Character Motivation, Psychology & Resolution in Henry James' "The Portrait of a Lady"

The last part of "The Portrait of a Lady" demands a great deal from the reader.  There are complexities that seem to only become clear under close examination of the characters' motivations.  This doesn't mean, of course, that the reader should put on the proverbial Freudian hat, but rather that the reader dig deep within the characters egos.  This is far more demanding when examining Isabel Archer's actions during the last third of the novel.  Certainly, there are enough characters for the reader to exercise this interpretation, and it is possible for her to do so.

The middle chapters of the novels seem to pass rather fast in terms of the events that affect Isabel directly.  Her marriage to Gilbert Osmond is abruptly brought in as the reader finishes a chapter.  James' confidence in the reader's ability to interpret this is amazingly conceptualized; that is to say, a few sentences into the chapter the reader realizes that Isabel's life has changed drastically, and the imagination it takes to understand the abrupt change demands quite a bit from the reader.  The events, however, are quite satisfactory as the reader moves on with the plot.  This,  I believe, encourages the reader to look at Isabel Archer's character before and after.  Where did all that confidence and independence go?  Was it all accountable to the innocence of a young woman not in tune with the world?  The masterful manipulation by Madame Merle allows the reader to (at least) feel some sympathy for Isabel.  Nevertheless, Isabel begins to rise to the surface as a realistic heroine and takes charge of her life knowing living with Osmond is not the place for her.  Even when the reader discovers she is back in Rome, James is not specific about what she went there for, and, the meeting between Henrietta Stackpole and Caspar Goodwood at the end of the novel (where Henrietta pleads with Caspar to be "patient") leaves the open interpretation of 1) Isabel goes to Rome to divorce Osmond, or 2) Isabel is living alone in Rome and Caspar should go there to meet her.  3) Isabel goes back to Rome not to fulfill her marital promise but rather to keep a promise she made to Pansy, Osmond's daughter, who is not in a convent against her will (?).  That is the beauty of this novel--it is a novel, after all, of possibilities and James' masterful hand keeps it so until the very end.

There are, however, some problematic behavior by Isabel Archer.  First, the precipitation of her marital problems occur in one chapter.  Before that chapter, the reader could see trouble brewing, but it was not clear as to whether or not Isabel would take the necessary steps to take herself out of the situation.  On the contrary, Isabel begins to manage Pansy Osmond's life almost as if Pansy was a mirror image (a portrait) of herself.  When she realizes that Madame Merle is after the planning of Lord Warburton's interest in Pansy, Isabel takes the necessary steps to steer Pansy away from Lord Warburton and into Edgar Rosier's hands.  Of course, the reader sees this as a romantic endeavour; here is Isabel Archer making sure that the awful thing that happened to her now happens to Pansy.  Of course, Isabel is feeling pressure from everyone; in every corner she turns there are a pair of hands she has to avoid knowing they are there to control her into the next disaster in her life.  For example, when Isabel feels the pressure from Caspar Goodwood, and the obligation to visit her cousin Ralph Touchett (who has come to Rome at the worst time possible for his health), she resort to a trick which reminds the reader of Madame Merle herself.  ... [S]he had given him [Caspar Goodwood] an occupation; she had converted him into a caretaker of Ralph.  She had a plan of making him travel northward with her cousin as soon as the first mild weather should allow it.  Lord Warburton had brought Ralph to Rome and Mr. Goodwood should take him away.  There seemed to be a happy symmetry in this, she was not intensely eager that Ralph should depart (bold mine).  There is, of course, pragmatic justice in all of this--nevertheless, the reader might consider Isabel a masterful puppet master of the Madame Merle kind.

The novel offers an immense number of opportunities for the reader to "analyze" the characters from their motivations and judgments.  Isabel going back to Ralph's death bed against Osmond's wishes can be interpreted in many ways.  First, Isabel sees (during their meeting in Osmond's studio--where he is copy-painting a watercolor out of a book) not only as unoriginal, but so immersed in his own ego that whatever she does is of no importance to him.  She draws the parallel to Pansy and her father's control of her destiny as another example of Osmond's monster psychology.  This is one of the pieces of evidence a reader might interpret as a motivation for Isabel to go back to Rome after Ralph's death.  Again, as I stated earlier, Isabel could be returning to Rome to rescue Pansy.  Certainly, Caspar Goodwood appears too relaxed, too self-satisfied in his meeting with Ms. Stackpole at the very end of the novel to indicate he has now thrown all overboard and given up on Isabel.  The novel ends, of course, but the reader is allowed (for the millionth time) to see into the characters' psychology and motivations and decipher magic beyond the pages of this masterpiece.  If, as many old rock and roller believe, Eric Clapton is god, then Henry James is Zeus.

