amable; la dificultad radica en su técnica descriptiva tan profunda, especialmente la de sus últimas obras. Mi sugerencia es iniciar con sus novelas anteriores como "Daisy Miller" y "Washington Square" para después leer sus obras de madurez como "Otra vuelta de tuerca" y "En la jaula". Leer a Henry James es toda una experiencia. No la posponga más tiempo.
Algunos escritores han tenido la virtud de escribir historias cuya misterio se apoya, no "en lo que se dice", sino en "lo que no se dice"; los vacíos de información son un recurso que los autores modernistas explotaron con gran acierto. En esta novela James parece ir más allá, escribiendo una historia, no sobre los personajes que viven un conflicto, sino sobre los personajes que no lo viven (pero desearían vivirlo). Tal es el caso de la anónima protagonista de "En la jaula", obra escrita en 1998 y editada recientemente por Alba Editorial.
¿Ha sentido usted que su vida es aburrida y que parece que todo mundo está en constante movimiento excepto usted? Si su respuesta es "sí," podrá empatizar con esta joven mujer que trabaja como una humilde empleada de telégrafos en un popular almacén de Londres. Su "jaula" es el lugar donde gestiona los telegramas que han de ser enviados (un estrecho cubículo, separado del público por una malla metálica).
Ante la falta de una vida propia, excitante y satisfactoria, es común que recurramos a la observación o incluso intromisión de la vida ajena. En esta novela, la protagonista aprovecha su posición de telegrafista para conocer los movimientos de las personas que acuden enviar telegramas. Ante su posición de acceso a los mensajes (cuyas palabras debe contar y tasar), siente que ha adquirido algún tipo de poder. Su curiosidad se centra en aquellos clientes de clase social alta, cuya vida considera glamurosa y pecaminosa. Por ellos (los aristócratas) siente una especial fascinación pero también un desprecio moral. Su obsesión más grande es el Capitán Everard, un joven y bien parecido caballero que parece estar enredado en una relación comprometedora.
Como es costumbre en las novelas de James, todo se reduce a un punto de vista. Esto significa que la interpretación de los mensajes que llegan a manos de nuestra telegrafista puede ser incorrecta; Quizás exagera, o quizás las cosas sean mucho peor de lo que ella se imagina. Aparte de su egocéntrico placer vouyerista, la joven siente una responsabilidad por saber demasiado y se propone salvar (¿por amor?) a su capitán.
El autor describe con agudeza la psicología de las clases humildes. Aquella persona que se siente insignificante tratará de ocultar su precariedad y para ello puede dejarse llevar por la fantasía reivindicatoria de codearse con personas de una mejor posición social. En la mayoría de las sociedades existe una admiración hueca y enfermiza por las clases altas (que en este libro se manifiesta en el personaje de la Señora Jordan). No obstante, también existe una especie de revanchismo social, que puede manifestarse en el prejuicio de que "allá arriba" sólo puede existir la perversión y la inmoralidad. Quizás esta amarga animosidad sea sólo un mecanismo de defensa para poder sobrellevar una vida llena de carencias y aburrimiento.
La lectura no es tan simple como en otras ocasiones. En este libro James se entrega con mayor ahínco a las descripciones extensas y profundas. El primer capítulo es apabullante, pues consiste en un sólo párrafo de gran complejidad (uno se pregunta porqué James no es tan famoso como Edgar Allan Poe o Victor Hugo, siendo capaz de escribir de manera similar), sin embargo, esto no debería desalentar al lector, ya que a partir del segundo capítulo la lectura se vuelve un poco más simple. Aunque los párrafos largos parezcan un tanto intimidantes, los episodios son más bien cortos y la novela muy breve. El estilo del escritor (El Henry James viejo, el que dicta; el de las "parrafadas") podría chocar con aquellos lectores más prácticos y ansiosos.
Si se trata de fomentar la lectura de Henry James, tendríamos mejores resultados escribiendo reseñas ingenuas (del corte de "Me ha gustado mucho la historia y la recomiendo mucho"). Si nos esforzamos por describir hasta dónde llega el escritor con sus novelas, podríamos terminar asustando a los lectores. Lo extraño del caso es que el argumento de sus relatos es casi siempre sencillo y amable; la dificultad radica en su técnica descriptiva tan profunda, especialmente la de sus últimas obras. Mi sugerencia es iniciar con sus novelas anteriores como "Daisy Miller" y "Washington Square" para después leer sus obras de madurez como "Otra vuelta de tuerca" y "En la jaula". Leer a Henry James es toda una experiencia. No la posponga más tiempo.
