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20C Literature

cultural history, literary criticism and theory, guidance notes

cultural history, literary criticism and theory, guidance notes

Pygmalion

December 8, 2014 by Roy Johnson

tutorial, commentary, study resources, plot, web links

Pygmalion was written in 1912 and first performed in England at His Majesty’s Theatre, London in April 1914, with Mrs Patrick Campbell in the lead role as Eliza Doolittle. She was a fifty year old grandmother at the time (‘with increasing girth’) but impressed audiences with her delivery of both Cockney and received pronunciation.

Pygmalion

Pygmalion and Galatea

In Ovid’s Metamorphoses Pygmalion was a Cypriot sculptor who hated women and vowed never to marry. However, when he carved a statue of a woman out of ivory (called Galatea) she was so beautiful he fell in love with his own work. At the festival of Aphrodite (goddess of love) he secretly made a wish for a bride who would be a living likeness. On arriving home he kissed the statue and found that its lips were warm. The goddess had granted his wish, the statue came to life, and he married her. They had a son called Paphos.


Pygmalion – critical commentary

Playtext and literary studies

As a subject of literary studies, the playtext of Pygmalion is a complex and problematic object. It is worth remembering that a playtext is only the intermediate vehicle of which a staged performance represents the ‘realisation’ of the text. Playtexts are only a recorded set of instructions to directors and actors – but in traditional literary studies (in Europe and America) they are treated as the equivalent of poetry and prose fiction.

Like many other plays, Pygmalion exists is a number of different versions. The controversial ending was changed on a number of occasions by theatrical producers and directors, and Shaw himself wrote supplementary materials which he added to the original play in an attempt to ‘explain its meaning.

The text itself is an almost bizarre mixture of literary modes. It begins with an essay on phonetics and a biographical sketch of the linguist Henry Sweet. The play itself is a combination of spoken dialogue and stage directions which vary from amazingly trivial details (‘on her daughter’s right’) to lengthy passages in prose fiction, fleshing out the mise en scene, and even intrusions by Shaw himself, passing comment on the events he is creating.

In its ‘complete’ form, the text also includes additional material for each Act which may or may not be performed and which were added for cinema adaptations. And the end of the play is now conventionally followed by a prose explanation of ‘what happened next’, written by Shaw four years after the first performance. This contains his justification for the absence of a conventional ‘happy ending’; generalisations about bachelors and marriage; and a development of the character of Clara Enysford Hill, someone who had barely figured at all in the previous five Acts.

Language

Modern readers may find the language used by the characters nothing remarkable, but it should be borne in mind that at the time of its first performances Shaw was challenging the orthodox notions of decency on stage.

Higgins uses expressions such as ‘Where the devil are my slippers’ – which although it seems quite innocuous in the twenty-first century, probably marked the limit of what was acceptable in the early twentieth, when society was still emerging from a long age of Victorian prudery. But Mrs Pearce warns him that he should not swear in front of Eliza:

there is a certain word I must ask you not to use … It begins with the same letter as bath … Only this morning, sir, you applied it to your boots, to the butter, and to the brown bread.

Higgins doesn’t use the word. It is saved up by Shaw for the coup de theatre in Act Three when Eliza, having succeeded in transforming her pronunciation, lets slip her lower class origins when she replies to Freddy’s suggestion that he walk with her across the Park. She exclaims – ‘Walk! Not bloody likely. I am going in a taxi.’ The use of this single word bloody was enough to cause a sensation on the Edwardian stage.

Shaw’s stage directions

In the early part of his literary career Shaw wrote five unsuccessful novels, and the instructions given to director and actors in Pygmalion suggest that he continued to think in the mode of someone writing prose fiction.

The stage directions range from issues of complete insignificance (slightly to her left) via what are authorial comments (hearing in it the voice of God, rebuking him for his Pharisaic want of charity to the poor girl) to the frankly absurd in terms of possible staging (Torrents of heavy summer rain).

Phonetics, shorthand, and spelling

In his preface to the play text, Shaw makes quite clear his interest in the subject of phonetics, as well as the origins of the Henry Higgins character in the figure of well-known Oxford philologist Henry Sweet.

Higgins claims he can pinpoint the origins of a London inhabitant to within a couple of streets by their pronunciation, and he is taking shorthand notes on Eliza’s speech at the beginning of the action.

Shorthand is a system of recording speech by symbols which represent sounds rather than the letters which are used for conventional writing. The best-known version of this system was devised by Sir Isaac Pitman in the middle of the nineteenth century, and became very popular in Britain and the United States.

There was a great deal of interest in these matters at the end of the nineteenth century, and Shaw put a great deal of time (and his own money) into a doomed experiment to reform English spelling. He and many others thought spelling in English could be simplified and regulated to iron out apparent difficulties. This approach did not sufficiently take into account the fact that speech and writing are two separate systems. The futility of these attempts were very pithily (and accurately) satirised by Mark Twain in his Plan for the Improvement of English Spelling.

It is worth noting that this same period also gave rise to another experiment in artificial language which was doomed to failure – the invention of Esperanto, a totally fabricated, so-called international language created by a Polish linguist Ludwik Zamenhof in 1887.

Esperanto was an amalgam of Latinate languages and it made sense to anyone who had studied French, Spanish, Italian and Latin. However, because of its artificiality and the fact that it did not therefore reflect a culture, it lacked life and remained a flat inanimate system of vocabulary and grammar.


Pygmalion – study resources

Pygmalion Pygmalion – Penguin edition – Amazon UK

Pygmalion Pygmalion – York Notes – Amazon UK

Pygmalion Pygmalion – 1938 film – Amazon UK

Pygmalion Pygmalion – Penguin edition – Amazon US

Pygmalion My Fair Lady – at Amazon US

Pygmalion Pygmalion – at Wikipedia

Daily Telegraph article
Mark Bostridge discusses the origins of the play, its sensational first night, and the problems of its controversial ending.


Pygmalion – plot summary

Act One

Mrs Eynsford-Hill with her daughter Clara and son Freddy are sheltering from the rain in Covent Garden after a concert with some others. When Freddy is despatched to find a cab he bumps into Eliza, a Cockney flower girl. She tries to sell her produce to a bystander Colonel Pickering, whilst nearby Professor Henry Higgins is taking notes on her pronunciation. Higgins then identifies everyone’s origins from their accents. It emerges that he and Pickering are both interested in phonetics and were on their way to meet each other. Higgins claims he can transform Eliza into a Duchess by changing her accent and speech. He gives her some loose change, which enables her to take a cab back home.

Act Two

Pickering is visiting Higgins in his ‘laboratory’ when Eliza turns up, offering to pay for elocution lessons. She wants to speak properly so that she can get a job working in a shop. Pickering challenges Higgins to make her socially acceptable, and offers to pay for the lessons. Higgins patronises Eliza, but offers to take her on permanently when she reveals that she has no family. The housekeeper Mrs Pearce offers common sense objections, but Higgins over-rules them. Pickering wonders about Higgins’ probity, but Higgins reveals that he distrusts women and is therefore a confirmed bachelor. Mrs Pearce reappears to ask Higgins to be more careful about his language and his table manners, and announces the arrival of Eliza’s father, Mr Doolittle. After verbal skirmishes with Higgins, Doolittle arranges to sell Eliza for five pounds. As he leaves, Eliza re-enters in clean new clothes.

Act Three

Some months later Higgins arrives at his mother’s house. She reproaches him for his lack of good manners and for still being a bachelor. He has invited Eliza to visit his mother on her ‘at-home’ day. The Enysford Hills and Pickering arrive, followed by Eliza, who speaks with exaggerated correctness. But during the ensuing conversation she lapses into topics from lower-class life and swears as she takes her leave. Higgins and Pickering congratulate themselves on the improvements they have brought about, but Mrs Higgins warns them that they have neglected to think about Eliza’s future.

Act Four

Higgins, Pickering, and Eliza arrive home at midnight following her successful debut in society. Higgins complains that he is tired of their experiment and now finds the whole thing a bore. Eliza explodes with anger at his self-centredness. She perceives that she has no future. He suggests that she marry someone. They argue about what belongs to her, and he accuses her of treating him badly. They part violently on bad terms.

Act Five

Next morning at Mrs Higgins’ house Higgins and Pickering arrive, worried that Eliza has disappeared. Mr Doolittle arrives, transformed into the appearance of a toff by the good fortune of an inheritance from an American benefactor. He complains that his newfound wealth has brought him nothing but problems. Mrs Higgins reveals that Eliza is upstairs and she hopes to reconcile her with her son. But when Eliza appears Higgins insults and patronises her again.

Eliza explains that she has learned to be a lady from the good example of politeness and respect presented to her by Pickering. Doolittle reveals that he is on his way to get married, and asks Pickering to help him through the ceremony. This leaves Higgins and Eliza to continue their argument. He claims that he cannot change and that he treats everybody in the same way. He continues to be arrogant and patronising, whilst inviting her back to live with him. She explains that a woman wants both respect and love, and that is what Freddy is offering her. When challenged by Higgins she claims she can even support herself by working in phonetics, something he has taught her so well. The play ends inconclusively.


Pygmalion – film version


1938 film version – Leslie Howard and Wendy Hiller


Pygmalion – principal characters
Mrs Eynsford Hill fallen upper-class woman
Freddy her unemployed and talentless son
Clara her unmarried and snobbish daughter
Colonel Pickering a retired army officer
Henry Higgins an upper-class professor of phonetics
Mrs Pearce housekeeper to Higgins
Eliza Doolittle a Cockney flower-seller
Mr Alfred Doolittle her father, a dustman

Filed Under: 20C Literature Tagged With: English literature, George Bernard Shaw, Literary studies, Theatre

Research Methods for English Studies

April 10, 2010 by Roy Johnson

new approaches to literary studies for post-graduates

Research Methods for English Studies is a collection of essays on the subject of research skills, methods, and methodology in the field of literary studies. The essays betray a profound unease which has (quite rightly) begun to infect this branch of academic activity. For they are in a sense answers to questions which are rarely if ever asked in this section of the humanities. Questions such as ‘What exactly is research in literary studies? What methods are used? What validity do the results have? Indeed, compared to other subjects such as biology, history, physics, astronomy, and sociology, what is literary studies about?

Research Methods for English StudiesSome practitioners can answer these questions by taking fast hold of a vaguely related discipline and writing about the biography of an author, the genesis and publication history of a text, or the nature of its reception by the reading public. But the vast majority of what is called literary studies (and not just ‘English’) is nothing more than one person’s opinions about a text or a body opf work. Even worse, it may be opinions about opinions, or opinions about theories. There will be no declaration of critical method attached to works submitted for assessment or publication, no theory to be tested or conditions which can be reproduced – only a long bibliography of works consulted, packed out with the names and works of currently fashionable critics.

