More than Meets the Eye: Review of The Portrait of a Lady, and Rethinking Henry James

I've finally managed to finish reading the mammoth of a work that is Henry James' The Portrait of a Lady, after having first attempted the task about ten years ago. I never could dive into it then, or the few other times over the years when I took it up again, and I almost gave up on it this time as well. I would have resigned it to mold in the the dusty shelves of unreadable literature in the repertoire of my mind, had I not been encouraged, a while ago, to give up my former prejudice of James.

A few months ago I endured the ordeal of reading What Maisie Knew, which turned me off from James' other works altogether. If I had earlier wanted proof about how odious his works seemed to me, I thought I had it this time. But alas! I was mistaken. An English professor heard of my experiences with Maisie and my distaste for James, and being an Americanist and an ardent James fan herself, she handed me her own copy of The Portrait of a Lady, peered into my eyes, and almost made me promise to give it a good try. Inwardly, I refused to yield, and the book lay where she had left it for a month, by which time she happend to see it, and asked me how I found it. I fumbled for words, making excuses for a busy schedule and the heat of the summer and such nonsense, until her smile fell, she looked at me askance, and said she was sorry and won't ask me again.

A few weeks ago, however, lacking a good book to read, I found James' book and flicked it open to reaffirm my triumph in being right about what a bore it would be. However, I was drawn, somehow, from the first page. It wasn't convoluted like Maisie. And I was genuinely interested in the main characters, though I agree some were "odious" and usettling. I've discovered that James' characters, to me at least, aren't very likeable. They are mostly lofty and distant. However, it's his acute perception of the events in their lives that illuminates the human consciousness that we all share, which makes one reach out to such cold, suave, and often manipulative, characters.

Although I'd agree that James could have made The Portrait half its length, I still think that, if it had to be that long, one ought to read it simply because of the last few chapters. That is where the secrets are revealed and events spiral to a climax. It is the two secrets at the core of the novel that I want to focus on in this post.

The first is Pansy's parentage, and how it links to Isabel, and the second is Isabel's learning that her cousin was the agent of her (mis)fortune.

Like Isabel, even the readers aren't fully aware of the the manipulations of Osmond and Madame Merle, until the very end. James has the satisfaction of manipulating his readers, so that we feel like Isabel in the end. While reading the book, I wondered why hardly any mention was made of Pansy's mother. We never see Pansy talking about her (her father wouldn't have allowed it, no doubt), and even Isabel doesn't push it. Even before the secret is spelled out, we know that three women will be connected: Isabel, Serena Merle, and Pansy. And they are connected not merely by their relationship with Osmond, but also by what he represents. For he is patriarchy at its worst. He controls all three women, and robs them of their freedom. He lusts after Madame Merle (and she for him), but their union is doomed because of her lack of money. While he can afford to act the dillettante, he hasn't the courage or the integrity to take responsibility for his actions. He is too concerned with appearances that would be bought through money alone. Though Madame Merle would have clung to him, he would not let her. The least she could do is look out for her child, and so entrusts Pansy to the care of Osmond. She also believes that money might purchase the happiness she seeks. For all that, Madame Merle is a free spirit. She lives independently and is unobstructed by any man. However, her freedom is circumscribed by her motherhood: She will always be tied to Osmond though Pansy. As a mother she does not want to see Pansy suffer, and has high hopes for her. In the interest of Pansy, Merle manipulates Isabel, evidence as to how the oppressed are driven to become the oppressors.

Both Merle and Osmond conceal the "shame" of Pansy's birth, so that Pansy is elevated to the status of a saint. However, this is an illusion, as Isabel learns later. We do not know if Pansy will ever know the truth about herself, or how she will act. James shows us that neither the shame of illegitimacy nor the devotions belonging to a saint, will bring a woman freedom. Both are just as oppressive. Pansy grows up in ignorance, afraid to even lift a hair to question her father. As Pansy becomes a woman and exhibits a feeble will of her own in her attachment to Mr. Rosier, her father banishes her immediately to a convent. Thus, because of Osmond, we see that sexual awakening is vanquished by the seclusion in a convent. Osmond's actions show men's treatment of women: she is seen as "angel or madwoman"--never a mix of the two, if she was to be accepted. Hence Osmond, though drawn to Serena, rejects her. He tries to "angel-fy" Isabel but when she resists, he abuses her. Only Pansy, ever dependent on him, succumbs fully to his wishes. Pansy is manipulated, just as Isabel is manipulated, but Isabel shows that she is different from Pansy by taking action against her husband. Though we do not know what has become of her in the end, it does her credit, since she can "manipulate" our imaginations into thinking has a chance for a better life.

