Brief Book Review: Howards End

Posted first on Goodreads and Amazon, read entirely on Kindle.

Odd voice & construction, yet so fascinating I highlighted nearly the whole.

I found Howards End by E. M. Forster intriguing start to finish, which was both good and not so good. Sometimes perplexed by dialogue and theories, I also felt unsettled by and distant from characters meant to be the most relatable (Helen, and to some degree, Margaret). Still, I was entertained and moved enough to keep thinking about it all and, most important, to keep reading. Reading Forster’s A Passage to India for book club, and enjoying his style and insight, contributed to my picking up this book soon after.

The novel is both very English and insular in attitude (a bit ironically Imperialistic, perhaps, or was that intentional?) and expansive, universal, even cosmic in symbolism. Complex and at times disjointed in style, especially narrative voice, but also imagery, plot and some characterization, the novel remains endlessly rich with striking ideas. Filled with drama, philosophy, politics, feminism, realism, Industrialist economics, familial intimacy, and, most of all, late Victorian-Edwardian England, Howards End calls for careful reading, if not re-reading. It’s a British social history artifact as much as a novel.cover_Howards-End

Some of my favorite characters now include Margaret Schlegel and Henry Wilcox. So different in levels of class, age, and emotional intelligence, priorities, interests, needs, subcultures, and educations, they are bonded by mutual affection and two different forms of steadiness, but above all, by marital tradition, real estate, and the late Mrs. Wilcox.

At the same time, Margaret, an intellectual of the early 20th century, has anything but a traditional outlook and serves as protagonist. Despite his obtuseness, “unweeded kindness,” and being “criminally muddled,” according to Margaret, Henry’s personality remains rather sympathetic. He is a product of his upbringing, his prior marriage, and his businessman’s world view, but he proves an amiable product. 

I enjoyed comparing the book with the recent TV adaptation starring Hayley Atwell (good though not great as Margaret) and Matthew MacFayden (a more faithful rendering of Henry), and I’m now eager to see the acclaimed 90s film with Emma Thompson and Anthony Hopkins. It’s been on my to-watch list for ever since its release.

Writers like Forster are why feminist avoidance of male authors is so misguided. He was ahead of his time and sex and species. With a somewhat bewildering perspective–bestowing Helen Schlegel, among others, with shades of it–in Howards End, E. M. Forster still manages insightful humanistic exploration and largely page-turning fiction. Above all, the author delivers a master stroke in depicting the ironic fatal consequences of one man’s hypocrisy.

My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Book Review: A Streetcar Named Desire

A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams

Although this one wasn’t for my classics book club, I have wanted to read it for years. As a play, it’s a relatively quick read, so I was able to tuck it in among other readings.

Spoilers possible.

A Streetcar Named Desire may be a better, more entertaining play than The Glass Menagerie, but together they suggest a pattern of playwright fixation on the destruction of fragile, helpless women at the hands of hapless or hostile men. Yet, although critics claim that Stanley is the catalyst for Blanche’ s tragedy, I see undeniable, culpable shades in the sorrows of sister Stella and would-be husband Mitch. Besides these influences, a case can be made that Blanche needs little nudging by anyone to plunge her into her ultimate abyss, a place she seems headed for from the start. Either way, the question is posed clearly before the tragedy is complete: Who is to blame?

The tragic arc is a twisted tree root. Plunging through the rich soil of clever, careful staging, eerie overlays of music and echoed sounds, and crisp, character-making dialogue, the reader (not just the playgoer) falls irrevocably into the suffocating depths of a taut, primal, sensual plot. With his usually detailed stage directions, Williams also leaves nothing in the production plan to chance, while his storytelling strikes a delicate balance by revealing just enough both to engage and to mystify his audience.

The emotional effects of these elements for Blanche are a haunting by the past that cannot be shaken and a shackling by her imagination that stunts her growth. Her character is static in the course of the play as the distance between the danger and the fall proves all too short. Stanley, likewise, is static, and so they come together like immovable object and unstoppable force. The intriguing question for me is what change must occur in Stella beyond the play’s ending as a result of this close family tragedy, with one member the victim and the other, the perpetrator. Stella, at least, has dynamic potential as collateral damage.

cover_A-Streetcar-Named-Desire_images.duckduckgo.com

Penguin Modern Classics edition book cover

Still, none of the main characters reads as a monotone stereotype; they themselves get to play with those concepts as they size each other up. The tension permeating the play stems from perceptions of class differences, ethnic backgrounds, sexual attraction, and affectations brought into sharp relief by the visit of Blanche DuBois to her sister and brother-in-law’s small apartment during a typically oppressive New Orleans summer.

The result is a smoldering tragedy without a clear path as to how it might have been avoided. Remarkable paradox comes through Williams’ writing: Stella, Stanley, and Blanche all prove to be decent people even as their inflexible selfishness, by turns, renders them on many levels indecent–and ultimately inhumane–to one another.

Raw, obvious character flaws, especially Stanley’s, do contribute to the mess, however. His inherent roughness of manner, speech, action, and mere presence directly feed and elicit Blanche’s carefully constructed delicacies, charms, snobbery, and veneer of the victim. They could hardly be more different, and as foils, these opposites both attract and repulse.

Like the down-to-earth Stanley, the reader knows upon meeting her not to take Blanche at face value, but as we get to know her, we begin to empathize with, if not believe in, Blanche DuBois. When Stanley finally exposes her past sins, the whole truth of them is doubtful, they are inextricable from her suffering, and we see that both Stanley and Stella can be right about her sister in their opposing views.

Blanche is a menace being treated unfairly.

An emotional atmosphere of steamy New Orleans chaos reigns over the play. Ripples of racist overtones, sexism, raw sensuality, crime, vice, and class prejudice collide and reinforce one another to disrupt the characters’ moral compasses. Danger vibrates constantly just beneath the surface, and I kept expecting brawl, beating, or suicide around the next corner. Peripheral scenes foreshadow ultimate conflict as violence escalates, but it’s all very restrained, held in check for the bulk of the story, which makes each scene all the more intriguing.

The shock of the penultimate act of violence, committed between active scenes, can resolve into either the satisfaction of poetic justice or an indignation against grave injustice, a verdict that rings loudly through the end. The ensuing resolution is also unequivocally sad, and we even get a moral from the perfect, trembling lips of Blanche DuBois. Coming from her, the line “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers” is both ironic caution and sad testament to a frail psyche.

This is one of the few plays I’ve read besides Shakespeare that so strongly compels me to seek out a production to watch this very minute. In A Streetcar Named Desire, Tennessee Williams exposes seedy corners of mid-twentieth-century American society and equally dark corners of its minds and hearts. First, he is the realistic, impartial painter of human coarseness, failure, beauty and love. Then, in affecting lyrical form, he hints at judgment of all these through their close, unflinching examination. In his complex process, Williams has crafted a true literary and theatrical treasure.

Five out of five stars.

Learn about the 1951 film version at A Streetcar Named Desire.


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