This is the state off affairs that has obtained for a long time in institutions of higher education, and in the prevailing climate it is likely to be coming to an end. These essays, whilst betraying unease, are also in a sense offering a lifeline to those who wish to find a niche for themselves in departments of literature or humanities. They are saying ‘Look! Here’s a new angle, so that you can retain tenure’.

Carolyn Steedman (a historian) for instance offers a chapter on the romance of working in archives, though she has no specific advice on what you might do when you get to it. Mary Evans promotes ‘auto/biography’ as a new approach – but this misses the fact that writing accounts of authors’ personal lives is a form of history, not literary studies. The activity of considering a number of biographies of Sylvia Plath amounts to not much more than a higher form of weekend supplement celebrity gossip, which says nothing about her poetry.

Next comes oral reminiscence. The argument here is that this enables a recovery of lost or forgotten history. All well and good, but there is no explanation of how this applies to literary studies. The example discussed merely compares the memories of a Home Guard volunteer with the accuracy or otherwise of Dad’s Army.

A chapter on visual methodologies carries with it similar problems. It is quite true that pictures can be analysed and interpreted, but since the vast majority of literary texts have no illustrations at all, it is difficult to to imagine how such an approach would help us to understand An Essay on Criticism or King Lear.

Discourse analysis looks more promising, because it focusses its attention on language, but an analysis of the opening sentence of Pride and Prejudice stretches for a whole page without mentioning the term irony, though it does have space to complain about the text’s ‘focus on heteronormativity’. But at least Gabrielle Griffin goes on to explain how computer programs can be used to analyse texts – an activity which might keep somebody in post via a research grant whilst legitimately claiming to be literary studies.

Ethnographic studies at first seems a possibility, but studies of how readers consume texts, why they choose one book rather than another, and what the significance of their activity might be – all are ultimately sociological questions or matters of private biography. They do not contribute to literary understanding or interpretation.

Catherine Belsey appears to be on much firmer ground with ‘textual analysis’. Indeed, she even offers a practical exercise to demonstrate its efficacy. But her exercise has problems right from the outset. First of all she analyses a painting (Titian’s Tarquin and Lucretia) and then she does nothing but raise questions about its meaning, based on nothing more than you could gain from a few minutes in front of the object, with an encyclopedia or Google search open by your side.

With much invoking of Roland Barthes, she argues that meanings in a text are ‘ultimately undecidable’, which she sees as good news for researchers, because it will keep them in business for ever. This is an admission of intellectual bankruptcy that today’s crop of post-graduates would do well to treat with extreme caution when applying for grants funded by tax-payers’ money.

There’s a whole chapter on interviewing authors (more celebrity gossip) and even creative writing as ‘research’ before the collection ends with the most sensible chapter of all – the use of computational technology as an aid to research. This includes the digitisation of primary sources, computer-aided textual analysis, the creation of electronic texts, and the establishment of multi-featured hypertext editions. All of these approaches are of use to other scholars, and they tend to be free of the ‘Look at me’ attitudes which infest much of what passes for contemporary criticism. It’s significant that this chapter has by far the largest and most useful supplement of suggested further reading and follow-up web sites.

So – this rabbit is finally pulled out of the hat at the very end – but anyone following the general advice in this book should be warned. In the current economic climate many of these self-indulgent approaches to ‘research’ are likely to be doomed. Some of the contributors to this volume are likely to be listed for early retirement by the time you come to read what they have written.

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© Roy Johnson 2010


Gabrielle Griffin (ed), Research Methods for English Studies Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009, pp.248, ISBN: 0748621555


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Filed Under: 19C Literature, 20C Literature, Literary Studies, Literature Tagged With: Academic writing, Literary studies, Research, Research Methods for English Studies, Theory

Romantic Moderns

October 14, 2011 by Roy Johnson

writers, artists, and the English sense of place

Romantic Moderns is a major piece of work by a young cultural historian with a free-ranging approach to her subject. It’s a study of a particular strain in English art that Alexandra Harris correctly describes as ‘romantic’, and illustrates as permeating every aspect of cultural life. The period she covers is the late 1930s through to the immediate post-war period. It would be interesting to know if the title of the PhD on which the book is based had a sub-title more specific than the one she provides here – because ‘from Virginia Woolf to John Piper’ is rather wide in scope. After all, Woolf was born in 1882, and Piper lived until 1992 – so that’s a span covering the late Victorian era, two world wars, and the digital age.

Romantic ModernsHer writing is certainly lively and entertaining. She throws off multiple references that explode like fireworks in almost every paragraph. A consideration of architecture leads to books on buildings, then pictures of buildings, and on to novels that feature them. This cultural enthusiasm is both a strength and a weakness, because whilst the names, titles, and references come thick and fast, it’s sometimes difficult to identify the main point of her argument.

She’s fizzing with information, but I was sometimes longing for an overview or a generalization. The nearest I spotted was that the people she discusses were all interested in the relationship between ‘art and place’.

She covers an astonishingly wide range of topics. Subjects include English country houses (of the Brideshead type) seascapes, Victorian revivalism, cuisine and gastronomy, the BBC, literary criticism, watercolour painting, music, travel writing, film, landscape gardening, and even the weather.

The artists whose work she discusses include John Betjemann, Eric Ravilious, Cecil Beaton, Edward Bawden, Paul Nash, Benjamin Britten, and Graham Sutherland – and those are just some of the best known. She also deals with a whole host of lesser figures – architects, film-makers, milliners, and interior designers,

It’s a world of country gardens, southern seascapes, churches, and images of a bucolic past. There are no cities, motor cars, iron foundries, or telephones in the iconography of this view of the world. Almost all topographical references come from below a line drawn between the Severn and the Wash. In fact you could be forgiven for thinking that the whole of English culture had been generated within the boundaries of Sussex.

The other worrying and recurrent problem in her approach is that modern English romantic art began much earlier than the late thirties in which she pitches most of her comment. The Georgian poets, water-colourists, and engravers all got under way in the second decade of the century, as a reaction to the brutality of the first world war and a sense that an idyllic past was being lost.

She makes a brave case for pastoral romanticism being an enduring feature in English culture, but it is based on selective (though widespread) evidence, and a nostalgic enthusiasm for a view of the world based on the village green. This can be seen as embarrassingly conservative at a time of Hitler’s extermination of Jews, Stalin’s show trials, and the onset of a fully mechanised second world war.

Her capacity for detail uncovers some interesting points – such as T.S. Eliot exchanging views on blood and soil with anti-Semitic and eugenics-supporting Viscount Lymington. It was but a small step from this to Eliot’s belief in religious notions of ‘continuity’ and nationhood. But the arguments on inherent (almost genetic) national feeling for pastoralism are somewhat dented when she cites the work of Bill Brandt, who was German, and Eliot himself, who came from St Louis, Missouri – not East Coker.

The latter part of the book deals with an unashamed celebration of the glamour and romance of the large English country house, focusing on its presence in the work of Elizabeth Bowen, Osbert Sitwell, and Evelyn Waugh. This doesn’t add a lot more to what has gone before, except to intensify an overt nostalgia for disappearing aristocratic worlds.

It might seem churlish to dwell on the weaknesses of such an enthusiastic and beautifully written study, but I think it would be patronising to a work pitched at this level not to take its arguments seriously enough to question them. Anyway, the book is already a runaway success, and its rich cream pages and high quality colour illustrations are sure to delight anyone who buys it.

Romantic Moderns Buy the book at Amazon UK

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© Roy Johnson 2012


Alexandra Harris, Romantic Moderns: English Writers, Artists and the Imagination from Virginia Woolf to John Piper, London: Thames and Hudson, 2010, pp.320, ISBN: 0500251711


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Filed Under: 20C Literature, Art, Bloomsbury Group, Design history, Literary Studies Tagged With: Art, Bloomsbury Group, Cultural history, English literature, Literary studies, Modernism, Romantic Moderns

Russian Literature: a short introduction

August 4, 2009 by Roy Johnson

Russian poetry and prose 1800-2000

Catriona Kelly takes a rather unusual approach to the task of presenting two centuries of Russian literature without going for a chronological list or a ‘great writers’ structure. What she does instead is take Pushkin as a central starting point, then follows themes that arise from a consideration of his work and looks at other Russian writers en passant.

Russian Literature: a short introductionStarting from the importance of Pushkin to Russian society and culture, she puts nineteenth and twentieth-century Russian literature into a context which includes the political, social, and cultural history of a country which has gone from absolute monarchy, through totalitarian dictatorship, to a rough-hewn and precarious democracy in less than a hundred years. This book is not simply about literature: you’ll learn a lot about history from it too.

Her early chapters discuss Pushkin’s language and his thematic connections with other Russian writers as diverse as the poets Osip Mandelstam and Boris Pasternak, and novelists Gogol, Chekhov, and Mikhail Bulgakov.

There’s a thoughtful chapter on novels and poetry during the Soviet period, and she makes a brave attempt to re-examine literature from this dark era and defend it against accusations of crude propaganda.

She also looks at the role and significance of women in Russian literature – both as subjects and authors. Her observations seem to be based on a close acquaintance with ‘gender-aware criticism’ in the last years of the twentieth century, and there are cascades of new names in addition to those already well known, such as Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva.

There are also chapters on religious belief and the nature of good and evil (plenty on Dostoyevsky there); Russia’s imperialistic relations with its neighbours and the cult of the exotic; and the writer as a guide to public morals.

This book could easily have as its alternative sub-title ‘An Introduction to Alexander Pushkin’, but taking him as her inspiration she considers just about every other major Russian writer of the last two hundred years – plus plenty more besides.

These very short introductions from OUP are an interesting and attractive format – a small, pocket-sized book, stylishly designed, with illustrations, maps, endnotes, suggestions for further reading.

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© Roy Johnson 2001


Catriona Kelly, Russian Literature: a very short introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001, pp.164. ISBN: 0192801449


Filed Under: 19C Literature, 20C Literature Tagged With: Cultural history, Literary studies, Russian literature

Saul Bellow – greatest works

November 17, 2009 by Roy Johnson

Saul Bellow - portraitSaul Bellow (1915—2005) was born of Russian-Jewish parents in Canada, but lived most of his life in Chicago, a city which features in many of his novels. His work features characters struggling to understand themselves, and searching for identity in an often irrational world. He has a wonderful ear for the rhythms of modern speech, and he captures city life particularly well. Linguistically, he manages to successfully combine an intellectual-philosophical vocabulary with the language of the street. And his narratives are often very funny. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1976.