January 28, 2019
This novella is available for free download to Kindle format from Amazon, plus you can download it free of charge from The Gutenberg Project (GP). However, the “Push to Kindle” extension on my Firefox browser is not, as of this writing, playing nice with the GP site. It unfairly and inaccurately accused me of being in Germany, where squabbling over copyright has lead the GP to block download attempts. Access denied. In any event, I pushed it to Kindle in two parts from Full Text Archive. The right justification on the resulting product was a little wonky, but it didn't make this convoluted slab of 1898 prose significantly more impenetrable than it already is.
“I hate myself for loving you” is how Joan Jett put it in the Paleolithic-era hit. While some have this sort of relationship with flesh-and-blood paramours, I have a similar, but much easier-to-manage, relationship with the unreliable-narrator tales of H. James. Even though I wanted to reach right through the pages of “Turn of the Screw” and “The Madonna of the Future”, grasp James by his fussy cravat, and yell “dammit, just say what you mean already!”, I still came back for more in the form of this curious novella, which is getting slightly more attention recently due to its curiously modern-sounding setting. The heroine sits in “the cage” all day receiving, reading, and sending telegrams at a fancy London shop. It doesn't take a great deal of imagination to update her to the lady behind the cypher-locked door in the IT department of your employer or internet service provider, able to access your messages, your attachments, and perhaps even your keystrokes if the whim strikes her.
Unlike the tales mentioned above, this tale lacks a framing device that serves to signal (at least I think that's their purpose) that hey, look, this story might not have to be taken at face value. So it's even more of a mystery what the hell is going on. What should we think about the nameless telegraph lady who is the protagonist? There's evidence to support mutually exclusive interpretations, including but not limited to:
– she is a smart but poor woman stuck in soul-sucking deadend job and boring romance,
– she is a pathetic innocent whose fiction-derived impression of aristocrats are no match to the malevolence of the genuine article,
– she is a clueless and mean-spirited dolt who reads other people's mail and doesn't feel bad about it,
– she is a young woman squeezing a desperate last moment of excitement and mystery out of life before resigning herself to grinding lower-middle-class tedium.
So which is it, Henry, huh? Just tell me. Please. I promise I'll never muss your cravat again.
“I hate myself for loving you” is how Joan Jett put it in the Paleolithic-era hit. While some have this sort of relationship with flesh-and-blood paramours, I have a similar, but much easier-to-manage, relationship with the unreliable-narrator tales of H. James. Even though I wanted to reach right through the pages of “Turn of the Screw” and “The Madonna of the Future”, grasp James by his fussy cravat, and yell “dammit, just say what you mean already!”, I still came back for more in the form of this curious novella, which is getting slightly more attention recently due to its curiously modern-sounding setting. The heroine sits in “the cage” all day receiving, reading, and sending telegrams at a fancy London shop. It doesn't take a great deal of imagination to update her to the lady behind the cypher-locked door in the IT department of your employer or internet service provider, able to access your messages, your attachments, and perhaps even your keystrokes if the whim strikes her.
Unlike the tales mentioned above, this tale lacks a framing device that serves to signal (at least I think that's their purpose) that hey, look, this story might not have to be taken at face value. So it's even more of a mystery what the hell is going on. What should we think about the nameless telegraph lady who is the protagonist? There's evidence to support mutually exclusive interpretations, including but not limited to:
– she is a smart but poor woman stuck in soul-sucking deadend job and boring romance,
– she is a pathetic innocent whose fiction-derived impression of aristocrats are no match to the malevolence of the genuine article,
– she is a clueless and mean-spirited dolt who reads other people's mail and doesn't feel bad about it,
– she is a young woman squeezing a desperate last moment of excitement and mystery out of life before resigning herself to grinding lower-middle-class tedium.
So which is it, Henry, huh? Just tell me. Please. I promise I'll never muss your cravat again.
March 3, 2025
genuinely didn’t know what was going on 50% of the time
January 28, 2020
I could not get into this book. It was so boring and the content was so dull to me. I feel so bad for not liking it but it was just not worth the read for me. I had to read it for class and it was a painful experience to get through. The writing style was difficult for me to understand and I found myself drifting off and having to reread so many passages. The overall theme and summary was decent but I don't think it was worth the amount of pages.
March 12, 2018
Read for university.
I simply despised it. I'm sorry, but James's writing is just awful. The use of commas makes the reading experience slow, tedious and confusing. The dialogue is one of the worse I've ever read.
Not a fan.
I simply despised it. I'm sorry, but James's writing is just awful. The use of commas makes the reading experience slow, tedious and confusing. The dialogue is one of the worse I've ever read.
Not a fan.
March 8, 2021
La scorsa primavera, tra gli ebook in omaggio della casa editrice Lindau, ho trovato questo titolo, a me fino a quel momento sconosciuto. Mi ha però sempre incuriosita James, quindi ho colto la palla al balzo, l'ho scaricato e finalmente l'ho messo in lettura.
