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3.43 AVERAGE
3.43 AVERAGE
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
funny
lighthearted
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The Spoils of Poynton is a twisting moral drama about love and materialism. After the death of her husband, Adele Gereth faces being ejected from her family home, Poynton, and losing all the art and mementoes they amassed because the estate went straight to their son, Owen. When he gets engaged to hard-nosed Mona, Mrs Gereth takes drastic action. It is all witnessed by the lead character, Fleda Vetch, a smart young woman who has no real home and has become best friends with Mrs Gereth. She finds herself drawn into the family drama, trying desperately to do the right thing despite her own feelings for Owen. Henry James’s writing is laborious at times, and occasionally impenetrable, but this is an intriguing fable about imperfect people navigating a world of conflicting and uncertain moralities.
Moving into the last third of Henry James's novels, which I'm reading in chronological order. I have to say I found this one rather disappointing after The Tragic Muse. I had begun noticing how the mid-period James novels felt considerably more modern that some of the early ones because they had more scenes and dialogue and less straight up exposition. Or at least they opened with engrossing and well played scenes, drawing one in until you wanted the exposition to come to fill in the gaps in your knowledge and therefore noticed it less as pure exposition. The Spoils of Poynton, although an interesting story with James's typical well-drawn and interesting characters, was just pretty much all exposition and therefore felt more old-fashioned somehow, as if he were backsliding into the lazier habits of 19th century novels instead of paving the way for modernism, which I think he does and which makes him more readable today than many of his contemporaries.
I suppose these aesthetic judgements, however, are so time-bound as to be, in a way, anachronistic. Still, one can apply the paradigm of progress to literature as well as technology, no? Maybe also it's our strangely Neo-fascist era and its retrograde idiot populism that makes me suspicious if not downright disgusted by anything that looks backward or feels like a dangerous nostalgia.
What was clever in this novel, I thought, was the triangle of characters around a material dispute, how the protagonist gets caught in a mother and son's conflict and how that situation, outside of the ostensible plot conflict, realizes who she is. In retrospect it's practically a Joycean epiphany of sorts and works on the axiom of those tales wherein a character can only get the reward (usually marriage as in this case, but also riches or fame or whatever) only at the cost of their nature. Nature usually wins in fiction and such tales teach us that sometimes there a kind of greater victory in loss, that it's better to be oneself even if at the cost of a guilty fortune or trophy spouse. Or maybe that's just me and my love of paradox talking.
Anyway, it's really a pretty good novel, it's just that James has done much better work elsewhere.
I suppose these aesthetic judgements, however, are so time-bound as to be, in a way, anachronistic. Still, one can apply the paradigm of progress to literature as well as technology, no? Maybe also it's our strangely Neo-fascist era and its retrograde idiot populism that makes me suspicious if not downright disgusted by anything that looks backward or feels like a dangerous nostalgia.
What was clever in this novel, I thought, was the triangle of characters around a material dispute, how the protagonist gets caught in a mother and son's conflict and how that situation, outside of the ostensible plot conflict, realizes who she is. In retrospect it's practically a Joycean epiphany of sorts and works on the axiom of those tales wherein a character can only get the reward (usually marriage as in this case, but also riches or fame or whatever) only at the cost of their nature. Nature usually wins in fiction and such tales teach us that sometimes there a kind of greater victory in loss, that it's better to be oneself even if at the cost of a guilty fortune or trophy spouse. Or maybe that's just me and my love of paradox talking.
Anyway, it's really a pretty good novel, it's just that James has done much better work elsewhere.
3/5 stars to my second ever Henry James book. When Owen Gereth asks his widowed mother to move out of their home as he prepares to marry, Mrs Gereth asks for the help of a young friend named Fleda Vetch in order to save not only her son, but also the objects of the house - the very spoils of Poynton.