 

Saul Bellow - Dangling ManDangling Man (1944) his first novel, is concerned with existential philosophy and the sense of identity which was much in vogue at the time of its publication. It’s an accomplished debut, thoughtful and serious, about a man who does not want to go into the army. This reflects the serious side of Bellow, who repeatedly inspects the human condition. But it doesn’t have much of the rib-tickling bravura of his later work. This is early Bellow flexing his wings. It is perhaps best appreciated after you have read some of his later works.
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Saul Bellow - The Adventures of Augie MarchThe Adventures of Augie March is an ambitious, rambling, almost picaresque novel. Its first half is a moving and seemingly authentic account of a young boy growing up in Chicago during the Depression – which is where Bellow himself was raised. The story then goes off in a free-wheeling account of a series of bizarre jobs and relationships, and he ends up in Mexico. Bellow’s purpose seems to be to question how much compromise is desirable and how much is necessary, and what make us think about which parts of ourselves we want to remain individual. The second half of the novel however is far less coherent and less credible than the first – but some critics think otherwise.
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Saul Bellow - Sieze the DaySeize the Day (1956) is a novella in which you get a sense of Bellow finding his true voice. It’s a light, swift work with dark shadows that looks at the events of one day in the life of Tommy Wilhelm, a fading charmer. He confronts his sense of personal failure and a love-hate relationship with his father. This is his day of reckoning and he is scared. In his 40s, he still retains a boyish impetuousness that has brought him to the brink of havoc. In the course of this one climatic day, he reviews his past mistakes and spiritual malaise. This is a short work which is held together by the sort of concentrated sense of unity which is the hallmark of a good novella. It is now widely regarded as the first of Bellow’s great works.
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Saul Bellow - Henderson the Rain KingHenderson the Rain King (1959) was his first major success. It is a comic character study of American millionaire Gene Henderson, a larger-than-life 55-year-old who has accumulated money, position, and a large family, yet nonetheless feels unfulfilled. The story plots his frustrations with modern life, and his quest for revelation and spiritual enlightenment in Africa, where he fights with a lion, is hailed as a rainmaker, and becomes heir to a kingdom. He meets two tribes, one of which he virtually destroys in an attempt to purify their main water supply of a plague of frogs which goes disastrously wrong. Much of the novel’s humour derives from such antics from Henderson, a character-exaggeration clearly based on Ernest Hemingway (who was a highly regarded writer and public figure at the time).
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Saul Bellow - HerzogHerzog (1964) became highly regarded and a classic almost as soon as it was published. It centres intensely on the life of Moses Herzog, a Jewish intellectual who is driven close to the verge of breakdown by the adultery of his second wife with his close friend. He writes letters to famous people, both living and dead – Spinoza, Nietzsche, Winston Churchill, and the President of the USA – giving them a piece of his mind and asking their advice about how to live. The novel begins with a statement which sets the tone for everything that follows: “If I am going out of my mind, it’s all right with me, thought Moses Herzog”.
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Saul Bellow - Humboldt's GiftHumboldt’s Gift (1974) traces the life and memories of writer Charlie Citrine as he reflects on the influence of his boyhood friend and mentor, Humboldt. This character is based loosely upon Delmore Schwartz, the Jewish poet and short story writer whose early promise was never fulfilled. He descended into alcoholism and poverty, and died in a cheap hotel room, creating the modern version of the myth of the ‘doomed poet’. The novel deals with the ‘gift’ for aesthetic appreciation he passes on to his close friend Charlie, the narrator of the novel.
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Saul Bellow - RavelsteinRavelstein (2000) is something of a double portrait. Abe Ravelstein, a mega-successful Jewish academic realises that he might be dying. He invites his friend Chick to write an biographical study of him. What we get is a not-so-thinly disguised portrait of the critic Allan Bloom written by a character who has had all the brushes with life which Bellow experienced in his own: near-death illness, late-life divorce, and happiness with a new wife. Since his death, it has become a lot clearer just how much of his own life Bellow put into his fiction.
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© Roy Johnson 2009


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Filed Under: 20C Literature Tagged With: American literature, Dangling Man, Henderson the Rain King, Herzog, Humboldt's Gift, Literary studies, Modern novel, Ravelstein., Saul Bellow, Sieze the Day

Some People (Harold Nicolson)

July 11, 2009 by Roy Johnson

amusing character sketches, fictions, and memoirs

Harold Nicolson was a career diplomat, best known for the fact that he was married to Vita Sackville-West, who had a love affair with Virginia Woolf (and other women) and that despite his own homosexuality they kept going a marriage whose apparent success was recorded in their son’s account, Portrait of a Marriage. Nicolson blew this way and that in both literary and sexual terms, but in 1927 he produced a wonderful collection of portraits, Some People, which is part documentary and part fiction.

Some People (Harold Nicolson) They are based on his experiences of public school and the diplomatic service. The idea he explained to a friend ‘was to put real people into imaginary situations, and imaginary people into real situations’. You can view this as a new literary form, alongside such works as Virginia Woolf’s Orlando or just a personal whim, but the result is surprisingly polished and amusing. The sketches are based upon just the sort of upper-class privileged life Nicolson had led – scenes of a childhood spent in foreign legations supervised by a governess; life as a boarder at Wellington College; and early postings amongst similar toffs at the Foreign Office.

In one story Nicolson accompanies Lord Curzon on a diplomatic peace mission to Lausanne where he is due to negotiate with Poincaré and Mussolini – but the whole of the tale is focused on the Dickensian figure of Lord Curzon’s valet who drinks too much and disgraces himself in comic fashion at a high-ranking gala.

The stories are written in the first person – and for someone who had the opinions for which Nicolson became infamous, they are refreshingly self-deprecating. The narrator is more often than not the character in the wrong, the person who has a lesson to learn from others or from life itself. Real people such as Nicolson himself, Marcel Proust, Princess Bibesco, and Winston Churchill flit amongst fictional constructions in a perfectly natural and convincing manner.

The world of public school and Oxbridge run straight through seamlessly into that of the diplomatic service, and even though Nicolson’s conclusions are that its stiff conventions should be challenged and even broken, his stories rest heavily on the shared values of the Old School Tie, letters of introduction, and the right accent.

They reminded me of no less than the early stories of Vladimir Nabokov (written around the same time) which similarly combine autobiographical memoirs with fictional inventions. And the style is similar – supple, fast-moving sentences, a fascination with foreign words and places, and the phenomena of everyday life pinned down with well-observed details.

There was a lake in front of the hotel, cupped among descending pines, and in the middle of the lake a little naked island, naked but for a tin pagoda, with two blue boats attached to a landing-stage of which the handrail was of brown wood and the supports of pink.

It was this that made me think again of Jeanne de Hénaut.

It is writing which is very sophisticated, and which ultimately flatters the reader – it draws you seductively into this world of privilege, clubishness, and money. And yet if he had written more, I should certainly want to read them.

© Roy Johnson 2001

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Harold Nicolson, Some People, London: Constable, 1996, pp.184, ISBN: 094765901


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Filed Under: 20C Literature, Bloomsbury Group, Harold Nicolson, Short Stories, The Short Story Tagged With: Biography, Bloomsbury Group, Harold Nicolson, Literary studies, Modernism, Some People

Studying Fiction

June 30, 2009 by Roy Johnson

guide to the basics of literary analysis – plus short stories

Many adult students have spent most of their lives reading fiction in the form of stories and novels. However, when it comes to making a formal academic study of literature – especially at undergraduate level – it’s hard to find the right words in which to express your understanding of a text. That’s why this book was written. Studying Fiction is an introduction to the basic concepts and the technical terms you will need when making a study of prose fiction.

Studying Fiction It shows you how to apply the elements of literary analysis by explaining them one at a time, and then showing them at work in a series of short stories which are reproduced as part of the book. The materials are carefully graded, so that you start from simpler literary concepts, then work gradually towards more complex issues. The guide contains stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, Katherine Mansfield, Thomas Hardy, Joseph Conrad, D.H. Lawrence, and Charles Dickens. All of them are excellent and very entertaining tales in their own right. The guidance notes help you to understand the literary techniques being used in each case.

Eight chapters deal separately with issues such as the basics of character and story; point of view, symbolism, irony, and theme; literary language and ‘appreciation’; the techniques of close reading; the social context of literature; narrators and interpretation; and an explanation of literary terms.

The book works as a form of self-instruction programme. You first of all read the story; then a particular literary concept is explained in relation to the story; a series of questions are posed [with answers] which allow you to test your understanding; and the chapter ends with suggestions for further reading.

OK – this is what’s called an ‘author’s own review’, so I’ve tried to be as unbiased as possible. If anybody else wishes to produce a review, I’ll be happy to add it. Alternatively, you can read somebody else’s review at Amazon here

© Roy Johnson 2000

Studying Fiction Buy the book at Amazon UK

Studying Fiction Buy the book at Amazon US


Roy Johnson, Studying Fiction, Manchester University Press, 1994, pp.226, ISBN 0719033977


More on literature
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More on literary studies
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Filed Under: 19C Literature, 20C Literature, Literary Studies, Short Stories, Study skills Tagged With: English literature, Literary criticism, Literary studies, Study skills, Studying Fiction

The Double

April 29, 2017 by Roy Johnson

tutorial, commentary, study resources, and web links

The Double is sometimes known under its German name, the Doppelganger. It is a cultural phenomenon most often present in literature and studies of psychology. The term is used to describe situations in which one person appears to be a duplicate of or a close parallel to another. The scenario is often presented in a manner which cannot easily be explained.

The Double

The similarities between the two figures might be physical, or psychological, or both. In some cases the first person is very conscious of being shadowed or threatened by the existence of the second person or double figure. In other cases the two figures are merely presented simultaneously, and the observer (the reader) is left to draw the inference that they are being offered as twin examples of the same or very similar characteristics.

Alternatively, the two figures might throw psychological light on each other. They are often used in such a way that reflects the complex divisions or contradictions that might exist within an individual personality. These divisions are often known under the collective phrase ‘the divided self’.

In fiction, the unsettling nature of this phenomenon is normally perceived or related from the first person’s (character’s) point of view. That is, the principal character becomes aware of the second character who often threatens, displaces, or triumphs over the first.

The double is sometimes interpreted as an exploration of two sides of the same personality. That is, the fictional creation is perceived as the representation of some innate duality in human psychology. This might be seen as the ‘good’ and the ‘evil’ that are potential in human nature. In such cases the two figures may be presented as opposites – but with some inexplicable attraction to each other or purpose in common.

In Freudian psycho-analytic terms such binary figures can be seen as battles between the Super-ego and the Id, taking place within the individual’s Ego. The human being (Ego) is trying to abide by a set of rules or moral standards dictated by a notion of what is ‘right’. These rules are dictated by the Super-ego or conscience. But the Ego’s efforts are thwarted by the human desire to satisfy all sorts of forbidden or irrational impulses. These deeply submerged impulses are dictated by the Id or the unconscious.