Sicuramente leggerò altro di James: all'inizio ho fatto un po' di fatica a entrare nel suo stile, fatto di frasi dense e ricche di dettagli e allusioni, tanto che spesso ho dovuto rileggere le frasi o i passaggi più volte per essere sicura di aver capito tutto, ma poi, una volta presaci la mano, mi ha catturata. L'aspetto più interessante è sicuramente l'introspezione psicologica, non solo quella che James fa della protagonista ma soprattutto quella che la protagonista fa delle persone che la circondano. Impiegata del telegrafo, ha come principale divertimento (la sua personale forma di fuga e dalla monotonia del suo lavoro) quello di ricostruire le vite e i caratteri dei suoi clienti basandosi sul contenuto dei loro telegrammi. Questo dunque lascia a noi lettori il costante dubbio sull'effettiva veridicità di quanto la protagonista desume: quel personaggio è davvero così? i fatti sono davvero andati come immagina la protagonista? Il caso vuole che lei venga coinvolta direttamente in una di queste vite, ma l'esito della vicenda ci darà solo alcune di queste risposte.
Una lettura breve ma molto interessante.
Sicuramente leggerò altro di James: all'inizio ho fatto un po' di fatica a entrare nel suo stile, fatto di frasi dense e ricche di dettagli e allusioni, tanto che spesso ho dovuto rileggere le frasi o i passaggi più volte per essere sicura di aver capito tutto, ma poi, una volta presaci la mano, mi ha catturata. L'aspetto più interessante è sicuramente l'introspezione psicologica, non solo quella che James fa della protagonista ma soprattutto quella che la protagonista fa delle persone che la circondano. Impiegata del telegrafo, ha come principale divertimento (la sua personale forma di fuga e dalla monotonia del suo lavoro) quello di ricostruire le vite e i caratteri dei suoi clienti basandosi sul contenuto dei loro telegrammi. Questo dunque lascia a noi lettori il costante dubbio sull'effettiva veridicità di quanto la protagonista desume: quel personaggio è davvero così? i fatti sono davvero andati come immagina la protagonista? Il caso vuole che lei venga coinvolta direttamente in una di queste vite, ma l'esito della vicenda ci darà solo alcune di queste risposte.
Una lettura breve ma molto interessante.
August 10, 2022
Jiní čtenáři do komentářů napsali, že jazyk byl až moc květnatý, a tudíž se kniha špatně četla. Mně připadal květnatý tak akorát, abych se mohla dokonale naladit na atmosféru doby, ve které byli muži gentlemani a nosili kloubouky a vycházkové hole (podotýkám však, že jsem dílo poslouchala jako audioknihu).
Jednoduchá zápletka, ale přitom velmi zajímavá perspektiva: hlavní postava nemá jméno, jediné, co o ní víme, se týká víceméně jejího snoubence, kromě toho jejíma očima sledujeme vztah mileneckého párů, kterého se naše telegrafistka účastní spíše nepřímo, mnoho věcí si jen představuje a vymýšlí si různé teorie. Když se v závěru dozvídá, jak vše bylo, je z tohoto poznání v šoku. Na mě byl závěr trochu nevýrazný, i když nepopírám, že nepřinesl několik podnětů ohledně některých postav. Co se mi na knize líbilo nejvíce, je právě prokreslená psychologie postav.
Jednoduchá zápletka, ale přitom velmi zajímavá perspektiva: hlavní postava nemá jméno, jediné, co o ní víme, se týká víceméně jejího snoubence, kromě toho jejíma očima sledujeme vztah mileneckého párů, kterého se naše telegrafistka účastní spíše nepřímo, mnoho věcí si jen představuje a vymýšlí si různé teorie. Když se v závěru dozvídá, jak vše bylo, je z tohoto poznání v šoku. Na mě byl závěr trochu nevýrazný, i když nepopírám, že nepřinesl několik podnětů ohledně některých postav. Co se mi na knize líbilo nejvíce, je právě prokreslená psychologie postav.
October 30, 2020
Okay, I liked our unnamed clerk protagonist which is not the norm with Henry James' women. Also a surprising amount of chemistry in this novella? His writing is way too flowery for my tastes (I wouldn't even say it's pretty to read, it just seems like fluff), but this makes me want to give him another shot.
September 15, 2018
The butler did it.
December 4, 2023
James actually makes me feel like an idiot
Read
February 3, 2026read for class
cool concept, could be cooler in plot
cool concept, could be cooler in plot
December 31, 2017
What a conjuring trick! Henry James, the third-generation scion of American plutocracy, cushioned comfortably all his life by a family trust-fund, socialising with the aristocratic elite of two continents, has a look at the life of a working-class telegraphist. The surprise is he shows exactly what such mechanically repetitive and financially marginal jobs are like.
