Guy Strether

This year has had a wonderful start in re books. I really should’ve done some writing with all the impressions they’ve been leaving in me. But all in good time I said to myself, and here I am.

The recent most read has been Henry James’ The Ambassadors. The man who wrote that unforgettable “Ah but Isabelle, loved”. Portrait of a Lady has long been a book I revert to in those inexplicably tender moments in my life. Not tender in the romantic sense(which seems rather what I m implying by the line quoted afore, but if you’ve read it you know that it was different). Emotions are so often associated with a feeling outside of one’s self, there is some external perpetrator inducing them. But there are those unnameable, unclassifiable instances when one simply feels. There is nothing instigating that feeling, there is no object on which it rests, it just exists. That’s the sort of moment where I turn to Isabelle and Ralph. They are simply exquisite beings, existing beautifully twined in shades of such emotions. The Ambassadors was James’ most beloved work, and going by the fact that he has conceived and executed such characters as Strether and Chad and Maria in this novel, i should agree.

Strether is an expositional character, one who acts as the reader’s eye and mind for the span of the novel. And James with his unfailing perception for people, has picked out a gem among expositionals. This slot is a tough one to fill, having been tenanted previously by a varied set, amongst whom Scout Finch and Buddy Glass are personal favorites. Their task is unenviable in that, they not only take the story forward, but they are also the only means of doing so. The success of their narrative demands that their readers empathize with them, and accept their version of events unquestioningly. Even when they are ostensibly at odds with the protagonists of the story, as in the case of Salieri in Amadeus, their point of view is one the reader appreciates. Sometimes they are there to set off the virtuous hero or heroine, sometimes they are the humourous sidekicks(though Sam ‘V’eller wasn’t an expositional, one cant help but think of him with such a description in mind) or trusted allies or those reliable but inevitably slow-witted friends(some of the best examples of expositionals occur in this category, notably Dr.Watson), and sometimes adoring chroniclers. Most often authors prefer the straightforward route and let the protagonists themselves lead the story, the reader trusting blindly to their heroes to lead them on. But in all these possible guises, they are unvaryingly the sort of characters you can relate with. This is their cross, and I’m happy to see that so many of them bear it with such aplomb. I personally would find it rather a heavy burden, preferring to be the vaguely helpful, mostly aloof, maternal uncle or old college friend :), the one who provides for occasional insights and intermittent assistance to the main character but disappears from the tale ever and anon. Incidentally, for a revel amongst the denizens of the fictional world, look up Jasper Fforde’s delectable Thursday Next series, and thank me later.

Coming back from that rather long winded digression, Strether, who is James’ choice of observer in this book, is perfect for the part. He is an American, from the days when America seems to have been a conservative society in comparison to Europe. His realm of exposure so far has been limited to his native town, and his select circle of reputed citizenry of that place. That makes for a thoroughly fresh start to the story, since Strether is completely unaware of what lies ahead of him, leaving the reader comfortably on the same page, figuratively. Almost immediately behind him enters Maria, or Ms Gostrey, who on the chance of a common acquaintance, takes him in hand pleasantly, and establishes a firm rapport with him, surprising himself as much as she does us. What immediately follows is a peep into Strether’s adorably trusting, and utterly self effacing character. He lets himself be led on as a child in the hands of his nurse. She on her part evinces all the self-assurance of auld lang syne and they get along remarkably well. Strether then proceeds to get himself embroiled in several potentially embarrassing but serendipitously well-managed series of situations, led along by the ever reliable Maria, the ever baffling Chad and ever amazing Marie Vionette. He falls in love with Paris, and the people he meets, he is astounded and transfixed by their freedom in though, word and action. He lets himself be wafted hither and thither, always learning, always judging everyone charitably. Sometimes erroneously, but always charitably, that’s the great thing. To the end though, one thing remains constant about him, his conviction that his trip to Paris wasn’t meant to serve any end of his own, and in loyalty to that conviction he leaves Paris and its people, for his own town, having given them all something to show for his sojourn there.

Reading back that paragraph where I tried to give a feel of the story, I realize I have messed it up entirely. The impression I get is of a good-hearted simpleton in a strange city, getting into scrapes and being rescued by sundry bypassers and ending on a sort of stage chorus with everyone smiling and dancing a jig. But it was not a whit like that. It couldn’t be considering its James’ book. He is a serious man, and his people are almost always as complex as anyone you come to know closely enough. Strether’s reason for his trip to Europe wasn’t simple. He was there on a particularly cringe-inducing task, that of separating a young man from the presumably vicious clutches of bad company, and repatriating him in his homeland. Though that can be easily envisioned as a simple albeit distasteful job, it gets more complicated. The misguided youth turns out to be a self-assured, self-reliant man of the world. He has nothing in common with the mental picture Strether had started with, of a straightforward petty sinner caught up in the Capital of Pleasure. He had morphed into a remarkably impressive, complex organism. And to add to the insult to Strether’s limited stereotypes, the part of the vicious low woman who had ensnared him turned out to be filled by an exquisite specimen of the fair sex. A countess, no less. Her character is one of remarkable depth and Strether fairly surrenders to her unconventional but unquestionably superior claims over the young man, opposing his own purpose of repatriation. There are several further developments which slowly widen Strether’s moral and intellectual boundaries, a pleasing effect undoubtedly, but also disturbing in that they make him all the more distant from him people back home. What is heart-warming is that these new perspectives make Strether no less tolerant of his people back in America, the Newsomes. He is ever so glad to have his horizon expanded, but it doesn’t make him any less tolerant of those whom these shackles still bind. (And the moral of that is, never demean any old passions and prejudices that were familiar to you, the ones you have now grown out of, not even if you liked backstreet boys as a teenager, and are now a cultured listener of the best classical compositions :) )Yes, I said that in the sharp, peppery voice of the countess from Alice in Wonderland) There are several other players in this story, on opposing camps, some who never make an appearance and yet pervade every thread of the action, some who appear briefly and add incontestably to Strether’s love of Paris, some like Ms Gostrey who support him amidst the bewildering menagerie of influences that shape and form Strether throughout.

I am already neck deep in the whirl of impressions I have of this book and its people, and trying to elaborate on them all would be too much for my limited powers of expression. Also the people i’ve met through Strether(not James, he would’ve made them different for me, this is all Strether) are still new to me. I need several more forays into their world to be able to speak comfortably of them all. But one thing is assured, they are worth getting to know, immeasurably so.

Au revoir.