Literary tradition

There is a long tradition of stories which deal with ‘the double’ theme. These are narratives featuring a character who feels the presence of, thinks he perceives, or sometimes even sees another character who has the same appearance or name as himself. The second character might succeed in society where the first character fails, or the second might perform some anti-social act for which the first character is blamed. Examples include Edgar Alan Poe’s Wiliam Wilson (1839), Fyodor Dostoyevski’s The Double (1846), and Vladimir Nabokov’s The Eye (1930).

Very often these stories are first person narratives in which it becomes clear to the reader that the second character does not actually exist, but is a projection of the narrator’s imagination – an ‘alternative’ personality, or ‘another self’ representing a fear or a wish-fulfilment.

Very often other characters in the narrative are either unaware of the second ‘doubling’ figure – or they might mistake one person for the other, because they are so similar. You can see some of these variations in the examples that follow.


The Double – further reading

The Double Karl Miller, Doubles in Literary History – Amazon UK

The Double Karl Miller, Doubles in Literary History – Amazon US

The Double Sigmund Freud, The Uncanny – Amazon UK

The Double Sigmund Freud, The Uncanny – Amazon US

The Double Otto Rank, Double: A Psychoanalytic Study – Amazon UK

The Double Otto Rank, Double: A Psychoanalytic Study – Amazon US

The Double Andrew Hock, The Double in Literature< – Amazon UK

The Double Andrew Hock, The Double in Literature – Amazon US


The Double – examples

Frankenstein

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) is a wonderful example of the double presented as two apparent opposites. Victor Frankenstein is young, refined, well educated, and in love with his beautiful fiance Elizabeth. He creates a Monster who is giant-sized, crude, and savagely violent. However, they are locked in a very symbiotic relationship.

Frankenstein and his Monster are like contradictory parts of the same person. The Monster is the active, physical side of Frankenstein (the scholar) but also more obviously the ‘evil’ side. He performs acts almost on Frankenstein’s behalf (to carry out his subconscious wishes) daring to do what Frankenstein can not. As Masao Miyoshi has observed ‘The common error of calling the Monster ‘Frankenstein’ has considerable justification. He is the scientist’s divided self.’

It is possible to take this analysis even further by regarding Frankenstein and the Monster as one and the same being. They are like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The justification for this view turns largely on the fact that Frankenstein is always ‘absent’ when the murders are commuted, and nobody else in the novel ever sees Frankenstein and the Monster together in the same scene. For an essay that explains this interpretation in further detail, see Frankenstein: the romance, the double, the psyche

William Wilson

Edgar Allen Poe’s story William Wilson (1839) (from his famous collection Tales of Mystery and Imagination) is an account of someone who, from his schooldays onward, feels he is being hampered and challenged by a figure who has the same name as himself. Not only has he the same name, but the same birthday, the same clothes, and the ability to appear at crucial moments, issuing warnings and advice.

The double has a habit of appearing at crucial moments, just as William Wilson is going to commit some anti-social act. He ruins a young nobleman by cheating at cards, and finally is about to seduce a young married woman when he is challenged by his conscience and double. He plunges his rapier into the double, only to discover himself in front of a full length mirror covered in blood. In killing his ‘better self’ he has brought about his own death.

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

Robert Louis Stevenson’s famous novella Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886) is a perfect example of this literary trope. The story is that Dr Jekyll is an upright and well-respected member of the community in Edinburgh. But a series of malicious attacks on innocent people are perpetrated by a Mr Hyde.

Jekyll and Hyde are polar opposites. Jekyll is tall, upright, honest, and philanthropic. Hyde is small and malignant to the extent that he commits murder. They seem to be representations of the conscious and the unconscious mind – the Ego and the Id. It transpires they are actually one and the same person. Jekyll has been experimenting with drugs that will allow him to transform himself into another identity.

Almost every element in the story has a parallel or a double. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde are two aspects of the same man. Jekyll’s house has two entrances – one the respectable public front entrance, the other a partly hidden, secret, and locked rear entrance. Thus the main subject of the novella is reinforced its thematically linked details.

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Oscar Wilde’s 1890 novel The Picture of Dorian Gray features an interesting twist on the ‘double’ theme. There are two two figures in the story – but one of them is a painting. Dorian Gray is a beautiful young man who has his portrait painted at the start of the narrative. He puts the painting in an attic and gives himself up to a life of self-indulgence.

As the years go by his ego centrism is responsible for the suffering of people around him, and he even kills a close friend – and yet he remains as youthful and beautiful as ever. However, the painting in the attic is meanwhile ageing.

Eventually he is oppressed by feelings of guilt, but feels that the painting has somehow cheated him. He resolves to destroy it, but in the final scene the painting has become young again, whilst Dorian is dead with a knife in his heart – a wrinkled, withered, and age-ravaged old man.

The painting acts as an ‘objective correlative’ of Dorian Gray’s self-indulgence, and the evil his corruption has generated, whilst leaving him apparently unchanged in outward appearance. The image of ‘a painting in the attic’ has become a popular metaphor and reference when commenting about people who seem to have unfairly escaped the ageing process.

The Secret Sharer

Joseph Conrad’s celebrated novella The Secret Sharer (1910) is explicitly packed with the features of the double theme. Its young unnamed narrator is a ship’s captain who at night takes on board an escapee from another nearby ship. This man Leggatt, has saved his own ship during a storm but in doing so has killed a malicious fellow seaman.

The young captain and Leggatt are of similar age. They attended the same elite sailor’s training school. They are both bare footed when they meet. The captain gives Leggatt his own sleeping suit to wear, so that they look the same, and he puts him into his own bed in order to conceal him. The captain immediately (and throughout the tale) refers to Leggatt as his ‘double’ and ‘secret self’. Leggatt was chief mate on the Sephora – and presumably the young captain had previously been a mate before promotion to captain.

The two men echo each other’s gestures. The captain feels that they are both ‘strangers on board’. Leggatt is a stranger because he comes from another ship, the captain is a stranger in that he has only recently taken up his command. The captain refers to Leggatt as if he is looking in a mirror. Eventually, he assists Leggatt to evade detection and allows him to escape to a nearby island.

Conrad often creates stories in which someone is presented with a moral dilemma or an existential crisis. This experience might also involve confronting ethically complex situations or other characters who have dared to cross the line between good and evil.

The Eye

As a Russian novelist, Vladimir Nabokov was very well aware of the double tradition in literature, and used the device frequently – often to comic or macabre effect. In his early novella The Eye (1930) he creates a neurotic un-named first person narrator who is a double in two senses. First he attempts suicide half way through the story, and then afterwards (having failed) refers to himself in the third person, as if he were observing himself from outside the story. He claims ‘In respect to myself I was now an onlooker’.

Then in the second part of the story he circulates in fashionable society where he meets a man called Smurov. He finds this man very charming and attractive, attributing to him all sorts of positive virtues and social success. Smurov however behaves in a clumsy and insensitive manner, and is eventually revealed as a liar. It becomes clear to the reader that Smurov and the narrator are one and the same person.

In this variation on the double theme it is the narrator who is a failure, and he makes his double a success – a projection of what he wishes to be. But because he is a hopelessly neurotic person, his efforts fail.

Despair

In his novel Despair (1932) Nabokov offers a further variation of the double theme. His first person narrator Hermann decides to fake his own death in order to claim on an insurance policy. At the same time he also wishes to commit the ‘perfect crime’. In order to do this he finds a man whom he believes to be his exact double. He befriends this man (Felix), they exchange clothes, and he then murders him.

The story is related entirely from Hermann’s point of view, but Nabokov scatters clues throughout the tale which enable the reader to realise the truth. Felix is nothing like Hermann: he is not a double at all. Hermann is deranged, and at the end of the story he in hiding, waiting to be arrested by the police.

The renaissance double

We can see from these examples that the double was largely a phenomenon of the nineteenth century. But since it now seems to reveal something fundamental about human consciousness, it is also possible to see examples in earlier works. For instance, it is possible in a renaissance work such as Othello to see the two main characters of Othello and Iago as opposite sides of the same character

Othello is proud, honest, unsophisticated, and some would say naive. Iago on the other hand is scheming, deceitful, and villainous. They also both have designs on the same woman – Desdemona. Iago is the murky, unprincipled sub-conscious or id to Othello’s super-ego. Iago will stoop to any depths to achieve his ends, whilst Othello is doing only what is right until he is tricked into murdering his own wife – still thinking he is doing right

A Tale of Two Cities

There are elements of the double in A Tale of Two Cities. The hero of the novel is Charles Darney, an upright and honourable young Englishman. His opposite is Sydney Carton, a disreputable and alcoholic lawyer who takes a cynical and self-serving view of everything that life presents to him. Yet the two men look like each other, and they are both in love with the same woman – Lucy Minette

When Darney is eventually captured by the French revolutionaries and imprisoned in the Bastille, Carton secures his escape and offers himself as a look-alike substitute. He goes to his death on the guillotine as an act of noble self-sacrifice saying ‘It is a far better thing I do than I have ever done’. The once dissolute Carton redeems himself personally and morally by the sacrifice of his wicked self to his good self.

© Roy Johnson 2017


Filed Under: 19C Literature, 20C Literature Tagged With: Cultural history, English literature, Literary studies, Literary theory

The Forsyte Saga

June 21, 2018 by Roy Johnson

tutorial, commentary, study resources, plot summary

The Forsyte Saga is the best-known work of English novelist John Galsworthy (1867-1933). The story covers the events and history of a large upper middle-class family between the late Victorian era and the 1920s. Dramatic interest centres on unhappy marriages, the problems of divorce, and the powerful influence of one generation on the next.

The Forsyte Saga

John Galsworthy

John Galsworthy is now something of a forgotten literary figure, but he was very popular in the Edwardian and Georgian periods. He wrote an enormous number of novels, stories, and plays. His earliest successes were in the theatre, and his best known play The Skin Game (1920) was adapted as a film by the young director Alfred Hitchcock in 1931. Galsworthy was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1932.

The three novels of The Forsyte Saga have been adapted for the cinema many times. They were turned into a twenty-six part television drama series by the BBC in 1967 which was very popular. It was broadcast all over the world, becoming the first UK television programme to be sold to the Soviet Union. This did nothing to revive Galsworthy’s critical reputation, but it helped to establish the vogue for the adaptation of literary classics as a stock-in-trade for the expanding television industry.

The Forsyte Saga – note on the text

The Forsyte Saga is a trilogy of novels which were published between 1906 and 1921. The first was The Man of Property (1906). This was followed by what Galsworthy calls an ‘Interlude’, Indian Summer of a Forsyte which was published in 1918. The second main part of the saga was In Chancery which appeared in 1920. The second ‘Interlude’ was Awakening also published in 1920, and the third part of the trilogy was To Let, published in 1921.

There were two further trilogies – A Modern Comedy (1924-28) and End of the Chapter (1931-1933). The whole enterprise is referred to collectively as The Forsyte Chronicles.


