Plot Similarities: Thomas Hardy and Henry James

 About half way though Thomas Hardy's "Far From the Madding Crowd," I had a sudden thought: that the basic plot was remarkably similar to that of "The Portrait of a Lady," by Henry James.  Both revolve around attractive, independent women who have come into an unexpected, significant inheritance at an early age and who are pursued by three different men.  Both women make the wrong choice when it comes to marriage, but in the end, Hardy goes in one direction and James in another.

The similarities were so striking I thought: "I can't be the only one who thinks so," and, indeed, not.

An Internet search soon turned up a thesis on this very topic, written by a woman named Susan Shepeard in 1976 in partial fulfillment of a Master of Arts degree at William & Mary College in Williamsburg, Virginia.

"The striking similarities in theme, characterization and imagery go so far as to suggest that Hardy's earlier work might have influenced that of James," Ms Shepeard said, and, indeed, there is evidence to suggested that such could have been the case.  When "Far From" first appeared in 1874, it got a distinctly mixed review from James. whose "Portrait" was published in 1881. In other words, he was very familiar with Hardy's story prior to writing his own rather similar story. In addition,  the two men knew each other.

Shepeard's thesis doesn't attempt to resolve that particular controversy, focusing instead on how the two authors progressed from similar starting points to differing views on love and marriage. As such, I highly recommend her thesis to those interested in such ideas and/or the two authors.

One notable difference between the two works is their settings: very rural England in the case of Hardy and rather glittering European society in the case of James, a difference that initially serves to obscure their similarities. A young woman owning and running a farm (albeit on leased land) and, in the process, engaging in a lot of work, is enough to put Bathsheba on a pedestal in "Far From."  In contrast, Isabel, an American, needs the vast wealth she inherits to set her apart in the rather jaded European social milieu in which she finds herself and she has neither need for nor thought of employment.

Each woman is initially pursed by a man attracted to her before she came into wealth and both reject the advances. Both are also pursued by wealthy neighbors whose motives seem not dishonorable if less than ideal for women determined to be more independent than such liaisons would likely permit. And both eventually marry flawed individuals they seem to think they can help, only to be taken advantage of. 

In Hardy's case, certain circumstances serve to give Bathsheba an "out" and she then marries the man she apparently should have in the first place, an outcome Hardy justifies by offering readers a definition of the nature of true love. I wrote about that here.

In the case of James, "Portrait" ends with Isabel in such dreadful, unresolved circumstances that Irish author John Banville not long ago decided a sequel was needed. Banville's effort, "Mrs. Osmond" (Isabel's married name) was published in 2017. It is an interesting if less than totally satisfactory read.

"Topics of Conversation:" Chick Lit in Spades

 It's appropriate that both The New York Times and The New Yorker assigned women to review Miranda Popkey's relatively recent novel "Topics of Conversation" because this is Chick Lit, or literature primarily of interest to women, in spades. Both of the lengthy reviews are positive so if you don't like what I have to say below, click on the names of the publications above and read something different,

Aside from women, I suppose a male writer worried about how he might convincingly depict The Contemporary Woman might be interested as well, but beware: one could get rather depressed in the process.

Before continuing, I suppose I should explain how I came to purchase and read this book.  I was skimming through my daily Lit Hub email and noticed an item about a woman wanting to read Henry James novel "The Ambassadors"  -- one of his best, in my humble opinion (I haven't read all of his books). And I thought: "this sounds like an interesting person, so perhaps I should read her book."  It didn't take long to get through it. Although it's about 220 pages, it's a very quick read.

Sarah Resnick, who reviewed "Topics" for "The New Yorker" probably hit the nail on the head in saying that Popkey's book attempts to capture the contradictions of female [sexual] desire. 

"This contrast—of women raring to assert their agency in one context, then willing, even eager, to relinquish it another—captured my interest in part because of its familiarity. I’d seen it crop up recently in widely praised works both written by and featuring brazen, outspoken, and almost always middle-class white women," Resnick said.