Putting my Marxian hat on, the story dramatises the glamour of hegemonic ideology. Our heroine is ‘in the cage’ indeed. In supremely clever narrative sleight-of-hand, what the reader imagines the story will be - a certain kind of cross-class bad romance - turns out to be almost completely irrelevant. The real story turns out to be about the heroine and her woman friend. Romance doesn’t come into it. There is a ‘happier’ ending for one of them, but Henry is too realistic to suggest either has escaped the cage.
Putting my Marxian hat on, the story dramatises the glamour of hegemonic ideology. Our heroine is ‘in the cage’ indeed. In supremely clever narrative sleight-of-hand, what the reader imagines the story will be - a certain kind of cross-class bad romance - turns out to be almost completely irrelevant. The real story turns out to be about the heroine and her woman friend. Romance doesn’t come into it. There is a ‘happier’ ending for one of them, but Henry is too realistic to suggest either has escaped the cage.
April 25, 2023
I read this little novella because Deleuze and Guattari use it as an exemplary novella in a chapter of A Thousand Plateaux; they have good theories about James, and you could probably interpret this book very fully with it, namely with the elusive concept of 'the secret' as the central element of the complex relationship between the sexes. James is too good for continental philosophy, however, having written here a tale above all about the drudgery of having to go to work, and the rampant adventures of the imagination that take place within "the cage". A nameless lady working at a telegraph office begins speculating about the activities of her rich clients, and gets involved in a little detective-like power game with them. James is very brief about it, but the 'sleuthing' permits the beautiful convolutions of his style, and he intermittently employs magnificent and vivid metaphors about rays of shining lights. One could say that this, like Turn of the Screw from the same year, is an experiment in finding unique perspectives that allow more creative narratorial voice, which was the sort of experiment that permitted his famous last great novels.
The easiest edition to acquire was put out by some sort of UK publisher with a very slight, paltry introduction, and a number of typoes throughout. Beware this "hesperus" press.
The easiest edition to acquire was put out by some sort of UK publisher with a very slight, paltry introduction, and a number of typoes throughout. Beware this "hesperus" press.
October 11, 2011
A tale of an unnamed protagonist employed at a London telegrah office...
Summary from Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_the_C... "An unnamed telegraphist works in the branch post office at Cocker's, a grocer in a fashionable London neighborhood. Her fiancée, a decent if unpolished man named Mudge, wants her to move to a less expensive neighborhood to save money. She refuses because she likes the glimpses of society life she gets from the telegrams at her current location.
Through those telegrams, she gets "involved" with a pair of lovers, Captain Everard and Lady Bradeen. By remembering certain code numbers in the telegrams, she manages to reassure Everard at a particular crisis that their secrets are safe from detection. Later she learns that, after the death of Lady Bradeen's husband, Everard will marry her, though he no longer seems that interested in her. She finally decides to marry Mudge and reflects on the unusual events she was part of."
Summary from Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_the_C... "An unnamed telegraphist works in the branch post office at Cocker's, a grocer in a fashionable London neighborhood. Her fiancée, a decent if unpolished man named Mudge, wants her to move to a less expensive neighborhood to save money. She refuses because she likes the glimpses of society life she gets from the telegrams at her current location.
Through those telegrams, she gets "involved" with a pair of lovers, Captain Everard and Lady Bradeen. By remembering certain code numbers in the telegrams, she manages to reassure Everard at a particular crisis that their secrets are safe from detection. Later she learns that, after the death of Lady Bradeen's husband, Everard will marry her, though he no longer seems that interested in her. She finally decides to marry Mudge and reflects on the unusual events she was part of."
March 22, 2022
I struggled on to about a third of the way through this book but gave up in the end because I just wasn't enjoying it.
I feel pretty bad giving it one star because I feel deep down that it is a good piece of work and perhaps it's me that's the problem not the book!
I found it too wordy, long flowing sentences with lots of commas made it very difficult to read. It just didn't seem to flow. I never felt remotely close to the characters and even less affection for them. The story just seemed to get lost in words. I found if I read it really slowly (and out loud) it slightly improved the experience but reading at normal speed required frequent re-reads of many sentences and paragraphs.
So in the end I gave up. In my younger days I may have persevered a bit more but I just did not think this was a good or rewarding way to spend my leisure time! However, as I said at the outset, this may well be a beautiful piece of literature but not for me at this time of my life.
I feel pretty bad giving it one star because I feel deep down that it is a good piece of work and perhaps it's me that's the problem not the book!