The Forsyte Saga – critical commentary

What is a saga?

The term ‘saga’ was originally associated with traditional stories of Nordic and Viking travels, feuds, and battles. The word means ‘tale’ or ‘history’. In a modern context ‘saga’ has come to be used to describe any long-running narrative giving an account of domestic, political, or romantic events. It usually comes with the implication of multiple episodes, or a story stretching over a number of family generations, complex relationships, or long-running conflicts.

Galsworthy’s use of the term is slightly ironic. He did go on to write more episodes (two more trilogies) of the Forsyte family, and gave the collective name to these works The Forsyte Chronicles, but it is the original trilogy which has remained his most enduringly popular creation.
The story of the first trilogy covers three generations of the Forsyte family between 1886 and 1920, many of the males of which rather confusingly have the same first name – Jolyon. The family is also split into two factions who do not get on with each other. At times it is difficult to tell who is related to whom. Fortunately the various elements of the plot are held together by the two central figures around whom much of the drama revolves.

The main story

The most important character is Soames Forsyte, a solicitor in the second generation of the family. He is married – very unhappily – to the beautiful Irene, who does not love him. She has an affair with the architect Philip Bosinney, then goes on to marry Soames’ cousin, with whom she has a son Jolyon (Jon). Soames subsequently marries a French girl Annette (his second unhappy marriage) and they have a daughter Fleur.

These two factions of the family ignore each other, and the scandalous divorce of Soames and Irene is kept a secret from both their children. But in true fairy story tradition, the two children eventually meet each other and fall in love. Both sides of the family unite to prevent a marriage taking place. Fleur, the more spirited character, wants to defy the ban. But the more cautious Jon accepts the family prohibition in order to protect his mother’s feelings. Fleur finally marries someone else, even though she is unhappy about doing so.

That is the essence of the saga, which begins and ends with the morally ambiguous figure of Soames, a man who wishes to maintain the ethical values of the mid-Victorian era he has inherited, even when they are generating his own unhappiness. He begins by commissioning the design of a grand estate in which he never lives, and ends ruminating in Highgate Cemetery on the evils of democracy and motor cars.

His beautiful, enigmatic wife Irene starts out in cold hostility to a husband she has married by mistake. She acts as a sexual magnet to several men throughout the story, and ends in a quasi-incestuous relationship with her son Jon. This rather symmetrically parallels the unhealthily close relationship Soames has with his daughter Fleur.

The main theme

Soames also conveniently embodies the main theme of the trilogy, which is the acquisition, maintenance, accumulation, and transmission of capital and property within the family. Hence the slightly ironic title of the first volume. Soames is dubbed ‘The Man of Property’ as he maintains the philosophy of material possession – even to the extent that he regards his wife (and later his child) as items under his control and ownership.

He is a wealthy property-owning solicitor who no matter what problems beset his personal life, goes on making more and more money. He is also a ‘connoisseur’ of a particular kind. He collects objects in silver and works of art – but he doesn’t value them for aesthetic pleasure. As soon as a particular painter reaches his ‘peak’ in terms of re-sale value, Soames sells whilst the ‘market’ is high. The collection of art works is therefore treated as an extension of the Stock Exchange.

Standing among his pictures, he saw before him a future full of bargains earned by the trained faculty of knowing better than other people. Selling what was about to decline, keeping what was still going up, and excercising judicious insight into future taste, he would make a unique collection, which at his death would pass to the nation under the title ‘Forsyte Bequest’.


BBC 1967 production


The crucial drama

The crucial dramatic episode of the first volume is a scene which is not dramatised but merely alluded to then described explicitly in the third volume. It is a scene of what we would now call ‘marital rape’ when Soames, overcome by desire for his attractive wife Irene, forces his sexual attentions on her.

In the moral and legal conventions of the period, this would not be regarded as an offence. Nor could it be considered grounds for divorce. Indeed the act would be considered what was described at that time (and until recently) as Soames exerting his ‘conjugal rights’.

The incident fuels Irene’s feelings of disgust and repulsion for her husband, but she is powerless to do anything about it. However, it does lead to an important plot development. Irene reports the incident to her lover, the architect Philip Bosinney, who is so distraught that he is killed or possibly commits suicide in a motoring accident.

This gives rise to a rare scene in the plot which defies credibility. A minor character, George Forsyte, sees the architect Bosinney and Irene on the London underground at the point she (presumably) tells him about the marital rape. George can see that Bosinney is distressed, and he knows already about rumours surrounding Bosinney’s relationship with Irene. But from witnessing Bosinney’s state of high anxiety, George intuits the scene of domestic violence which has led to the lover’s distress.

George understood from these mutterings that Soames had exercised his rights over an estranged and unwilling wife in the greatest – the supreme act of property.

We are being asked to believe that one man (George) observes another (Bosinney) whom he hardly knows in what seems to be a distressed state (mumbling to himself). George then correctly guesses the actions, the motivation, and the moral circumstances of a third man (Soames) acting in a scene George knows nothing about. In addition to this George then correctly surmises the attitude of a fourth person (Irene) and her responses in that same scene.

We learn that Bosinney goes on to either commit suicide or die in a traffic accident in the fog. But this ‘revelation’ is stretching the bounds of credibility beyond a limit that even Thomas Hardy would not have dared to broach. Fortunately, no particular plot importance hinges on this example of incredible insight.

But the incident does have an ironic counterpart when Soames’ sister Winifred is seeking a divorce from her feckless husband Montague Dartie. When Dartie absconds to South America with a dancing girl, Winifred is forced to petition the court for a restoration of her ‘conjugal rights’ – even though this is the last thing she wants. She hopes that Dartie’s refusal will give her grounds for divorce. The double dramatic irony is that Dartie does come back to her, but to everyone’s relief he dies later falling down a staircase in a drunken stupor.

Strengths and weaknesses

The majority of the narrative is flawlessly plotted and smoothly related, the point of view shifting from one character to another, with Galsworthy acting as an unacknowledged ringmaster, holding the separate elements of the plot together.

There is a very masterful handling of the first interlude between Part I and Part II of the trilogy – Indian Summer of a Forsyte. This is a passage in which Old Jolyon is living in the new house at Robbin’s Hill, on his own, whilst his son and grand-daughter June are on holiday in Spain. He is visited by the beautiful Irene, now living alone in Chelsea in a reduced state following her separation from Soames.

Old Jolyon finds a new lease in life following contact with her. Without admitting it to himself, he is clearly in love with her. He interprets this as an appreciation of her beauty, but he comes to emotionally depend upon their meetings. At the same time, he is clearly dying: he stops eating, grows thinner, has an unspecified pain in his side, and is conscious of his fading powers.

This is a dramatic situation which could easily have become mawkish and even slightly embarrassing – but Galsworthy handles it very well. Jolyon’s enthusiasm for his son’s estranged wife remains credible, unsullied, and delicately treated.

The same cannot be said for the second interlude Awakening which separates In Chancery from the final volume To Let. This intermediate section features an extended account of the childhood development of Jon Forsyte, the son of Jolyon and Irene. A series of simplistic and sentimental evocations of an idealised childhood conjure up echoes of Little Lord Fauntleroy (1885) or ‘Bubbles’ from the advert for Pears soap (1885).

Jon is later to become an upright and honest youth of scrupulous principles, but this description of his idyllic moral formation is soppy and unconvincing. Some might even wish to argue that he is emotionally damaged, since he is later unable to separate himself psychologically from his mother in order to form an adult relationship with his spirited cousin Fleur.


The Forsyte Saga

2002 Granada TV adaptation


Property and inheritance

Nothing could be more strongly emphasised throughout the novel(s) than the importance of property to the family. In this context property means capital in the form of savings, investments, and income; property in the form of buildings and real estate; and property in the form of land. Almost all (male) members of the family are very wealthy and are engaged in well paid occupations – tea merchant, solicitor, land agent, publisher, insurance, and landlord.

It is assumed that the male children of the family will be sent to public (that is private) schools, Eton or Harrow; then go on to Oxford or Cambridge University. And the entire system of will and inheritance is designed to keep wealth within a family.

In making wills it is automatically assumed that the assets of the deceased will be left to other members of the consanguinous family. The purpose of this convention is to keep capital concentrated into a family, and for it to be handed on from one generation to the next. This is an aristocratic principal, based on land holdings, hereditary titles, and the law of primogeniture.

Old Jolyon appears to break this convention by leaving fifteen thousand pounds to Irene in his will – and she is not a blood Forsyte. But it is worth noting that he only leaves her the interest on this capital sum. She has the interest during her lifetime, after which the capital sum reverts to the family.

Galsworthy as a former barrister knew these legal niceties and gives them well-integrated expression in his novel – not unlike Balzac who had set the benchmarks for this form of politico-economic realism in the earlier nineteenth century. The mildly ironic Young Jolyon observes:

We are, of course, all of us the slaves of property … but what I call a “Forsyte” is a man who is decidedly more than less a slave of property. He knows a good thing, he knows a safe thing, and his grip on property—it doesn’t matter whether it be wives, houses, money, or reputation—is his hall-mark.

Soames is driven by acquisition, ownership, property, and market value. This capitalist philosophy is by inference reflected in his personal life – to reveal the de-humanising attitudes he has to his two wives, his child, and his extended family.

He observes at one point that ‘money makes money’ – and has so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. But so fierce is the drive to hereditary capital accumulation that can only think of having children to whom he can bequeath his wealth. Therefore, the child has to be a son, so that the money will stay in his name, and in his family.

If the child were to be a daughter she might marry someone from outside the family, and the property would pass into another family. These are the principles of primogeniture which Galsworthy shows working at an individual level, revealing how people’s actions are exposed as economically motivated at a deep social level. He settles money on his daughter Fleur, which she does take outside the family. But she marries the heir to a baronetcy, which brings the cachet of an aristocratic title into the purlieus of the Forsyte family.

Marriage and Divorce

A great deal of the plot dynamic is driven by consequences of unhappy marriage-and the difficulties of divorce. Soames is locked into a painful conflict with his wife Irene. She is the great passion of his life, but she does not love him. In fact she is repulsed by him – for reasons that are never made completely clear, except that he is a cold and emotionally repressed character.

Soames’ sister Winifred is married to the wastrel Montague Dartie, who is living off handouts from her father James so as to prevent Dartie bringing the family name into some shameful scandal of debt. The first parts of the Saga are set in the late nineteenth century when divorce was not only very difficult and expensive – but was also regarded as a social disgrace.

It is worth noting the connections between marriage and the drive towards property accumulation. Divorce was made difficult because it potentially (and actually) diluted a family’s capital. Soames lost nothing in divorcing Irene, because she brought no money to the marriage. One of Soames’ uncles feels relieved that he married before the Married Women’s Property Act. That’s because prior to 1870 a man automatically took full possession of a woman’s entire property the moment they were married.