Isabel's "fate" is set in motion by the actions of her cousin Ralph. Ralph is like God, or the equivalent, providing Isabel with a fortune to dispense with however she chose. One step could lift or ruin her, and poor Isabel makes the wrong choice. Ralph does it out of kindness to Isabel, but he is also interested in spectacle. He wants to see how she fares. As his life is limited, he wants to experience life, in a way, though Isabel. Though he does not confine Isabel in the way Osmond does Pansy, Ralph also gives her something that ruins her. We can only wonder what would have become of Isabel if she never had a fortune. Osmond would never have married her, and she would have sought a less wealthier destiny. Is Ralph to be blamed for giving a fortune to Isabel? Yes, because he wished to view her as an object, and No, because it was also an act of kindness, a chance for freedom for Isabel. However, through Ralph's action, Isabel learns an important lesson in seeing "more than what meets the eye", in questioning her faith in people. She falls from grace, but learns that "if she was hated, she was also loved."

It was over ten years ago since I first saw the film, but I was able to appreciate it more on my second viewing, just recently. The 1996 adaptations did credit to James' work, especially with Jane Campion's mastery of imagery, symbolism, and art direction. There were several notable performances, John Malkovich's Osmond, amongst others.

Though I haven't converted to a James fan, I think he is worth a second look.

A Sign of the Times...

So the Spice Girls have confirmed their reunion.! I was stunned as I watched the news on TV.

I can't think of the Spice Girls without thinking of my past, growing up in the '90s. They were iconic figures during my most formative years. I remember waiting in the stores to buy their CDs, trying to memorize the lyrics to their songs, and figuring out what 'Spice Girl' I was ( I think I was a hybrid, though quizzes don't give that option ;)) The Spice Girls seemed a normal part of life, amidst the family dramas, school exams, sports practices, vacations, and social events.

With the best of the Spice Girls coming to an end after their split, it seemed like an era was past for me as well. Then followed important transitions in my life, more 'growing up' and so forth.

But with their impending reunion, and that picture in particular, it seems as if it was but yesterday that they came out with their first album. Though all except Mel C now have children, or are expecting, it isn't visible in this picture. They all look as trim and young as they were. Of course, fashions have changed, but the Spice Girls weren't ones to fuss about that ;)

I hope their reunion turns out to be as refreshing as the memories it kindles.

*Pictures courtesy: Philly.com

Scandalous Virtue in Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives and Daughters

"But sometimes one likes foolish people for their folly, better than wise people for their wisdom."--Elizabeth Gaskell, Wives and Daughters (1865)

Elizabeth Gaskell's last novel was a delight to read, and I am only sorry that she never lived to finish it. Although the ending seems clear, I would still have wished to drink more of Mrs. Gaskell's prose, until the very last drop. The writing, thought not dense, had enough wit to hold the reader's interest. The plot, like the writing, can seem unremarkable on the surface. But a closer look beneath the surface is all that's needed to see contradictions.

The novel is, essentially, a story of relationships, and this is what makes it timeless. We can all relate to feelings of filial affection, parental intrusion, neighbors' reproofs, and sibling rivalry. While Molly appears to be a docile, sheltered girl, we know that this isn't really case. She has lost her mother, a traumatic experience for any child, although how much it has affected her isn't clear until much later. Her father, Mr. Gibson, marries another woman when Molly is seventeen and just on the cusp of adulthood. When the new Mrs. Gibson and her daughter arrive, that is when Molly's (seemingly) idyllic life is about to be turned upside down. Molly learns the nuances of social conduct. She learns to balance her own moral integrity with the social restraint that is required. She also forms new relationships with the Cumnors and the Hamleys, and her behavior brings her just rewards.

In the DVD's commentary, one of the crew members remarked something to the effect of: "Molly is like the sun, with everything else fanning out from her". I wondered how much of this was true. I think it is true that Gaskell meant for Molly to be the heroine. But what I find more interesting are the peripheral characters. They are more complicated, well drawn characters than Molly. In fact, without them, Molly's character would lose much of the luster that she is credited for.

As Mr. Gibson says in the opening lines quoted in this post, I think it is the "foolish people" in this story who steal the show. There's Osborne, who trangresses beyond all the bounds expected of him, and whose actions accelerate his doom. When Osborne marries a girl far beneath him, and fails in his examinations, he questions his worth in the eyes of his proud father. Even when his mother, Mrs. Hamley, lies on her deathbed, Osborne still fails to confess to her. His relationship with his father deteriorates as his marital relationship bears fruit. As Osborne worsens, his wife gives birth to their son, and the child blossoms in health and vigor. Already there is a sense that the old order is breaking down. The Hamleys' station in the social ladder, as Squire Hamley knows it, will no longer be the same. The aristocracy will be replaced by a new class, and in fact, one that includes foreigners, as Aimee comes to live at Hamley Hall. The 'old order' also includes old ways of social behavior, and virtue. It is implied that it is no longer a world full of innocence, but is rather one ripe with dangers--the dangers of change. Osborne's world of poetry is now being replaced by one of science: the days of chivalry and arthurian Romance will give way to enlightenment's Rationality.