One can't help noticing what Resnick is talking about as one reads the book and, among other things, one begins to wonder, if this is true, what does it say about the credibility of the #MeToo phenomenon?  Well, of course there have been some brazen atrocities, but there have also been some claims that make one wonder. 

In "Topics of Conversation," which contains more in the way of monologue (both outer and inner) than actual conversation, the chief character, an unknown woman loosely associated with academia, floats along on a river of alcohol as do the other female characters, including her mother who, after four gin and topics considerably heaver on gin than on tonic, admits that she had sex -- at her instigation -- with her therapist when her sessions came to an end. 

In the acknowledgement section of her book, Popkey thanks her own therapists in New York and St. Louis, "neither of whom I have slept with."  That, apparently, is in case you, the reader, have come to the conclusion that this work must be largely autobiographical. 

Then, in a very curious entry, she thanks Nobel Prize-winning poet Louise Glück "who gave me permission to write fiction" and award-winning author Ben Marcus "who gave me permission to write a novel."

What in the world is this all about?  After three waves of feminism, does Popkey still believe that as a woman, she needs to ask permission to do this, that or the other? Or is this a sly means of self-promotion: the implication that if Glück and Marcus have given her permission to put pen to paper, they must consider her talent to be equivalent to theirs?  Or perhaps this is just old-fashioned name dropping. Whatever it is, it is ill-considered and even inappropriate.

Along with a great deal of sex -- much talk about it as opposed to descriptions of it actually occurring (this book is far from pornographic) -- there is a good deal of transgression, real and imagined. It probably goes without saying that sex and transgression sell a lot of books, which may at least help explain the nature of the narrative.

Near the beginning, for instance, a chain-smoking psychoanalyst named Artemisa, who is apparently both a bigamist and in an open marriage with her current husband (they have a young child) casually bares her breasts to Popkey's protagonist, then employed as a young nanny. Same-sex attraction is in the air.

But what follows is this:

"Most psychologists, Artemisia said, theorize the commonality of the so-called rape fantasy among heterosexual women as linked to shame.  ... Women are raised to believe they should not desire sex. More explicitly in earlier generations, yes, but the message remains implicit today, ... But okay, the rape is fantasy.  At least theoretically, it allows the woman to have the sex that she desires without also having to admit the shame of that desire. Force becomes a method of circumvention."

And so it goes, one drink after another -- mostly white wine, but also slugs of bourbon (while carrying a young child in one's other arm) and scotch and, of course, those gin and tonics. The life of The Contemporary Woman until (happy ending?) a rehab clinic leaves Pokey's protagonist sober as the book ends. (Spoiler: there is no thanks to any rehab clinic in the acknowledgement section of the book -- at least none that I noticed.)

Lastly, near the end of the story, the unnamed protagonist horses over the idea that women don't want to have sex with men they are supposed to desire, but do want the reverse. 

So, earlier in the tale, Popkey's heroine (if one can use that term) marries a man one might call "too-nice John" -- a man she can only eventually hold in contempt for excessively good behavior toward her, a beta-male if you will.  He richly deserves to be made a cuckold by means of an exceptionally tawdry initiative on the part of his wife. And to have her leave him, which she does.

There's more, of course -- the sisterhood of unmarried mothers, for example. But I suspect you've gotten the idea. 

My recommendation: forget "Topics of Conversation" and read "The Ambassadors" instead. But if you must, have a stiff drink always at hand. It will evidently help you understand The Contemporary Woman.

 

"Daisy Miller," or "It's All About Me"

One can wonder, when reading classic fiction, how relevant a work is to contemporary life.

Henry James, an American author who lived and worked mostly abroad, wrote the novella "Daisy Miller" in 1877-78. Highly controversial in America, where many readers were scandalized by his description of the behavior in Europe of a young American girl coming of age, the story, more than anything he had previously written, put him on the literary map.