The Forsyte Saga – study resources

The Forsyte Saga – Oxford Classics – Amazon UK

The Forsyte Saga – Oxford Classics – Amazon US

The Forsyte Saga – Wordsworth Classics – Amazon UK

The Forsyte Saga – 1967 BBC TV series – Amazon UK

The Forsyte Saga – 2002 Granada TV series – Amazon UK


The Forsyte Saga – plot summary

Book I – The Man of Property

Part I

I.   The Forsyte family is concerned about June’s engagement to an unknown architect Philip Bosinney

II.   Old Jolyon Forsyte feels his age and regrets the estrangement from his son Young Jolyon, whom he meets at a gentlemen’s club.

III.   Swithin Forsyte hosts a family dinner party to celebrate June’s engagement. All the males are competitive and acquisitive. Their attention is focused on money, property, business, and land.

IV.   Soames Forsyte cannot understand why his wife Irene does not love him. He thinks of building a house ‘in the country’ and asks Bosinney’s advice on planning. Bosinney persuades him to invest in an expensive location.

V.   Soames thinks of everything in terms of ownership – his paintings, silver collection, and wife. But Irene remains untouchably aloof. She is indifferent to news of the new house.

VI.   Old James Forsyte dines with his son Soames and Irene. He cannot get any information out of her.

VII.   Old Jolyon feels lonely. He visits his previously estranged son in St John’s Wood, making an emotional connection with his two grandchildren.

VIII.   Soames discusses plans for the new house with Bosinney, who impresses Irene.

IX.   Aunt Ann, oldest of the Forsytes, dies and is buried in Highgate Cemetary.

Part II

I.   The new house is going over budget. Soames is on the verge of giving Irene her freedom. June stumbles onto an intimate scene between Bosinney and Irene.

II.   June and Bosinney have a tense dinner with Soames and Irene, then go on to the theatre. June suspects Bosinney, and is unhappy.

III.   Swithin Forsyte takes Irene for a ride to see the new house. Bosinney takes Irene for a walk into the woods whilst Swithin falls asleep.

IV.   James Forsyte (father to Soames) is disturbed by the rumours surrounding Irene. He visits the new house and quizzes Bosinney – to no effect.

V.   Soames and Bosinney exchange hostile letters regarding the completion of the new house, the cost of which is still rising.

VI.   Old Jolyon visits the Zoo with his son and two grandchildren, towards whom he feels a growing closeness.

VII.   There is a meeting of the Forsyte family and a description of their ‘noble’ heritage. Francie is a published musical composer. Concern is expressed for old Jolyon.

VIII.   A ‘second class’ ball is held at the house of Roger Forsyte. Soames watches in jealous silence as Irene dances with Bosinney. June arrives to ‘reclaim’ Bosinney, but bolts when she sees him with Irene.

IX.   Old Jolyon takes June to Broadstairs for the sea air. Winifred (Somes’ sister) organises an outing to Richmond with her gambler husband Dartie, who flirts boorishly with Irene and incurrs Bosinney’s wrath.

X.   Old Jolyon asks his son to sound out Bosinney on his ‘intentions’ towards June. Young Jolyon discusses Forsytes and the theory of property with Bosinney, but does not mention June.

XI.   Soames reproaches an unco-operative Irene, who wants to be free of their marriage. They meet Bosinney in the Park and invite him to dinner. Soames realises that Bosinney is in love with his wife.

XII.   June goes up to London and speaks to Bosinney’s aunt, but learns nothing about his intentions. She even sees him in the street, but he declines to speak to her.

XIII.   James drives Irene out to the new house, which is an architectural success. He pleads for Soames, but she refuses his entreaties. The house has gone over budget again.

XIV.   Irene locks Soames out of her room. He is consumed with jealousy, but does not know what to do about it.

Part III

I.   Soames sues Bosinney for exceeding the budget. Mrs MacAnder sees Bosinney and Irene in Richmond Park together.

II.   Rumours spread in the Forsyte family, who wish to avoid a scandal. Soames is distraught, and his legal case is ‘ambiguous’.

III.   Old Jolyon alters his will in favour of his son Young Jolyon with whom he is now reconciled.

IV.   Soames commits marital rape. George spots Bosinney in the Tube, follows him, and ‘realises’ that he is suffering from this knowledge.

V.   At the trial of Soames Vs Bosinney the verdict is given in Soames’ favour. Bosinney does not attend the trial.

VI.   Soames arrives home to find that Irene has left him. His father advises him to ‘follow her’.

VII.   After the trial June goes to Bosinney’s office, but he is not there. Irene arrives – homeless. Old Jolyon plans to sell his house and live reconciled with his son and family. He invites June to join them.

VIII.   Old Jolyon starts discussion of the purchase of Soames’ new house. It is announced that Bosinney is dead, though it is not clear if the traffic accident was suicide or not.

IX.   When Soames returns home he finds that Irene has come back. He does not know what to do, but when Young Jolyon arrives with a message for her Soames turns him away.

Indian Summer of a Forsyte

I.   Old Jolyon buys the new house from Soames, who goes to live in Brighton. Swithin Forsyte dies. Jolyon meets Irene visiting the garden. They have dinner together. She is living in Chelsea, giving piano lessons.

II.   During the following week Old Jolyon drives into town to visit her. She is supporting prostitutes, having been helped by one herself, after leaving Soames.

III.   At Irene’s next visit Jolyon decides to leave her fifteen thousand pounds in his will, even though she does not have Forsyte blood in her veins.

IV.   Not admitting to himself that he is a little in love with Irene, he invites her to dinner and the opera – but he has a fainting fit and suffers from a pain in his side.

V.   Jolyon travels regularly to London to see Irene. He becomes thinner and dreads the impending return of his son and family from holiday in Spain. Irene writes that she must stop coming when June returns, then sensing that he is near the end she relents. But when she arrives to see him he has died peacefully in the garden.

Book II – In Chancery

Part I

I.   In the later years of the nineteeth century reproduction amongst the Forsytes has declined in parallel with the decline in interest rates. Soames has met Annette a French woman in a Soho restaurant, but he cannot ‘act’ because he is not divorced.

II.   Soames’ sister Winifred is abused by her husband Montague Dartie. He steals her pearls and plans to run off with a Spanish dancer. When Winifred’s son Val goes out on the town with his friend they encounter a drunk Dartie at the theatre.

III.   Soames visits Winifred and realises that they are in similar positions – deserted but not divorced. He will act as her solicitor.

IV.   Soames’ family owns the building containing the Restaurant Bretagne. He inveigles himself into the confidence of Mme Lamotte but knows he must obtain a divorce to secure her daughter Annette.

V.   Soames is staying with his father who is ill. Dartie has declared himself bankrupt. Soames wants a son to whom he can bequeath his property.

VI.   Soames visits Young Jolyon at Robin Hill with Val Dartie. He wants a divorce from Irene who left him twelve years previously.

VII.   Young Val and Holly look over the stables and grounds, comparing notes about their families.

VIII.   Jolyon visits Irene who has remained living alone. He then reports to Soames, but there appear to be insufficient grounds for a divorce.

IX.   Soames advises his sister Winifred to go for a quick divorce. Young Val petulantly resists the idea. Val seeks family secrets from his grandparents, learns nothing, but takes the money they give him.

X.   Mme Lamotte and her daughter Annette visit Soames’ house by the river. He puts on a display of his wealth, but realises he must tread carefully to be accepted.

XI.   Soames visits Irene and still finds her attractive. But she cannot provide him with the necessary grounds for a divorce.

XII.   Soames entertains the idea of a reunion with Irene. The Boers declare war. The Forsytes discuss the political situation. June arrives and is pro-Boer.

XIII.   Soames confronts Jolyon and reveals his sense of possession over Irene. Jolyon (her trustee) is outraged – partly attracted to Irene himself.

XIV.   Soames visits Mme Lamotte and Annette at the restaurant and feels that they are trying to snare him. He now definitely wants Irene again.

Part II

I.   Young Val and Jolly meet up at Oxford. Soames visits Irene again, who feels she needs to escape from him.

II.   Soames buys Irene a diamond brooch for her birthday, and tries to persuade her to be reunited. She tells him she would rather die.

III.   Jolyon and June go to help Irene, who insists she will go abroad. June wants Jolyon to buy her an art gallery.

IV.   Soames employs a private detective to follow his own wife. Jolyon takes Winifred to visit the barrister handling her divorce case.

V.   Young Jolly and Val fight over the Boer war at Oxford. But Val continues courting Holly.

VI.   Jolyon meets Irene regularly in Paris where they are both staying in exile. When Jolly enlists in the war Jolyon is forced to return home.

VII.   Winifred’s divorce case is heard in court. She has to pretend that she wants Dartie back. Val feels ashamed of the ‘scandal’.

VIII.   Jolly challenges Val to volunteer for the war, which despite a sudden ‘engagement’ to Holly, he accepts.

IX.   Val announces his news over dinner at James’s house. Soames is suspicious of Young Jolyon being in Paris at the same time as Irene.

X.   Jolyon arrives back at the house on Robbin’s Hill, and the dog Balthazar dies on greeting him.

XI.   At a family dinner they discuss the war and its progress, then they exchange rumours about Soames, Irene, and Jolyon.

XII.   Somes gets reports from the detective in Paris, then challenges Jolyon on his return to London – to no effect.

XIII.   Montague Dartie suddenly returns to Winifred in a distressed state. She consults both Soames and her father, but they can think of no remedy. She reluctantly decides to accept Dartie back.

XIV.   Soames is shocked by the crowds celebrating the relief of Mafeking in the streets of the West End.

Part III

I.   Soames goes to Paris and tracks down Irene. She rejects his pleas yet again. When he goes to threaten her at the hotel, she has already left for England.

II.   The detective reports success to Soames: a man has been seen visiting Irene’s hotel room. The man was Soames himself. He visits Mme Lamotte and sounds her out regarding Annette.

III.   Jolly contracts a disease in South Africa. June and Holly train as Red Cross nurses. Irene writes to Jolyon from nearby Richmond.

IV.   Jolly becomes delirious in his dying fever.

V.   The detectives report on Jolyon and Irene meeting regularly at Richmond. Soames decides to sue for divorce.

VI.   Soames serves papers on Jolyon and Irene, then goes to confront them at Robin Hill. They defy his threats and admit that they are ‘guilty’ – even though they are not.

VII.   Jolyon plans to contest the divorce as if they were guilty – in order to free Irene from Soames. He receives the news of Jolly’s death.

VIII.   Soames is worried about what his father might think, but James wants him to divorce so that his money will be kept in the family name.