Osborne's female equivalent is Cynthia. Cynthia's place in the moral spectrum is even more ambigous than Osborne's. She is, nevertheless, very interesting, and we are meant to like and sympthize with her, like Molly, the heroine we are rooting for. Cynthia is, by all appearances, a coquette, but she isn't a simpleton. Throughout the novel, Molly and Mr. Gibson praise her for her wit. She is kind to Molly and Mr Gibson is fond of her. She is vivacious and lively. Furthermore, she listens with enthusiasm. She is not immune to vanity, however, and that does threaten to ruin her. We find ourselves interested in her "imbroglio", just as much as we find ourselves immersed in Osborne's.

Though raised, like Molly, by a single-parent, Cynthia has had a less sheltered life, which speaks to the status of women in nineteenth-century. Unlike Mr. Gibson who can practice medicine and protect his daughter, Cynthia's mother, Hyacinth, could not do any such thing. The only respectable path open to her was to work as a governess, which meant she had to leave her daughter behind in a school. As Margaret Forster has shown in 'Lady's Maid', it must be very difficult for a woman to secure employment if she had a child of her own. Unsupervised, Cynthia has only herself to turn to for moral guidance. Her mother, occupied with earning her keep, and open to flattery and admiration herself, cannot provide that guidance to Cynthia. So Cynthia falls prey to others' good opinion of her: she craves attention constantly, although she cannot "love deeply " as much as Molly.

Cynthia attracts attention simply by being young, beautiful, and interesting. Young men fall for her more for her beauty than for her wit. They imagine Cynthia as the paragon of womanhood, instead of seeing her for who she is. This masculine definition of her is precisely what she must escape from, but in the absence of a network of women to teach her manners, as Molly has, she becomes a victim. Cynthia is a creation of male fantasies: she is everything men want, and yet, they cannot have her faulty. They elevate her, even when she is fickle, they refute her, even when she says the truth. And as men flock to her, she is blamed for attracting them. Mr. Preston gets aggressive about his demands, even though she keeps refusing him. And Mr. Gibson is unsympathetic to her at one point. While it is easier to forgive Osborne for his scandalous marriage, it is harder to forgive a girl for entangling herself in scandal. This just shows how women can be pliant: Aimee is "sweet and submissive" and so easily controlled, while it is harder to believe that a woman could control a man (e.g. if Cynthia or Molly could control Mr. Preston's apparent vulgarity). Although Cynthia does not love Roger very much, he still pursues her, believing in the image of her instead of the reality. In the end, it is by acknowlegding her fickleness to Mr. Henderson that she gains a partner who now accepts her for who she is. Having learned her mistakes, she vows that she will "place her own happiness before anyone else" in choosing a husband.

If scandal has virtue, we see it in Molly's coming-of-age. Though at the start Molly is inexperienced to matters of sexuality, she changes towards the end. Though docile and proper, and in some ways invisible compared to Cynthia, it is Molly who holds the two biggest secrets at the heart of the novel. She is faithful to her promises of secrecy, and we wonder what would have happened if she acted differently: if she had confessed to Squire Hamley, would Osborne still be alive? If she has confessed her love for Roger, would he still have fancied Cynthia for two years? If she has told her father the truth about Cynthia, would Mr. Gibson have doubted her?

It is important that these secrets pass through Molly because they are necessary for her growing up, for her own "awakening". By knowing Osborne's past, she is aware of a passion that trancends filial duty. Early on, Molly was compared to a little French girl, and this echoes later in the novel, when Molly contact Osborne's French wife, and the two grow close.

Through Cynthia's actions, Molly sees the sincerity and falshood in romantic attachments. She also becomes aware of her love for Roger. She sees that her love for him is constant. His love for Cynthia is steady while Cynthia's wavers. Molly also has a chance to act bravely on behalf of another, to take actions into her own hands, when she helps Cynthia to stave off Mr. Preston. At the same time, she learns that Mr. Preston is not wholly bad. Being in company with Cynthia throws Molly into Mr. Preston's way, which symbolically throws her in the way of sexual awakening.

Finally, it is important to note that towards the end, Molly behaves very much like Cynthia. She is sophisticated, witty, and plays hard-to-get, albeit unintentionally. Molly's earnestly talking to another suitor makes Roger jealous, prompting him to pursue her. The more she resists him, the more he is drawn to her. When Molly falls ill, Roger pays attention to her, in very much the same way he paid attention to Cynthia when she was in low spirits. As Molly grows up in the midst of scandal, and as matters are resolved for the other characters, the novel shows that scandal holds a virtue--a different virtue than one defined by conventional (masculine) terms.

*Pictures credit: Masterpiece Theater