This one was a bit confusing to read. Caught between intrigue and not understanding the choices the characters made, I found myself frustrated more often than not. Still, the way James built it up, with the complicated family relations, had me staying. In fact I did feel a bit like Fleda: not really a part of it but still caught in the middle and unable to remove myself.
Fleda was an interesting character to read from, but the entire cast all share a chronic inability to say what they mean. In retrospect not much does happen in this one, but James paints it in such a way that it seems a great adventure for 200 ish pages. In a way he did the story justice by having Fleda as the narrator, because for a big part of the book she is simply there while other people make decisions for her and around her. My frustration started once Fleda's own mind and emotions played a bigger part of the story, but that is simply because I couldn't always understand the choices and why certain things had to go unsaid.
The ending made me see Fleda in a bit of a different light, and it's fascinating to think about why she did what she did and reacted as she did. I feel as if Henry James is a bit of an early Hemingway in the way that all actions have layers upon layers of hidden meaning, and I'm looking forward to reading more by him despite this not being a new favorite.
This one was a bit confusing to read. Caught between intrigue and not understanding the choices the characters made, I found myself frustrated more often than not. Still, the way James built it up, with the complicated family relations, had me staying. In fact I did feel a bit like Fleda: not really a part of it but still caught in the middle and unable to remove myself.
Fleda was an interesting character to read from, but the entire cast all share a chronic inability to say what they mean. In retrospect not much does happen in this one, but James paints it in such a way that it seems a great adventure for 200 ish pages. In a way he did the story justice by having Fleda as the narrator, because for a big part of the book she is simply there while other people make decisions for her and around her. My frustration started once Fleda's own mind and emotions played a bigger part of the story, but that is simply because I couldn't always understand the choices and why certain things had to go unsaid.
The ending made me see Fleda in a bit of a different light, and it's fascinating to think about why she did what she did and reacted as she did. I feel as if Henry James is a bit of an early Hemingway in the way that all actions have layers upon layers of hidden meaning, and I'm looking forward to reading more by him despite this not being a new favorite.
funny
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
"My name is Fleda Vetch and I'm the main character of [b:The Spoils of Poynton|765334|The Spoils of Poynton|Henry James|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1400000213s/765334.jpg|1795066]. That is to say, I appear to be the main character but the truth is, Mrs Gereth of Poynton Hall takes firm possession of that status early in the story. Mrs Gereth likes taking possession of things and I like giving them up. In fact, if my overly developed sense of humility didn't prevent it, I would claim my place as the most put-upon character in literary history, for not only has my main character status been usurped, I've also been saddled with an atrocious name and an impossibly rigorous sense of duty, one which invariably forces me to choose the stony path instead of the smooth one. Henry James must have been in a grey mood the day he decided to insert me into his Poynton tale. I've read his notes for the story and I'm fully aware that I was an afterthought, not part of the original plan. He needed someone to act as a go-between, and so, sadly for me, I was brought into existence.
I started out life in a rather promising way; I was an artist, with a well developed aesthetic sense, and I had plans to go to Paris to study painting. I was excited about that life when I first heard about it but then I discovered that James had made me completely penniless, so his dangling that possibility before me became just another of his cruelties. Any chance of going to Paris, even to starve in a garret, was soon written out of the story in any case. On the third page, as I was sitting in an obscure corner of a friend's garden, minding my modest business as usual, Henry James allowed Mrs Gereth of Poynton Hall to descend upon me in all her pent-up fury. Like me, she was a guest at the friend's house and she hated everything about it, the wallpaper, the furniture, the ornaments, but especially the people who owned it. It didn't help that her son appeared to be romantically interested in one of the daughters of the house.
For some odd reason, Mrs Gereth thought I felt the same way about the house and the people as she did. She never actually asked me, she just presumed I shared her feelings completely. A few pages later, I'd been whisked off to stay with her at Poynton Hall, and that's how I came to be the unhappy go-between in the conflict that arose when Mrs Gereth's son announced he was getting married to the girl from the house with the wallpaper Mrs Gereth couldn't abide.
When I got to Poynton, I understood about the wallpaper of course. Mrs Gereth had been a collector of art all her life. Her home was a mini museum full of paintings, tapestries, precious artifacts, antique furniture, in short, beauties beyond my wildest dreams. Collecting and caring for her treasures had been her life's work and she loved them more than anything, certainly more than her only son. However, the late Mr Gereth had left his property to the son, and in accordance with English law, Mrs Gereth was obliged to leave Poynton Hall, together with all its treasures, as soon as her son decided to marry. If you think you can imagine the trauma that ensued thereafter for everyone concerned, you're wrong, and certainly don't count on me to fill you in; I lived through it once, I could not bear to live through it again.
So if, if, you still want to know what happened to the Spoils of Poynton, you'll have to read the book for yourself. The single mercy Henry James granted me was to make it short."
I started out life in a rather promising way; I was an artist, with a well developed aesthetic sense, and I had plans to go to Paris to study painting. I was excited about that life when I first heard about it but then I discovered that James had made me completely penniless, so his dangling that possibility before me became just another of his cruelties. Any chance of going to Paris, even to starve in a garret, was soon written out of the story in any case. On the third page, as I was sitting in an obscure corner of a friend's garden, minding my modest business as usual, Henry James allowed Mrs Gereth of Poynton Hall to descend upon me in all her pent-up fury. Like me, she was a guest at the friend's house and she hated everything about it, the wallpaper, the furniture, the ornaments, but especially the people who owned it. It didn't help that her son appeared to be romantically interested in one of the daughters of the house.
For some odd reason, Mrs Gereth thought I felt the same way about the house and the people as she did. She never actually asked me, she just presumed I shared her feelings completely. A few pages later, I'd been whisked off to stay with her at Poynton Hall, and that's how I came to be the unhappy go-between in the conflict that arose when Mrs Gereth's son announced he was getting married to the girl from the house with the wallpaper Mrs Gereth couldn't abide.
When I got to Poynton, I understood about the wallpaper of course. Mrs Gereth had been a collector of art all her life. Her home was a mini museum full of paintings, tapestries, precious artifacts, antique furniture, in short, beauties beyond my wildest dreams. Collecting and caring for her treasures had been her life's work and she loved them more than anything, certainly more than her only son. However, the late Mr Gereth had left his property to the son, and in accordance with English law, Mrs Gereth was obliged to leave Poynton Hall, together with all its treasures, as soon as her son decided to marry. If you think you can imagine the trauma that ensued thereafter for everyone concerned, you're wrong, and certainly don't count on me to fill you in; I lived through it once, I could not bear to live through it again.
So if, if, you still want to know what happened to the Spoils of Poynton, you'll have to read the book for yourself. The single mercy Henry James granted me was to make it short."
FIRST LINE REVIEW: "Mrs. Gereth had said she would go with the rest to church, but suddenly it seemed to her that she should not be able to wait even till church-time for relief: breakfast, at Waterbath, was a punctual meal, and she had still nearly an hour on her hands." Beware of too much time on the hands of Mrs. Gereth. She plot and scheme, manipulate and demand; all in her efforts to maintain possession of "the spoils of Poynton," the things she has accumulated over the years and now must give up, along with the house, to her son. Will she find a way to get her son to marry someone who will love and care for these "spoils" as much as her or will she lose them to someone who could care less? Yes, that's really about it for the story, but James (in typical fashion) spins out an abundance of Victorian verbiage to get us from point A to point B. Some of his literary hi-jinks is quite fun, but you have to wade through a lot before finding some "relief."
this book is CRAZY. there is this really great, lurid, gossipy, sort-of-semi-gothic plot, and underneath it something incredibly bizarre going on. as usual, i like to think it is a critique of capitalism and patriarchy, but i suspect it is really about the futility of life and the terrible wrongness of all people, and all value systems.
emotional
mysterious
slow-paced