IX.   Soames plans to retire because of the divorce scandal. The divorce goes through quickly. He writes to Mme Lamotte proposing marriage to Annette. Val marries Holly in South Africa.

X.   1901 – Soames marries Annette; Queen Victoria dies; an age concludes. Soames introduces Annette to members of his family.

XI.   Irene and Annettte both become pregnant, and there is much speculation amongst the family regarding the continuation of the Forsyte name

XII.   Annette has a difficult pregnancy but gives birth to a girl, Fleur. At the same moment Soames’ father is dying.

XIII.   Soames arrives in time to time to give his father the ‘good news’ about the birth of his grand-daughter. But James then dies.

XIV.   Soames returns home and is curiously reluctant to see his wife and daughter.

Interlude – Awakening

Young Jon Forsyte enjoys an idyllic childhood at Robin Hill. His parents arrive home from holiday in Ireland. Jon has a powerful sense of his mother’s beauty.

Book III – To Let

Part I

I.   1920 – Soames resents being in the super-tax bracket, is pleased with his teenage daughter Fleur, and suffers a cold and loveless marriage to Annette. At an exhibition of modern paintings he and Fleur bump into Irene and her son Jon.

II.   Fleur questions her father closely about the Forsyte family history. He wishes to conceal from her any knowledge of his first marriage to Irene.

III.   Jolyon is under medical orders to live a quiet life. Irene reports on the meeting with Soames. Jolyon too wishes to keep ‘the past’ a secret from his son, who has fallen instantly for Fleur.

IV.   Soames visits old uncle Timothy in his unchanged house in the Bayswater Road. Soames thinks the house is a mausoleum to the nineteenth century which should be preserved.

V.   Val Dartie is presented with a racehorse by the mysterious Belgian Prosper Profond, who claims to be a friend of the family.

VI.   Young Jon arrives at Val Dartie’s to begin a farming apprenticeship – but instead he begins to write poetry.

VII.   Fleur arrives at the house. Jon is in a state of embarrassed awkwardness, but Fleur is quite forward with him.

VIII.   Jon and Fleur go for an early morning romantic walk on the Sussex Downs where they gradually reveal their feelings for each other.

IX.   Soames sells a Gaugin painting to Profond the Belgian dandy, and is then visited by the art aficionado Michael Mont.

X.   Jolyon wants to send Jon abroad to get him away from Fleur. Irene volunteers to tell Jon the truth about the family’s past.

XI.   Jon and Fleur arrange a train journey in order to be together in private. They agree to bear a six week separation whilst he is on holiday with his mother.

XII.   Fleur is courted by Michael Mont. She overhears Profound flirting with her mother Annette. Soames is possessively jealous of Fleur’s attachment to Jon.

Part II

I.   Jon and his mother Irene go on holiday to Spain for six weeks. He is overcome with sunstroke.

II.   Jolyon’s daughter June thinks that Jon should be told the truth about Irene. She goes to see Fleur but does not reveal the facts. Fleur finds an old photograph of Irene in her father’s room – and thinks that maybe he once loved her.

III.   Jon goes up to town where there is gossip in Val’s club about the Belgian Profond and Annette. He meets Fleur and takes her home where she is welcomed by Jolyon and Irene.

IV.   Fleur learns the truth about Soames and Irene from the gossip of the odious Profond, who reveals he is leaving for a cruise on his yacht.

V.   Soames alters his will to provide an inheritance for Fleur via a trust.

VI.   Soames receives an anonymous letter informing him that his wife is involved with a ‘foreigner’. Michael Mont visits to reveal his love for Fleur. Soames challenges Annette but she refuses to respond.

VII.   Fleur visits June’s studio to arrange a private rendezvous with Jon, whom she is determined to marry.

VIII.   Fleur proposes to elope with John to marry in Scotland – but he is frightened to take such a radical step.

IX.   Fleur reveals everything to her father. They argue about the wisdom of her relationship with Jon.

X.   Jon is conflicted about his decision to marry Fleur, but he finally decides to do it openly.

XI.   At Lord’s the Belgian Profond appears again and makes contact with Irene, who announces that she is going to visit her mother in Paris.

PART III

I.   Jolyon writes a letter to John, setting out the truth about Irene and Soames, and asking him to break off his relationship with Fleur for the sake of his mother’s feelings. Irene approves the letter.

II.   Jon suddenly appears to announce his engagement to Fleur. Jolyon gives him the letter to read. When Jolyon goes into the garden in search of Jon, he collapses and dies.

III.   Jon reads the letter and is aghast – then his mother discovers Jolyon dead downstairs.

IV.   Soames plans to change his will regarding Fleur, and thinks to encourage Mont to keep Jon away from Fleur. Annette is writing from Dieppe.

V.   Fleur tolerates the attentions of Mont, but decides to drive to Robin Hill to see Jon.

VI.   Jon inherits his father’s wealth. Fleur visits him to plead her case, but he is still ‘tied to his mother’s apron strings’. Irene admits she was wrong to marry Soames, a man she did not love.

VII.   Fleur asks Soames to help her. He visits Robin Hill, but Irene says that a decision on the proposed marriage rests with Jon, who declines it.

VIII.   Soames reports the decision to Fleur, who is devastated and accuses him (correctly) of not trying hard enough.

IX.   Jon decides to go abroad with his mother, who suggests he should go alone in the first instance.

X.   Fleur reluctantly and unhappily marries Michael Mont. Jon goes to British Colombia and writes to say he is not coming back.

XI.   Old Timothy Forsyte dies, leaving an enormous fortune – to be kept within the family. Soames visits Highgate Cemetery and reflects wistfully on the passing of Victorian values.


The Forsyte Saga – main characters
Soames Forsyte a wealthy solicitor and art collector
Irene Forsyte his beautiful and enigmatic wife who later marries Young Jolyon
Winifred Forsyte sister to Soames, married to the degenerate fop Dartie
Montague Dartie a dandy, gambler, wastrel, and drunkard
Val Dartie their son, who marries his cousin Holly
Old Jolyon oldest member of the wealthy family, a former tea merchant
Young Jolyon his son, an underwriter and would-be artist
Jolly (Jolyon) Forsyte his son, who dies in the Transvaal
Jon (Jolyon) Forsyte son of Irene and her second husband Young Jolyon
Fleur Forsyte daughter of Soames and his second wife Annette
Prosper Profond a rich and enigmatic Belgian interloper who becomes Annette’s lover
Michael Mont the heir to a baronetcy, who eventually marries Fleur

© Roy Johnson 2018


Twentieth century literature
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Filed Under: 20C Literature

The Good Soldier

March 1, 2013 by Roy Johnson

tutorial, commentary, study resources, and web links

The Good Soldier was first published simultaneously in London and New York by John Lane at The Bodley Head in March 1915. In fact the opening of the novel had appeared a year before in the first issue of Wyndham Lewis’s aggressively modern Vorticist magazine Blast in June 1914, under its original title of ‘The Saddest Story’. Ford was asked by his publisher to change the title of the novel on the grounds that sad stories would be difficult to sell during a time of war. Ford suggested the title The Good Soldier in a spirit of irony, but it was accepted and it stuck.


The Good Soldier – critical commentary

Narrative complexity

Although it is not as well known as other modernist classics, such as D.H. Lawrence’s Women in Love, Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway, or James Joyce’s Ulysses, Ford Madox Ford’s The Good Soldier certainly shares many of their values, and was written using a number of similar experimental techniques. The most obvious of those is the chronological complexity of the narrative.

Ford Madox Ford The Good SoldierThe story is related by a narrator John Dowell who is also a character in the story. But his account of events is extremely fragmented, and their temporal sequence is fractured in a way which makes great demands on the reader. The events themselves occur over a stretch of twenty-four years, essentially spanning the period between 1892 and 1916 – even though the novel was published in 1915. But these events are revealed to the reader in a series of scenes which shift backwards and forwards in time. Ford makes dramatic use of prolepsis and analepsis (flashes forwards and backwards).

Modern editions of the text often have a chronology included, to assist readers in reconstructing the sequence of the episodes. Dowell as narrator is fully aware of this shifting backwards and forwards of the story line, and indeed makes apologies for his uncertainty and lack of skill in reconstructing events.

Having said that, he is also very precise about certain dates, and at other times cannot remember if some something has happened or not. This was a technique which Ford Madox Ford called ‘impressionism’, and it was his attempt to reflect as a form of literary realism the fact that human beings cannot always remember things accurately. Nor can we always know the exact truth about events that have taken place.

It is interesting to note that this technique of narrative fragmentation was also a hallmark of Joseph Conrad, with whom Ford collaborated as a novelist in The Inheritors (1901), Romance (1903, and The Nature of a Crime (1909). In addition to this Ford also exploits the modernist device of the unreliable narrator.

The unreliable narrator

Henry James and to a lesser extent Joseph Conrad are often credited as the first modern writers to exploit the technique which has come to be known as ‘the unreliable narrator’ – and Ford was acquainted with both of these fellow authors.

The unreliable narrator is a device which exploits the fact that when novel-length stories are delivered in the first person narrative mode, the reader has a natural inclination to believe that the truth is being told. After all, if the narrator is going to get the facts wrong or tell lies, why use this device in the first place? But modernist writers have embraced the idea that human beings do make mistakes in their perception of events; they are misguided in their judgement of others; and they may have motivations of which they themselves are unaware.

The skill of the modernist is to create a narrative in the first person mode whereby the narrator gives the reader enough information to form an independent judgement about events which differs from the narrator’s

Henry James did this in The Turn of the Screw, where all the ‘facts’ of the case are presented by the governess in a horror story – and the reader has just enough information to realise that she is neurotic and wrong in the judgements she makes. Her narrative tells one story, behind which the astute reader sees another which is quite different.

Vladimir Nabokov takes this literary device to an extreme in his novel Pale Fire, in which his narrator is editing a long poem written by a fellow college professor. The footnotes to the poem purport to explain its meaning, but what they reveal is that the narrator is a mad man.

Ford’s narrator John Dowell is unreliable in that he makes mistakes, forgets what he has previously said, and generally gives the impression of someone who is not sure of what is going on around him. After all, for the whole of his marriage to Florence she is having adulterous affairs with two other men without his knowledge.

The problem is that there are so many mistakes and contradictions, there becomes growing suspicion that these are errors on the author’s part – not simply Dowell’s. The text gives a distinct impression that Ford might be an author who is not incomplete control of the strategy he is adopting. For instance, he seems to forget from time to time that his narrator Dowell is supposed to be American. Dowell passes comments on Americans from a European perspective, in a voice which is suspiciously that of an author, not a fictional character.

And of course all of this is novelist’s sleight of hand on Ford’s part, because the logic of first person narratives is that narrators must have all the facts of the case at their disposal at the point of finishing the story. If they were genuinely unaware of some facts or circumstances in the earlier part of their account, they could go back and correct it later.

