I'm afraid I'm going to end up saying most of exactly the same things as I said about A Passage to India, but I guess this one gets an extra star? I'm not sure if that's completely fair, but I rather think I might be mellowing in my old age - I'm starting to give stars for enjoyment. I hear that's what one ages.So firstly, I was a little bit surprised to find myself liking this book at all, because Forster is rather snotty and British, and he does have a tendency to wax lyrical about the meaning of life and such in a way that, if I stopped to think about it, I'm sure I would find rather pretentious - though I found this much more grating in A Passage to India. What he is, however, exceptionally good at, and I wish he'd stick with it a bit more, is the wonderful observation of small things: of character, of setting, of habit.This young man had been 'had' in the past - badly, perhaps overwhelmingly - and now most of his energies went in defending himself against the unknown. But this afternoon - perhaps on account of music - he perceived that one must slack off occasionally, or what was the good of being alive? Wickham Place, though a risk, was as safe as most things, and he would risk it.Away she hurried, not beautiful, not supremely brilliant, but filled with something that took the place of both qualities - something best described as a profound vivacity, a continual and sincere response to all that she encountered in her path through life.Her thought drew being from the obscure borderland. She could not explain in so many words, but she felt that those who prepare for all the emergencies of life beforehand may equip themselves at the expense of joy.How marvellous! Perfection itself, that quote.But the real reason, and the root of all reason, that I possess any fondness for Forster at all, is that he reminds me of Virginia Woolf. He's not as good, because Woolf sounds like herself all the time and Forster does only some of the time. But he does try. Only connect! Those words, and that sentiment, could have come from the mind of the master herself. And since I see Elizabeth doesn't seem to have reviewed this book, I suppose I'm obliged to mention To the Lighthouse. Here's the key:Mrs Wilcox = Mrs RamsayHowards End = the house (can't remember if it had a name)Those two are the key, though to be honest the direct correspondence finishes with Mrs Wilcox/Ramsay. Howards End overlaps a little with Wickham Place, and to an extent with all houses or homes or dwellings, which is one of the themes they both deal with rather beautifully. In fact, there's a passage about the demise of the Wickham place which is so incredibly reminiscent of the passage about the decay of the house in To the Lighthouse that I can't help but wonder if one was directly modelled on the other.(Actually, the other thing Howards End [the house itself, not the book:] reminded me of is the cherry orchard in Chekhov's play of the same name. