The Portrait of a Lady

I emerged from my weeklong babysitting experience relatively unscathed, but for a slight cold and a flu earlier last the week. I love those kids, but by the end of the week I could only manage to stare blankly at the TV for hours on end. So when I returned home I attempted to recuperate by doing what I haven't done in years. I read a book. (What! You say? It's been that long since I've read a book?!) Yes, I must confess that reading is my addiction and in order to finish my master's degree two years ago, I gave up reading whatever wasn't academically necessary (including TV watching). If I attempt to read a book or watch TV, I lose all control of my will and become immersed in the activity until completion (unfortunately for TV watching, there is never completion, hence my lack of cable). But, I have replaced book reading with internet reading. Four hours can go by as I devour article after article without realizing the passage of time. But, nooo! I can't give up the internet. Must. Control. Urge. To. Read. Nonstop. (At the expense of my school work, anyways.)

And now we get to the point of my entry. Now that the semester is over I feel free to let my mind turn to mush in front of my sister's huge TV (remember, I have no cable), and allow myself to read a book for pleasure. My choice of pleasant reading material? The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. I have never been so emotionally torn apart by a book in my life. I have never felt so passionately ambivalent! I love this book, yet if a book could wrench my heart from its chest and mash it to a pulp, this one was certainly capable of it.

First, I begin with why I like this book so much. Henry James is truly masterful with the romantic content. Never, has any modern romance novel so totally captured my own inner thought life and fantasies. It is like Henry James knew exactly the scope of my imagination for what constitutes a fabulous heroine and her interludes with scorned lovers. He must have traveled into the future to observe my thoughts and then used said thoughts as a template for writing many small episodes within his book. In particular, I loved how often James had placed his heroine alone in some remote scene, only to be surprised by the appearance of one or another of her scorned lovers, and thusly ensues a passion-filled interlude during which her suitor pleads for her heart and the heroine valiantly begs to be let alone. Another of my favorites is when two or more of her lovers meet each other, followed by much tension-filled moments. Some of the confrontations and betrayals between the women, too, are amazing to behold. I predicted many of the smaller and larger plot twists and yet relished them just the same; they suited me so well. It is almost as if I had written this book myself.

Now I turn to the reason(s) I disliked this book so much. I can’t believe the choices made by the heroine, Isabel Archer. It is like she is capricious with her decisions in love. For apparently no good reason she refuses two perfectly good suitors who show absolute devotion for her. She claims she likes her liberty too much and has lofty ideals that include seeing the world and life and people and freedom to live is one pleases. But then she chooses to marry anyways to a man whose character was divined by many of her friends to be unworthy and so opposite her own, yet she pridefully refuses to accept it. And yet each time she is approached by any male wishing to express adoration for her, she recoils in fear. I believe the only reason that she did not refuse her final choice was his lack of passion when he made his declaration of love and that there were absolutely no strings attached. In the only scene in which he declares his love, he does not ask her to marry him, he simply puts it out there and she doesn’t need to respond, otherwise she would have freaked out like all the previous sessions with other men. In fact, Henry James does not even write in the scene in which she would have accepted, but moves right to the moments in which she is making plans to reveal the news to others. Perhaps it was for the surprise effect, but I don’t think James would have known how to write an acceptance scene. From what we have learned of her, it is completely out of her character to consent to marriage, especially considering this deep seated fear of men capable of acting with uncontrollable passion towards her, a passion which for her may signify a sense of possession and lack of freedom. And yet it is wondrous that she walks bold-faced and open-eyed into the worst and only cage of them all.

In the end, she is presented with a manner of escape through one of her dedicated suitors, only to refuse once again and instead, return to her living hell of a marriage which could last another 20 or 30 years of her life.

That and I bawled uncontrollably when Ralph died. In a forward to the book, the author concluded that Ralph was a representation of Henry James himself. Perhaps that was why I liked Ralph so much. James and I appear to be on the same wavelength. Plus, Ralph had the uncanny ability to read people and surmise what is going on beneath the surface, which is a skill I greatly admire.

Well, now I’m going to need to recuperate from reading this book.