Reading Henry James

Henry James was a prolific epistolarian: it is estimated that he wrote as many as 40,000 letters in his lifetime. While many are lost, editors currently have access to more than 10,000 letters, and the University of Nebraska Press has recently published the first three volumes of what will exceed 140 volumes of letters! (Volume 1, Volume 2 and Volume 3; a review of the first two volumes in the London Review of Books.)

I find the currently available collections of Henry’s letters interesting, and would love to read more. But what’s the point of publishing 140 volumes of his correspondence, especially when the first two volumes are available at $90, $95 and $125 respectively. One commenter wrote, about these first two volumes, “[T]he general public has been deprived of James’s full epistolary record until now…”

Can one really say that these books are for the general public? Those with bank accounts like Croesus, perhaps, and Methuselan life-spans as well; at the rate of publication, it will take decades for this set to be published. These books are certainly not for the common reader, but rather for scholars, and for libraries. In today’s world, what sense is there in publishing such texts in book form, especially when additional letters will be found in the future, which will not be able to be inserted in to the books in the correct chronological order? After all, the academics behind this project don’t make any money from it; why not just publish it on the Internet, and, eventually, on CD or DVD?

No, there’s something perverse about this. While I would welcome the chance to read some of these letters, there seems no logic in making expensive books, and killing trees, to provide them merely to a handful of scholars. It’s a shame that academe is so behind the times: this sort of work should be available on the web, for free, to all those who are interested, not just to those in ivory towers with the means to have their university purchase them.

Glancing at a TV program magazine today, I saw a listing for The Remains of the Day, James Ivory’s movie based on Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel of the same name. This is, in fact, quite a Jamesian story, and it’s not surprising that it was directed by James Ivory, who has made a couple of movies based on James’ novels.

What struck me though was a picture of Anthony Hopkins standing next to Emma Thompson. (The picture above is the same one that I saw in the magazine.) It struck me how much Hopkins looks like Henry James, and how perfect a role it would be for him.

I don’t know if anyone has plans to make a movie about or featuring Henry, but if someone did, Hopkins would get my vote.

As far as I can tell, Henry James never wrote anything about music. Not only did he not discuss music in his fiction, but I can’t find any trace of articles about music in his non-fiction, or any mentions of music in the standard biographies. Either Henry wasn’t interested in music, or perhaps he had a tin ear. It’s certain that he heard music, in the salons he visited, the theaters he frequented, and the balls that he attended. Music was part of society, but Henry seems to not have been interested in music in concert halls. He did have a “faithful fat dog” named Tosca (after the character in Puccini’s opera), but he is said to have found Wagner’s music “boring.”

James’ work has inspired plenty of music, especially operas by Benjamin Britten: the British composer wrote operas based on Turn of the Screw and Owen Wingrave, and other composers have brought a number of James’ novels onto the stage with music. (The Henry James Review had a special issue about Henry James and Opera in 1998.) Something about James’ work inspires composers, but James himself seems to have lacked that musical inspiration.

I often like to try and find what type of music best matches some of the authors I like. Take Marcel Proust: the music of his time – including that of Debussy, Franck, Ravel, and Proust’s friend Reynaldo Hahn fit his work like a glove. Or Samuel Beckett: music by Philip Glass (who scored a production of Company) and Steve Reich seem appropriate. But with Henry James, it’s a bit more difficult. I find that some music by Franz Schubert fits the lyricism in James’ prose, but Schubert can be much more stormy than James. (His Impromptus for piano work quite well, but many of his piano sonatas have an angry, fiery register than is not Jamesian.) Edvard Grieg’s Lyric Pieces also seem appropriate to Henry’s prose, as do some of Debussy’s piano works.

Lately, however, as it’s the year of remembrance for the death of Joseph Haydn, I’ve been listening to a lot of that composer’s music, and find it fits well with the tone and tenor of James’ prose. While Haydn’s music rarely surprises, it is constantly interesting, it is distinguished, and there is always more to it than it seems on the surface. Haydn’s music seems simple, yet is rather complex; Henry’s stories can be simple, at first glance too, but under the surface contain far more complexities than their often simple plots belay.

In any case, all this is speculation, and a mere foible of mine to try and make a parallel between authors and composers. In some cases, it can be a valid comparison, but in Henry’s case, since he seemed to be untouched by music, it might just be hot air.

Many people have preconceptions about Henry James’ fiction, and claim that his work is difficult to read, that it’s boring, or that it’s hard for readers to relate to his characters. I can understand these feelings, and it can be helpful for new readers of Henry James to understand some things about his work, his writing style, and the context surrounding his themes.

First of all, Henry’s fiction is slow. This isn’t a bad thing – unless you’re only used to thrillers and other books that move very fast – but just the way literature was in Henry’s time. He lived in a slow time. Travel was by horse-drawn carriage. The motorcar only became popular near the end of Henry’s life (and he took a number of thrilling rides in Edith Wharton’s car). Communication was slow too. While some people sent telegrams, just as people send text messages today (see especially the story In the Cage for reflections on the people who could afford to send telegrams often), most communication was by letter. Letters could take a long time to go from city to city, though postal services within major cities were very efficient, perhaps more so than today.

The stories Henry wrote were slow as well. Some of them took place over long periods of time, but many of them are interior stories, where much of the “action” takes place inside the minds of the characters. Henry was the first novelist to use such intense examination of characters’ feelings and motivations, and his technique opened the door to modern fiction, such as James Joyce’s Ulysses, which featured extensive interior monologues. While Henry didn’t go that far, he would give detailed looks at the thoughts of his characters, sometimes spending a page on a fleeting impression and its many ramifications. Granted, you may not want to read about what people think. Yet characterization is what makes many stories and novels so personal. The more you understand and identify with a character, the more you’re touched by their experiences.
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