He was Lambert Strether because he was on the cover, whereas it should have been, for anything like glory, that he was on the cover because he was Lambert Strether. Twice short-listed for the Man Booker Prize, Colm Tóibín is the Leonard Milberg Lecturer in Irish Studies at Princeton University and lives in Dublin and New York. The writing, at times, seemed willfully obscure. Get me the number for the Cunard line, please. But to paint her as a villain is too black a lacquer for her; she opposes Strether, but she does so with something like love for Chad. Strether's presumed reward upon successful completion of his mission, would be marriage to his rich patroness.
You tell yourself to stay focused, but that doesn't work, because now you're just thinking about staying focused, you're still not paying attention to the road. We may hate Osmond and Mme. Lambert Strether - Henry Goodman Directed by Peter Kavanagh. You must have been paid by the prepositional phrase! Truly an example of the b What a tremendous load of over-articulated crap. He spent much of his life in England and became a British subject shortly before his death.
As with James, the result is both aesthetically and psychologically potent -- and weakened only, perhaps, by certain limitations that tell us more about the author than they do about his ostensible subject, which in this case is, in fact, the ''pure coldness'' that for Toibin was James's life. Apparently he was deeply suspicious of everything that gave him pleasure. In her circling she has picked up a companion. To view it, Lambert Strether, the needy editor of a little New England literary magazine, is sent to Paris by his patroness, wealthy Mrs. In the time it takes the characters to arrive at any defining disclosure in this novel one could have caught the Eurostar to Paris and enjoyed lunch on the terrace of a brasserie.
Strether has been offered the opportunity to live, but he sacrifices it 'to be right. Curtis, James was careful to distance himself from that other, unmentionable, passion, what he called Symonds's ''strangely morbid and hysterical nature,'' even as he acknowledged that to write about the dead author without referring to it would be ''an affectation; and yet to deal with it either ironically or explicitly would be a Problem -- a problem beyond me. I tried listening to both the audio and reading the print version of this novel, but still had trouble comprehending the convoluted prose. The cold and absent shadow of Mrs. Maybe catch a little menage-a-trois action with Chad and the Countess.
I read this entire book with the main male character, Strether, making everything his business, for him only at the end to say that that none of it his his business. Whatever Toibin's literary-critical and ideological interest in James, ''The Master'' is unquestionably the work of a first-rate novelist -- one who has for the past decade been writing excellent novels about people cut off from their feelings or families or both. Why is this anyhing but pulp for tissue? James himself was cognizant of this and admonished his readers to read only five pages a day a challenge which I found impossible, but rather read in small-ish bits over each day. I didn't finish this book. What we get is a man perpetually reflecting on his reflections.
It is an absolute masterpiece, in my opinion. She continues, and little by little she finds herself circling a smaller space, and she tells herself that perhaps she is finally getting closer to the heart of the story. From everything we know, he was indeed quite a happy person by his own standards, rather than ours for most of his life -- productive, sociable, well loved and remarkably kind. Rich with fin de siècle detail, The Ambassadors brims with finely drawn character portraits, including one of the Master's most unforgettable heroines--the beguiling Madame de Vionnet. Of course at present I'm a case of reaction against the mistake. Look, I read 35% on my Kindle. At ThriftBooks, our motto is: Read More, Spend Less.
It was a problem that touched both their personal and professional lives; to both writers, it seemed to be a problem that fiction alone could solve. It was unmistakeable moreover that the sense of being in the dark now pressed on him more sharply—creating thereby the need for a louder and livelier whistle. But at the table we largely discussed my Amherst Coll Shakespeare prof, Theodore Baird, who had invented a great Freshman Writing course, he and my own freshman teacher, Armour Craig. And, of course, a very great artist for whom art was the highest satisfaction. In his notebook entry for March 26, 1884, James, who was fascinated by gossip about Symonds's unhappy marriage to a prim woman who detested his writings, wrote down the framework of a short story about a similarly unhappy couple: ''the narrow, cold, Calvinistic wife, a rigid moralist, and the husband impregnated -- even to morbidness -- with the spirit of Italy, the love of Beauty, of art, the aesthetic view of life.
She looks back at the manner in which she read the earlier sections and realises she was an innocent then, incapable yet of understanding. Disclaimer:An apparently unread copy in perfect condition. I'm not an entire Philistine, after all! And yet while this dazzling embedding of bona fide Jamesian nuggets throughout his narrative will delight James scholars, they never obtrude into the smooth and elegant flow of the novel's movement. Staff Reviews I agree with James that this is his best novel and, for me, his most pleasurable. I found every re-reading very rewarding. Newsome in particular, but even Chad and Waymarsh. If you haven't had that, what have you had? There's no middle ground with an uncompromising artist like Henry James.
For in Chad, Strether sees a younger self that he never had. Newsome, to me, seems as horrible. From the Trade Paperback edition. It was published as a serial in The North American Review for minor read: wannabe intellectuals in New England in 1903. In each of the novel's 11 chapters, some incident triggers a memory in Henry -- as Toibin refers to James throughout -- and this oscillation between past and present allows the author to paint a detailed portrait not only of the claustrophobic anxiety of the late 1890's not least the paranoia engendered by the trial of Oscar Wilde but also the whole of James's life, from his supremely privileged Yankee childhood to his Atlantic-hopping young manhood right up until his late middle age, a period of crisis that turned out to be the threshold of his richest, densest work: ''The Ambassadors,'' ''The Wings of the Dove,'' ''The Golden Bowl. Characters are presented as being engaged in endless analysis and speculation about how to interpret the actions and motives of others. Many guesses as to the nature of this mysterious product have been made since the book was first published.