Kevin Canty: Master of the American Short Story

They appear out of thin air, it seems. You see them at social gatherings and parties. You know enough to avoid them, but eventually you are drawn into their conversation. They are easy to identify, not just because they are loud (they want everyone to hear what they are saying), but because they have "knowledge to impart." These are the pseudo-intellectuals... the know-it-alls who aim to impress by turning a catchy phrase and throwing it around like it's the newest thing to come out of that vastness of stale ideas that is their little brains. One of these phrases (and I have heard it more than once) thrown around, and one that really kills me (literally and figuratively) is "the American short story is dead." They do sound like college professors, and might actually impress the bar fly hanging on their every word, but the statement is plain false and downright idiotic. If you want evidence that the American short story is alive and well TODAY, all you have to do is read Kevin Canty's "Where the Money Went." Kevin Canty proves mastery of the form both thematically (subject matter) and in terms of technique.

Hitting upon this treasure of short stories has been an eye opening event for me. I've never been resistant to the literary trends (for better or worse), and even "chick lit" (a term I find repulsive) begins to show its value eventually.... after it has been "milked" of all of its commercial and marketing capital. Kevin Canty writes insightfully and with realism about the lives of men in contemporary American society. "Where the Money Went" is a tour-de-force of American existentialism and its relation to men of all social classes; the questions it asks and answers through its vivid characters explore the dark and light comedy that is being a man in America today. Consider this "chick lit" for men, or "dude lit" if you really have to draw a marketing ploy to corner the contemporary fiction share. But Canty does not need that sort of help, not from you, or me for that matter. Rather than summarizing the stories, I will share some of the passages from the stories that 1) shocked me for the depth of their artful mastery, and 2) enlightened me to my own reality as an American male.

In the title piece, Canty displays a great amount of technique (I am not sure if he would be insulted if I called it stream of consciousness). Braxton, the protagonist, engages in a sort of Gregorian chant or litany on precisely where the money went after the divorce. The story is brief, but it packs an amazing amount of detail. For example, there are pauses of beautiful imagery that pop out in the middle of the long list of where the money went: "He watched her topple slowly backward into the water, watched her dress bloom around her in the underwater light like some bright colorful flower and in that moment he had not disliked her." I can't think of a more beautifully composed and artfully constructed sentence in the middle of the acutely painful meditation by the protagonist.

In "The Emperor of Ice Cream" we again meet a character opening up so clearly and agonizingly it bleeds real humanity; I can think of numerous moments of introspection similar to this one: "These were the moments where he felt cut off and stuck inside himself, looking out at the grinning, shouting crowd, smoking and drinking, dancing and flirting away a summer night. Lander thought they looked stupid. This was how he knew how fucked up he was; when happy looked stupid." There's no fault either technically or skillfully in making a character have a philosophical moment; the bad writers over do it... masters like Canty know exactly how to use subtlety, making the reader feel like he is gliding over the surface without realizing he is deep, deep within the character's psyche. Again, this is a matter of technique and art, and Canty possesses both.

Canty pushes the limits of emotion, characterization and just plain humanity in "In the Burn." Just like in "The Emperor of Ice Cream," it is subtlety that makes the complex almost emotionally painful. When I read the following passage, I again felt like all this universality of feelings is both universal and strictly personal. "I'll land on my own two feet, I know it. I was all alone and lonely and sexually deprived when I met her. I can do it again. But just the thought of my little apartment with my little clothes in it sends a willie down my back. One more night of TV, one more night of wondering where I'm supposed to be in this world." When I read this passage to a friend of mine, he pointed out the last eight words as sounding like a broken record; I quickly pointed out that it is the amount of detail that conveys the feeling of both awkwardness and quiet desperation... again, a masterfully written passage both in terms of skill and technique. This is really, without hyperbole, brilliant writing.

I can't recommend this book enough. If you read to explore human questions, of if you read to appreciate good writing, or both, Kevin Canty's "Where the Money Went" is what you need to be reading today. This book should please both readers and readers who read like writers. I recommend it without reserve.