Dowell keeps shifting his approach to characters and events, and he claims to be relating his tale over a period of time – so gives the impression of doing just that. But in fact he knows the outcome of events right from the start of his account, as his suggestive hints reveal:

Permanence? Stability! I can’t believe it’s gone. I can’t believe that that long, tranquil life, which was just stepping a minuet, vanished in four crashing days at the end of nine years and six weeks.

The four crashing days (no matter where they are finely placed in the complicated chronology of events) are the period in which he has learned from Leonora of his wife’s infidelity with first a blackmailer, and then the man he thought of as his best friend. He knew from the outset that he had been duped.

The conversational style

In addition to these complexities of narrative mode, Ford also develops a very conversational tone for Dowell’s delivery of the story. He actually says that he thinks of his account as addressing a listener directly. ‘I have stuck to my idea of being in a country cottage with a silent listener, hearing between the gusts of the wind and amidst the noises of the distant sea, the story as it comes.’

Dowell speaks directly to the reader; he uses lots of repetition; corrects himself after making mistakes; raises questions, confesses that he doesn’t understand the events he is relating; uses hesitation, ellipsis, and often leaves statements unfinished.

You are to remember that all this happened a month before Leonora went into the girl’s room at night. I have been casting back again, but I cannot help it. It is so difficult to keep all these people going. I tell you about Leonora and bring her up to date; then about Edward, who has fallen behind. And the girl gets hopelessly left behind. I wish I could put it down in diary form.

Credibility

The Good Soldier is also a very difficult novel to ‘interpret’. Even though all the information in the story comes to us from Dowell, he seems as a character to be incredibly dim and lacking in good judgement. His wife is having affairs with the blackmailer Jimmy and Dowell’s best friend Ashburnham for years without Dowell suspecting, and even when he does find out, he does nothing about it. Indeed, he even tells us he felt nothing about it.

And when giving an account of people’s occupations, he describes his own as ‘absolutely nothing’. He spends all his time with people who are poisonously hostile to each other; the lives of other characters all around him are wrecked by deception and adultery; and he does nothing.

In the end, the one character who he continues to admire and hold up as a paragon of virtue, is Ashburnham, his best and only friend, who has been cuckolding him for years. Ashburnham goes through the novel as a serial adulterer who gambles away half his family fortune and ends up cutting his own throat because of his suppressed lust for a young girl whose paternal care he has undertaken. Yet Dowell admires, even ‘loves’ Ashburnham right to the end – because he is kind to his tenants.


The Good Soldier – study resources

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – Oxford World Classics – Amazon UK

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – Oxford World Classics – Amazon US

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – Wordsworth Classics – Amazon UK

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – Wordsworth Classics – Amazon US

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – Norton Critical Editions – Amazon UK

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – Norton Critical Editions – Amazon US

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – Kindle edition – Amazon UK

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – eBook formats at Gutenberg

The Good Soldier The Good Soldier – DVD of 1981 film version – Amazon UK


The Good Soldier – plot summary

Part I

American John Dowell and his wife Florence are living in Europe, ostensibly for the sake of her health, as she has a weak heart. At the German spa resort of Bad Nauheim they meet Captain Edward Ashburnham and his wife Leonora and strike up a close relationship with them. They all enjoy each other’s company, they go on excursions together, and are inseparable as friends.

Dowell as narrator present the Ashburnhams as an ideal if rather colourless couple, but then gradually begins to reveal all sorts of unsavoury details about their lives. Dowell discovers that Ashburnham has committed a string of sexual infidelities in the past, and has lost a lot of money gambling. His wife has forced him to make over all his money into her name. Their marriage was arranged, and he has been a slave to his sexual passions. He has also had to rent out the family estate at Branshaw Teleragh in Hampshire.

It gradually becomes apparent that Ashburnham is conducting an affair with Dowell’s wife Florence. Dowell claims to feel nothing about it, and both couples maintain a polite public appearance. Ashburnham’s wife Leonora also knows about the affair.

The Ashburnhams have recently arrived from India, where the Captain was serving in the army. Dowell reveals that Leonora has paid for the travelling expenses of Mrs Masie Maidan, her husband’s lover in India, so that she could accompany them to Europe. But when Mrs Maidan realises that Ashburnham has tired of her and has turned his attentions towards Florence Dowell, she plans to go back to her husband in India. However, she suddenly dies whilst packing her travelling case.

Part II

Dowell backtracks to recount the story of his courtship and marriage to Florence, after which she immediately begins to feign a bad heart. It transpires that her family , who disapprove of her marriage, have paid Jimmy, an old disreputable ‘admirer’ of Florence’s to stay in Europe, away from her.

When Dowell and Florence arrive in Paris for their honeymoon, Jimmy turns up and stays with them. Dowell fails to realise that Jimmy and Florence are lovers, right under his nose.

Dowell reveals that Florence deployed her new lover Ashburnham to get rid of Jimmy by ‘knocking [his] teeth down his throat’. In fact Dowell claims to empathise with the difficulties Ashburnham, Florence, and Leonora face in maintaining the veneer of respectability whilst all three are involved in this adulterous triangle. Dowell himself appears to be either unaware or untouched by what is going on around him. It is unclear if he is a complete fool, a bloodless psychopath, or a liar.

Florence is plotting to run off with Ashburnham when she is recognised as a former lover of Jimmy’s by an English guest at the hotel, and she commits suicide, not wishing to face the shame of such a revelation. Dowell appears unmoved by his wife’s death, and reveals that he is in love with Nancy, a young girl to whom the Ashburnhams act as guardian. He leaves for America.

Part III

Ashburnham and Leonora are left in Bad Nauheim, fighting over his growing obsession with Nancy. The narrative then leaps backwards again to cover the period of Ashburnham’s early marriage to Leonora which was arranged by their parents. Animus soon develops between them, and when Ashburnham kisses a girl in a railway carriage (the ‘Kilsyte affair’) it awakens his sex urges. These burst into life in his brief dalliance on the Riviera with La Dolciquita, the mistress of a Grand Duke. She demands money to be his mistress, and he loses money gambling to raise the funds to keep her.

Leonora has meanwhile seized control of the family’s finances with a London solicitor. She lets out the family home at Branshaw and arranges for her husband to be transferred to India, where they spend the next eight years, trying to recoup financially.

In India Ashburnham begins an affair with Mrs Basil, the wife of a fellow officer. The husband finds out, and blackmails Ashburnham on a regular basis, threatening to expose him. When Colonel Basil is transferred to the Boer War, Ashburnham begins an affair with Mrs Masie Maidan. Leonora has meanwhile managed to solve their financial problems and proposes a return to their Hampshire estate.

Part IV

The narrative loops back in time again to pick up the story shortly before Masie Maidan’s death in Bad Nauheim. Dowell explains Leonora’s motivation in trying to win back her husband, who is just starting an affair with Dowell’s wife. The Ashburnhams go back to their estate at Branshaw, where Leonora starts to harass Ashburnham over money matters.

Dowell returns from America to stay at Branshaw, where he reports on Leonora’s dejection and headaches. Ashburnham is meanwhile eaten up with unexpressed desire for Nancy, a young girl who has been in their care since her parents abandoned her. Leonora finally confronts Ashburnham about Nancy, then tries to prevent the girl leaving to rejoin her feckless mother. She would sooner hand her husband over to the girl than have her leave. In this confrontation Nancy reveals that she is in love with Ashburnham.

Dowell then switches to recount events from Nancy’s point of view – her youthful awakening to the knowledge of personal unhappiness, divorce, and her love for Ashburnham, who she thinks must love someone else, until Leonora reveals to her that her husband is dying for the love of Nancy herself. But she also reveals Ashburnham’s all infidelities, which kills off Nancy’s idealised vision of him. Ashburnham arranges for someone to take care of Nancy’s mother, then summons Dowell to Branshaw.

Dowell returns to his own point of view, and reveals the end of the story before describing the events that bring it about. Nancy goes to join her father in India, and on the journey there learns that Ashburnham has committed suicide (by cutting his own throat). She becomes slightly mad with religious monomania, and Dowell is despatched to bring her back to Branshaw. Leonora meanwhile sells the house to Dowell and marries the colourless Rodney Bayham. The novel concludes with Dowell living at Branshaw with Nancy, who is now so deranged he is unable to marry her, and at the very end of his narrative he describes the events leading up to Ashburnham’s suicide.


Principal characters
John Dowell the narrator – a wealthy American living in Europe
Florence Dowell his wife, a university graduate
Captain Edward (Teddy) Ashburnham an ex-Army county magistrate and Tory landowner
Leonora Ashburnham his Irish catholic childless wife
Nancy Rufford ‘the girl’ who has been adopted by the Ashburnhams
Mrs Rufford Nancy’s mother, who abandons her
Major Rufford a brutish army man with a loud voice
John Hurlbird Florence’s uncle, from whom Dowell inherits
Miss Florence Hurlbird Florence’s elder aunt in Connecticut
Miss Emily Hurlbird Florence’s younger aunt
Mrs Masie Maidan Ashburnham’s mistress in India
Bunny Masie’s husband
Jimmy Florence’s lover in Paris, a blackmailer
La Dolciquita the Spanish mistress of a Grand Duke, with whom Ashburnham has an affair
Colonel Basil a colleague of Ashburnham’s in India who borrows money from him
Mrs Basil Ashburnham’s sympathetic mistress in India
Rodney Bayham an admirer of Leonora’s who she marries

Further reading

Biographical

Red button Stella Bowen, Drawn from Life, London: Collins, 1941.

Red button Alan Judd, Ford Madox Ford, London: Collins, 1990.

Red button Max Saunders, Ford Madox Ford: A Dual Life, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.

Red button Arthur Mizener, The Saddest Story: A Biography of Ford Madox Ford, London: The Bodley Head, 1972.

Critical commentary

Red button Richard A. Cassell, Critical Essays on Ford Madox Ford, Boston: G.K. Hall, 1987.

Red button Robert Green, Ford Madox Ford: Prose and Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981.

Red button Samuel Hynes, Edwardian Occasions: Essays on English Writing in the Early Twentieth Century, London: Routledge & Keegan Paul, 1972..

Red button Richard W. Lid, Ford Madox Ford: The Essence of His Art, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1964

Red button Frank MacShane (ed), Ford Madox Ford: The Critical Heritage, London: Routledge & Keegan Paul, 1972.

Red button Martin Stannard (ed), The Good Soldier, New York and London: W.W. Norton and Company, second edition, 2012.


Other novels by Ford Madox Ford

Red button Parade’s End – Wordsworth Classics edition

Red button Parade’s End – Kindle edition

© Roy Johnson 2013


Filed Under: 20C Literature Tagged With: English literature, Ford Madox Ford, Modernism, The Good Soldier, The novel

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