I found it too wordy, long flowing sentences with lots of commas made it very difficult to read. It just didn't seem to flow. I never felt remotely close to the characters and even less affection for them. The story just seemed to get lost in words. I found if I read it really slowly (and out loud) it slightly improved the experience but reading at normal speed required frequent re-reads of many sentences and paragraphs.
So in the end I gave up. In my younger days I may have persevered a bit more but I just did not think this was a good or rewarding way to spend my leisure time! However, as I said at the outset, this may well be a beautiful piece of literature but not for me at this time of my life.
April 23, 2018
Maybe it was me but I just couldn't follow Henry James' blather. I have read some of his works when I was in high school, mostly because they were assigned, and didn't enjoy his style. My attempt to read his work again as a more mature reader still leaves me disatisfied.
The description of In the Cage was intersting enough so I thought I would give this one a try. I read 48% of it and kept wondering when we were going to get to what was described. This one goes on my "Did Not Finish List".
The description of In the Cage was intersting enough so I thought I would give this one a try. I read 48% of it and kept wondering when we were going to get to what was described. This one goes on my "Did Not Finish List".
January 3, 2021
Henry James' prose is so hard to get to grips with. I think this could have worked better as a short story rather than a novella. This being said, his complex portrayal of the main character is wonderfully multilayered and evokes many different emotional responses. The idealisation of others is once again shattered by reality. I would like to give it two and a half stars really, but the prose was just too dense and relentless to warrant three stars.
July 3, 2018
It is a well written story, but the subject matter I felt was quite wanting of a girl working in a telegraph office who lives vicariously through the telegrams she sends. The ending is nothing to be impressed by either.
May 18, 2011
account soon.
April 22, 2015
I’m a bit disappointed. The plot is easy but in spite of this the book results rather dull. It was neither engaging nor profound.
February 25, 2018
Dear God this was bad. I had to finish it for class.
September 5, 2022
« Dans la cage » est un bref roman dont le format pourra rappeler « Le Tour d’écrou » ou « Les Dépouilles de Poynton » qui lui sont presque exactement contemporains. Comme dans le premier, le nom de la protagoniste ne nous sera pas révélé : elle sera « la jeune fille » ou bien ironiquement « la fiancée de Mr Mudge » — un personnage beaucoup plus falot qu’elle.
La jeune fille — donc — est télégraphiste dans le bureau de poste installé dans une épicerie de Mayfair. La première phrase donne la clef de la métaphore du titre : son petit bureau lui apparaît comme une cage d’où, paradoxalement, elle atteint — du moins d’après elle — à une certaine connaissance du monde extérieur. Les habitants de ce quartier huppé ne renâclent en effet que rarement devant les frais d’un télégramme et, chargée de transmettre tous ces messages laconiques et parfois cryptés, la jeune fille surprend leurs secrets. Elle s’intéresse tout particulièrement à une dame, lady Bradeen, et à son correspondant régulier, le capitaine Everard. Ils s’envoient sous des pseudonymes divers, à des adresses de complaisance, des télégrammes qui semblent lourds de secrets. La jeune fille tombe immédiatement sous le charme du capitaine. Fiancée elle-même, presque par résignation sociale à un ancien collègue, le fameux Mr Mudge, elle tombe folle amoureuse de son aristocratique client, sans pourtant chercher à renverser le cours de sa propre vie, tout au plus à le suspendre, et à créer avec lui une complicité unique en protégeant ses amours avec lady Bradeen au lieu de les contrarier.
« Dans la cage » est assez typique de cette période de l’inspiration de Henry James de par son caractère incroyablement abstrait — l’anonymat de la protagoniste en est un signe parmi d’autres, de même que la métaphore de la cage qui transforme l’épicerie probablement pittoresque en un lieu quasi géométrique (des échappées auront lieu, à Hyde Park puis au bord de la mer). Il est capable de raconter une bonne moitié d’une conversation sans rapporter, fût-ce de façon très indirecte, le moindre propos échangé mais en détaillant au contraire l’influence de ces propos sur l’état d’esprit des personnages ; et lorsque les guillemets arrivent enfin, c’est que les répliques sont anodines et que l’essentiel est passé dans la sous-conversation, cet ensemble d’émotions et d’intentions qui ne sont jamais formulés mais qui passent dans les silences de nos échanges habituels.
C’est ici que le roman, loin d’asphyxier ses lecteurs, prend une saveur ludique. Car des réticences aussi marquées, un récit aussi flou, nous obligent évidemment à nous demander ce qu’il faut comprendre mais également, si nous avons un peu de jugeote, à nous demander si nous sommes vraiment sûrs que ce que nous pensons comprendre figure vraiment dans le texte. Et nous voilà dans la position même de l’héroïne. Apparemment il est d’usage de la comparer à Henry James lui-même, qui depuis une position retirée et modeste (les protagonistes sont ici des gens du peuple, qui observent de loin l’aristocratie et la haute bourgeoisie qui peuplent le plus souvent les récits de James) parvient à une acuité d’observation qu’il exploite ensuite dans ses récits. Mais elle ressemble au moins autant aux lecteurs eux-mêmes, contraints d’échafauder leurs interprétations à partir d’indices franchement équivoques voire lacunaires. Décelant un danger dans une suite de chiffres apparemment arbitraire, la jeune fille n’est-elle pas victime de son imagination ? S’agissant manifestement de simples affaires de cœur plus ou moins légitimes, elle apparaît alors comme une sorte de double plus léger, voire plus comique, de l’héroïne angoissée et tout aussi imaginative du « Tour d’écrou ».
Il y a donc matière à se régaler dans le petit labyrinthe que Henry James a bâti autour de nous en nous donnant mission de nous en sortir à notre avantage, mais aussi une espèce de correction par rapport à la théorie esthétique mise en scène dans « L’Image dans le tapis ». On peut se demander — en dépit de la dernière phrase — s’il y a bien ici une image dans le tapis, du moins une image concertée par l’auteur, et si le récit n’est pas une sorte d’immense test de Rorschach où nous apporterions nous-mêmes l’image que nous voulons voir dans le tapis : en l’occurrence, pour la malheureuse télégraphiste, l’existence romanesque dont elle sent bien, dont elle a déjà consenti à ce qu’elle lui soit personnellement refusée. Mettant en scène le contraste des classes sociales, James suggère d’ailleurs que le romanesque est une sorte de luxe, et que malgré les efforts méritoires de l’héroïne et de son amie Mrs. Jordan pour se sortir de la gêne, l’existence demeure d’autant plus déterminée par le milieu social qu’il s’agit de l’existence spirituelle.
La jeune fille — donc — est télégraphiste dans le bureau de poste installé dans une épicerie de Mayfair. La première phrase donne la clef de la métaphore du titre : son petit bureau lui apparaît comme une cage d’où, paradoxalement, elle atteint — du moins d’après elle — à une certaine connaissance du monde extérieur. Les habitants de ce quartier huppé ne renâclent en effet que rarement devant les frais d’un télégramme et, chargée de transmettre tous ces messages laconiques et parfois cryptés, la jeune fille surprend leurs secrets. Elle s’intéresse tout particulièrement à une dame, lady Bradeen, et à son correspondant régulier, le capitaine Everard. Ils s’envoient sous des pseudonymes divers, à des adresses de complaisance, des télégrammes qui semblent lourds de secrets. La jeune fille tombe immédiatement sous le charme du capitaine. Fiancée elle-même, presque par résignation sociale à un ancien collègue, le fameux Mr Mudge, elle tombe folle amoureuse de son aristocratique client, sans pourtant chercher à renverser le cours de sa propre vie, tout au plus à le suspendre, et à créer avec lui une complicité unique en protégeant ses amours avec lady Bradeen au lieu de les contrarier.
« Dans la cage » est assez typique de cette période de l’inspiration de Henry James de par son caractère incroyablement abstrait — l’anonymat de la protagoniste en est un signe parmi d’autres, de même que la métaphore de la cage qui transforme l’épicerie probablement pittoresque en un lieu quasi géométrique (des échappées auront lieu, à Hyde Park puis au bord de la mer). Il est capable de raconter une bonne moitié d’une conversation sans rapporter, fût-ce de façon très indirecte, le moindre propos échangé mais en détaillant au contraire l’influence de ces propos sur l’état d’esprit des personnages ; et lorsque les guillemets arrivent enfin, c’est que les répliques sont anodines et que l’essentiel est passé dans la sous-conversation, cet ensemble d’émotions et d’intentions qui ne sont jamais formulés mais qui passent dans les silences de nos échanges habituels.
C’est ici que le roman, loin d’asphyxier ses lecteurs, prend une saveur ludique. Car des réticences aussi marquées, un récit aussi flou, nous obligent évidemment à nous demander ce qu’il faut comprendre mais également, si nous avons un peu de jugeote, à nous demander si nous sommes vraiment sûrs que ce que nous pensons comprendre figure vraiment dans le texte. Et nous voilà dans la position même de l’héroïne. Apparemment il est d’usage de la comparer à Henry James lui-même, qui depuis une position retirée et modeste (les protagonistes sont ici des gens du peuple, qui observent de loin l’aristocratie et la haute bourgeoisie qui peuplent le plus souvent les récits de James) parvient à une acuité d’observation qu’il exploite ensuite dans ses récits. Mais elle ressemble au moins autant aux lecteurs eux-mêmes, contraints d’échafauder leurs interprétations à partir d’indices franchement équivoques voire lacunaires. Décelant un danger dans une suite de chiffres apparemment arbitraire, la jeune fille n’est-elle pas victime de son imagination ? S’agissant manifestement de simples affaires de cœur plus ou moins légitimes, elle apparaît alors comme une sorte de double plus léger, voire plus comique, de l’héroïne angoissée et tout aussi imaginative du « Tour d’écrou ».
