Hopfrog
07-26-2011, 02:21 PM
James in my favorite writer of fiction, especially of the short story. I love his novellas, and this is probably my personal favorite. I even have two unabridged audio recordings of it, the best I think is by Jonathan Epstein--and although I prefer the sound of the British English voice on readings, it makes sense that both recordings of the novella are by Yanks. "The Aspern Papers" was revised by James for his New York Edition, and it is that version published by Oxford World's Classic in the collection The Aspern Papers and Other Stores[B]. I was amused, while reading the long-delayed second volume of Sheldon M. Novick's very curious and slightly perverse biography of James, Novick's chiding of James for having written the story:
"The story was a cruel joke, and it concerned people who were still living..." ([B]Henry James, The Mature Years, page 110).
The story is strange and mysterious, and seems full of symbols. The garden outside the Bordereau's old palace is as faded, forlorn and neglected as the inhabitants of the old dark house, and this seems emphasized by the narrator's first description of seeing (as she is named in the revision) Miss Tina:
"Her face was not young, but it was candid; it was not fresh, but it was clear. She had large eyes which were not bright, and a great deal of hair which was not 'dressed,' and long fine hands that were--possibly--not clean."
James is often called a "difficult" writer, but the narrative of this story flows and captivates. I often think people who say they find James difficult are actually saying they find him dull, but that's just my little idea. The drama of this tale is subdued, except at one thrilling moment of stealth and discovery.
One complaint made about James is that he didn't experience "Life," that he was too over-concerned with his art but that his art is removed from "reality" because James did little else but sit in rooms and compose his Works. And yet James's life was indeed so full that Leon Edel wrote a biography of the writer in five volumes, and two full novels have been written in recent years concerning James's life: Author, Author, by David Lodge and The Master, by Colm Toibin. I often compare James's life with that of another beloved writer, Oscar Wilde. Who, I ask, lived the richer existence, the finer life? Both men were extremely social, but Wilde was the adventurous soul, I think. It is a fallacy that Wilde was lazy--when he worked, he worked hard; but he also played hard, if legend may be believed. I have spent the best part of my manhood aping the squalid underworld existence of Oscar Wilde, dwelling in the mire and finding gobs of irreverent pleasure. I have almost nothing to show for such a waste of life. Now in my twilight years, I am trying to follow the example of Henry James, to live for one's Literary Art. Thus I feel, absolutely, that James led the finer, fuller life. Selah.
"The story was a cruel joke, and it concerned people who were still living..." ([B]Henry James, The Mature Years, page 110).
The story is strange and mysterious, and seems full of symbols. The garden outside the Bordereau's old palace is as faded, forlorn and neglected as the inhabitants of the old dark house, and this seems emphasized by the narrator's first description of seeing (as she is named in the revision) Miss Tina:
"Her face was not young, but it was candid; it was not fresh, but it was clear. She had large eyes which were not bright, and a great deal of hair which was not 'dressed,' and long fine hands that were--possibly--not clean."
James is often called a "difficult" writer, but the narrative of this story flows and captivates. I often think people who say they find James difficult are actually saying they find him dull, but that's just my little idea. The drama of this tale is subdued, except at one thrilling moment of stealth and discovery.
One complaint made about James is that he didn't experience "Life," that he was too over-concerned with his art but that his art is removed from "reality" because James did little else but sit in rooms and compose his Works. And yet James's life was indeed so full that Leon Edel wrote a biography of the writer in five volumes, and two full novels have been written in recent years concerning James's life: Author, Author, by David Lodge and The Master, by Colm Toibin. I often compare James's life with that of another beloved writer, Oscar Wilde. Who, I ask, lived the richer existence, the finer life? Both men were extremely social, but Wilde was the adventurous soul, I think. It is a fallacy that Wilde was lazy--when he worked, he worked hard; but he also played hard, if legend may be believed. I have spent the best part of my manhood aping the squalid underworld existence of Oscar Wilde, dwelling in the mire and finding gobs of irreverent pleasure. I have almost nothing to show for such a waste of life. Now in my twilight years, I am trying to follow the example of Henry James, to live for one's Literary Art. Thus I feel, absolutely, that James led the finer, fuller life. Selah.