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happylilkt 's review for:
A Room with a View
by E.M. Forster
Lucy Honeychurch: "The world is certainly full of beautiful things, if only I could come across them."
Mr. Beebe: "If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays [the piano], it will be very exciting both for us and for her."
So can you guess what takes place over the course of Forster's sensuous and satirical novel? Forster loves to skewer the British classes and there is no better place for it than following British tourists in Florence, Italy and back again.
Lucy Honeychurch is in many ways an Edwardian Alice entered into her own kind of Wonderland, which is in her case, an almost equally incomprehensible Florence. "The well-known world had broken up, and there emerged Florence, a magic city where people thought and did the most extraordinary things." "She recalled the free, pleasant life of her home, where she was allowed to do everything, and where nothing ever happened to her."
"She oughtn't really to go at all," said Mr. Beebe, as they watched her from the window, "and she knows it. I put it down to too much Beethoven." Yes, Miss Honeychurch *has* been brought up to treat people and subjects "with delicacy," to know and do what propriety demands; but Beethoven, Florence, and violets do overwhelm at times, don't they? They are perhaps, "less delicate [but] more beautiful."
I could go on and on, but I won't... I will simply share one of my favorite discoveries on this recent rereading of the novel:
"Miss Bartlett was already seated on a tightly stuffed arm-chair, which had the colour and the contours of a tomato."
Mr. Beebe: "If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays [the piano], it will be very exciting both for us and for her."
So can you guess what takes place over the course of Forster's sensuous and satirical novel? Forster loves to skewer the British classes and there is no better place for it than following British tourists in Florence, Italy and back again.
Lucy Honeychurch is in many ways an Edwardian Alice entered into her own kind of Wonderland, which is in her case, an almost equally incomprehensible Florence. "The well-known world had broken up, and there emerged Florence, a magic city where people thought and did the most extraordinary things." "She recalled the free, pleasant life of her home, where she was allowed to do everything, and where nothing ever happened to her."
"She oughtn't really to go at all," said Mr. Beebe, as they watched her from the window, "and she knows it. I put it down to too much Beethoven." Yes, Miss Honeychurch *has* been brought up to treat people and subjects "with delicacy," to know and do what propriety demands; but Beethoven, Florence, and violets do overwhelm at times, don't they? They are perhaps, "less delicate [but] more beautiful."
I could go on and on, but I won't... I will simply share one of my favorite discoveries on this recent rereading of the novel:
"Miss Bartlett was already seated on a tightly stuffed arm-chair, which had the colour and the contours of a tomato."