Il y a donc matière à se régaler dans le petit labyrinthe que Henry James a bâti autour de nous en nous donnant mission de nous en sortir à notre avantage, mais aussi une espèce de correction par rapport à la théorie esthétique mise en scène dans « L’Image dans le tapis ». On peut se demander — en dépit de la dernière phrase — s’il y a bien ici une image dans le tapis, du moins une image concertée par l’auteur, et si le récit n’est pas une sorte d’immense test de Rorschach où nous apporterions nous-mêmes l’image que nous voulons voir dans le tapis : en l’occurrence, pour la malheureuse télégraphiste, l’existence romanesque dont elle sent bien, dont elle a déjà consenti à ce qu’elle lui soit personnellement refusée. Mettant en scène le contraste des classes sociales, James suggère d’ailleurs que le romanesque est une sorte de luxe, et que malgré les efforts méritoires de l’héroïne et de son amie Mrs. Jordan pour se sortir de la gêne, l’existence demeure d’autant plus déterminée par le milieu social qu’il s’agit de l’existence spirituelle.
August 8, 2024
At the beginning of “In the Cage,” the protagonist makes a seemingly bizarre decision. Although she is poor and has few social contacts, she rejects an offer to transfer to an office where she would work with her fiancé and earn more. Her only reason is that she currently works in a wealthier, more fashionable neighborhood. At first, her reasoning might seem simple. Her family, once wealthy, has fallen from grace, and her work in a elegant neighborhood is her only chance for contact with the world she can no longer be part of. Strangely, though, it’s not only proximity to refinement that she wants, although she does want that. She also relishes the very distance from her customers that her work as a telegraphist affords. The distance, the fact that she doesn’t know her customers, allows her to speculate about and imagine their lives, and it’s this chance for imagination that really excites her. “Her actual chance for a play of mind,” she decides, “was worth… the three shillings [her fiancé] desired to help her save.”
Unlike her fiancé, who is “too present” when they work together, her fashionable customers keep a distance that, for her, enriches her relationship with them. Indeed, when she becomes obsessed with two customers, she is excited by how little she knows: “she pressed the romance [between these customers] closer by reason of the very quantity of imagination it demanded and consumed.” She’s even disappointed when she learns concrete details, like the man’s address. Upon learning it, she feels “a perverse melancholy, a gratuitous misery… by reason of its positive excess of light.” Light, here as throughout the novella, is a metaphor for knowledge. In other words, it is the excess of information about the man, which does away with her ability to imagine the details of his life, that upsets her.
By contrast, she’s overjoyed when she decides that the lady’s thoughts are unknowable. When, after wondering whether the lady has begun to recognize her, she sees that her eyes “glowed only with the color of not at all guessable thoughts, this directly added to their splendor.” In other words, the unguessable quality of the lady’s thoughts excites the narrator. The unknowability entails “splendor” because it opens a space in which the narrator can guess and dream, whereas definite facts pin her to mere reality.
If the protagonist’s love of living through imagination rather than through action and contact seems pathetic, it’s worth noting the similarity of her mindset to that of an avid reader or writer. As in the case of readers and writers, her imaginative life is, on one level, a method of hiding from the potential pain and embarrassment of contact with the world. But her imaginative life also allows her to live in a virtual space that is, in some ways, richer and more rewarding than mere actual contact could ever be.
Unlike her fiancé, who is “too present” when they work together, her fashionable customers keep a distance that, for her, enriches her relationship with them. Indeed, when she becomes obsessed with two customers, she is excited by how little she knows: “she pressed the romance [between these customers] closer by reason of the very quantity of imagination it demanded and consumed.” She’s even disappointed when she learns concrete details, like the man’s address. Upon learning it, she feels “a perverse melancholy, a gratuitous misery… by reason of its positive excess of light.” Light, here as throughout the novella, is a metaphor for knowledge. In other words, it is the excess of information about the man, which does away with her ability to imagine the details of his life, that upsets her.
By contrast, she’s overjoyed when she decides that the lady’s thoughts are unknowable. When, after wondering whether the lady has begun to recognize her, she sees that her eyes “glowed only with the color of not at all guessable thoughts, this directly added to their splendor.” In other words, the unguessable quality of the lady’s thoughts excites the narrator. The unknowability entails “splendor” because it opens a space in which the narrator can guess and dream, whereas definite facts pin her to mere reality.
If the protagonist’s love of living through imagination rather than through action and contact seems pathetic, it’s worth noting the similarity of her mindset to that of an avid reader or writer. As in the case of readers and writers, her imaginative life is, on one level, a method of hiding from the potential pain and embarrassment of contact with the world. But her imaginative life also allows her to live in a virtual space that is, in some ways, richer and more rewarding than mere actual contact could ever be.
January 14, 2024
Not a review per se. Just sharing the bits I liked.
He had been there but five minutes, he had smoked in her face, and, busy with his telegrams, with the tapping pencil and the conscious danger, the odious betrayal that would come from a mistake, she had had no wandering glances nor roundabout arts to spare. Yet she had taken him in; she knew everything; she had made up her mind.
He had come back from Paris; everything was re-arranged; the pair were again shoulder to shoulder in their high encounter with life, their large and complicated game. The fine soundless pulse of this game was in the air for our young woman while they remained in the shop. While they remained? They remained all day; their presence continued and abode with her, was in everything she did till nightfall, in the thousands of other words she counted, she transmitted, in all the stamps she detached and the letters she weighed and the change she gave, equally unconscious and unerring in each of these particulars, and not, as the run on the little office thickened with the afternoon hours, looking up at a single ugly face in the long sequence, nor really hearing the stupid questions that she patiently and perfectly answered. All patience was possible now, all questions were stupid after his, all faces were ugly. She had been sure she should see the lady again; and even now she should perhaps, she should probably, see her often. But for him it was totally different; she should never never see him. She wanted it too much. There was a kind of wanting that helped—she had arrived, with her rich experience, at that generalisation; and there was another kind that was fatal. It was this time the fatal kind; it would prevent.
He himself, absent as well as present, was all.
He was sometimes Everard, as he had been at the Hôtel Brighton, and he was sometimes Captain Everard. He was sometimes Philip with his surname and sometimes Philip without it. In some directions he was merely Phil, in others he was merely Captain. There were relations in which he was none of these things, but a quite different person—“the Count.” There were several friends for whom he was William. There were several for whom, in allusion perhaps to his complexion, he was “the Pink ‘Un.” Once, once only by good luck, he had, coinciding comically, quite miraculously, with another person also near to her, been “Mudge.” Yes, whatever he was, it was a part of his happiness—whatever he was and probably whatever he wasn’t. And his happiness was a part—it became so little by little—of something that, almost from the first of her being at Cocker’s, had been deeply with the girl.
He had been there but five minutes, he had smoked in her face, and, busy with his telegrams, with the tapping pencil and the conscious danger, the odious betrayal that would come from a mistake, she had had no wandering glances nor roundabout arts to spare. Yet she had taken him in; she knew everything; she had made up her mind.
He had come back from Paris; everything was re-arranged; the pair were again shoulder to shoulder in their high encounter with life, their large and complicated game. The fine soundless pulse of this game was in the air for our young woman while they remained in the shop. While they remained? They remained all day; their presence continued and abode with her, was in everything she did till nightfall, in the thousands of other words she counted, she transmitted, in all the stamps she detached and the letters she weighed and the change she gave, equally unconscious and unerring in each of these particulars, and not, as the run on the little office thickened with the afternoon hours, looking up at a single ugly face in the long sequence, nor really hearing the stupid questions that she patiently and perfectly answered. All patience was possible now, all questions were stupid after his, all faces were ugly. She had been sure she should see the lady again; and even now she should perhaps, she should probably, see her often. But for him it was totally different; she should never never see him. She wanted it too much. There was a kind of wanting that helped—she had arrived, with her rich experience, at that generalisation; and there was another kind that was fatal. It was this time the fatal kind; it would prevent.
He himself, absent as well as present, was all.
He was sometimes Everard, as he had been at the Hôtel Brighton, and he was sometimes Captain Everard. He was sometimes Philip with his surname and sometimes Philip without it. In some directions he was merely Phil, in others he was merely Captain. There were relations in which he was none of these things, but a quite different person—“the Count.” There were several friends for whom he was William. There were several for whom, in allusion perhaps to his complexion, he was “the Pink ‘Un.” Once, once only by good luck, he had, coinciding comically, quite miraculously, with another person also near to her, been “Mudge.” Yes, whatever he was, it was a part of his happiness—whatever he was and probably whatever he wasn’t. And his happiness was a part—it became so little by little—of something that, almost from the first of her being at Cocker’s, had been deeply with the girl.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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