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beritt 's review for:
A Room with a View
by E.M. Forster
I loved this. A classic really is a classic for a reason - this book has some unnameable quality that elevates it above many other books, but I couldn't say what it is, exactly. All I know is that even now, 113 years after publication, it still makes an impact.
The novel starts as Lucy Honeychurch, the protagonist, and her cousin Charlotte sit down in the restaurant of a pension in Italy. It's (presumably) around the turn of the century, and Lucy is abroad for the first time. She is dying to be "worldly," to see things, to evolve. She's brought the right travel guide and learned the names of all the artworks one should be seeing while in Florence.
The pension also houses a range of other guests, including the Emersons (a father and a son, both named George).
And the Emersons are the very opposite of what you would expect from a relatively well-to-do British guy in a turn-of-the-century novel. They are, in fact, so thoroughly modern that it offends everyone they meet.
They despise artificiality.
They can't stand posturing.
They prize directness.
They believe in real passion, and in authenticity.
Needless to say, Lucy is shocked when she meets them (and Charlotte, as her chaperone, doesn't know how quickly she can Lucy away from them).
As their holiday continues, however, Lucy realizes she is vaguely intrigued by the Emerson's authentic way of living and being in the world. But she's from a conventional, relatively well-off family. When she gets home, she's pulled back into that conventional atmosphere - and that's when trouble starts.
I suppose one of the things that makes this novel transcend its time, is that Lucy's struggle is still relevant. Do we choose convention, or adventure? And at what cost?
Likewise, there are still many people who are unable to live authentic lives - either due to social or political pressures, or because they are afraid to stray from convention. And I'm not just talking about the Harry & Meghan's of this world, but of regular people who live relatively privileged lives. I have known, and do know, people who look down on certain travel destinations because they're not in guide books, or who tout the merits of a certain movie because this or that actor is in it (even though they have not seen the movie yet). There's very little difference between those people, and Lucy praising a statue because her Baedeker guidebook told her it's good.
It's bewildering to encounter people like that - people who have adopted other people's opinions to cover up the fact that they have none of their own.
(I'm not talking about being shaped by someone else's opinion - we all are. I'm talking about people who don't weigh or synthesize those opinions to then form a position of their own).
The Emerson's simply can't stand all this posturing, and actively speak out against it. It was fascinating to see that play out in a 1908 novel - it was as if a modern reader was talking back to Victorian characters in real time. Super interesting.
And Forster's clever commentary on the way women were treated in Edwardian England:
"'Come this way immediately,' commanded Cecil, who always felt that he must lead women, thoug he knew not whither, and protect them, though he knew not against what" (137).
I also loved Lucy's character development, which was subtle and convincing.
And the writing - oh, I LOVED the writing:
"Honest orthodoxy Cecil respected, but he always assumed that honesty is the result of a spiritual crisis; he could not imagine it as a natural birthright, that might grow heavenward like the flowers" (157).
"There is a certain amount of kindness, just as there is a certain amount of light,' he continued in measured tones. 'We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand, and it is no good moving from place to place to save things; because the shadow always follows. Choose a place where you won't do harm - yes, choose a place where you won't do very much harm, and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine" (159).
"'Do trust me, Miss Honeychurch. Though life is very glorious, it is difficult. She was still silent. 'Life,' wrote a friend of mine, 'is a public performance on the violin, in which you must learn the instrument as you go along.' I think he puts it well. Man has to pick up the use of his functions as he goes along - especially the function of Love" (212).
And finally, this fantastic, feminist avant-la-lettre speech by George Emerson, of which this is only a fraction:
"He daren't let a woman decide. He's the type who's kept Europe back for a thousand years. Every moment of his life he's forming you, telling you what's charming or amusing or ladylike, telling you what a man thinks womanly; and you, you of all women, listen to his voice instead of to your own" (174).
Ah, so good.
This novel is quiet and thrilling all at once, and I will definitely read more of Forster's work after this marvellous introduction.
The novel starts as Lucy Honeychurch, the protagonist, and her cousin Charlotte sit down in the restaurant of a pension in Italy. It's (presumably) around the turn of the century, and Lucy is abroad for the first time. She is dying to be "worldly," to see things, to evolve. She's brought the right travel guide and learned the names of all the artworks one should be seeing while in Florence.
The pension also houses a range of other guests, including the Emersons (a father and a son, both named George).
And the Emersons are the very opposite of what you would expect from a relatively well-to-do British guy in a turn-of-the-century novel. They are, in fact, so thoroughly modern that it offends everyone they meet.
They despise artificiality.
They can't stand posturing.
They prize directness.
They believe in real passion, and in authenticity.
Needless to say, Lucy is shocked when she meets them (and Charlotte, as her chaperone, doesn't know how quickly she can Lucy away from them).
As their holiday continues, however, Lucy realizes she is vaguely intrigued by the Emerson's authentic way of living and being in the world. But she's from a conventional, relatively well-off family. When she gets home, she's pulled back into that conventional atmosphere - and that's when trouble starts.
I suppose one of the things that makes this novel transcend its time, is that Lucy's struggle is still relevant. Do we choose convention, or adventure? And at what cost?
Likewise, there are still many people who are unable to live authentic lives - either due to social or political pressures, or because they are afraid to stray from convention. And I'm not just talking about the Harry & Meghan's of this world, but of regular people who live relatively privileged lives. I have known, and do know, people who look down on certain travel destinations because they're not in guide books, or who tout the merits of a certain movie because this or that actor is in it (even though they have not seen the movie yet). There's very little difference between those people, and Lucy praising a statue because her Baedeker guidebook told her it's good.
It's bewildering to encounter people like that - people who have adopted other people's opinions to cover up the fact that they have none of their own.
(I'm not talking about being shaped by someone else's opinion - we all are. I'm talking about people who don't weigh or synthesize those opinions to then form a position of their own).
The Emerson's simply can't stand all this posturing, and actively speak out against it. It was fascinating to see that play out in a 1908 novel - it was as if a modern reader was talking back to Victorian characters in real time. Super interesting.
And Forster's clever commentary on the way women were treated in Edwardian England:
"'Come this way immediately,' commanded Cecil, who always felt that he must lead women, thoug he knew not whither, and protect them, though he knew not against what" (137).
I also loved Lucy's character development, which was subtle and convincing.
And the writing - oh, I LOVED the writing:
"Honest orthodoxy Cecil respected, but he always assumed that honesty is the result of a spiritual crisis; he could not imagine it as a natural birthright, that might grow heavenward like the flowers" (157).
"There is a certain amount of kindness, just as there is a certain amount of light,' he continued in measured tones. 'We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand, and it is no good moving from place to place to save things; because the shadow always follows. Choose a place where you won't do harm - yes, choose a place where you won't do very much harm, and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine" (159).
"'Do trust me, Miss Honeychurch. Though life is very glorious, it is difficult. She was still silent. 'Life,' wrote a friend of mine, 'is a public performance on the violin, in which you must learn the instrument as you go along.' I think he puts it well. Man has to pick up the use of his functions as he goes along - especially the function of Love" (212).
And finally, this fantastic, feminist avant-la-lettre speech by George Emerson, of which this is only a fraction:
"He daren't let a woman decide. He's the type who's kept Europe back for a thousand years. Every moment of his life he's forming you, telling you what's charming or amusing or ladylike, telling you what a man thinks womanly; and you, you of all women, listen to his voice instead of to your own" (174).
Ah, so good.
This novel is quiet and thrilling all at once, and I will definitely read more of Forster's work after this marvellous introduction.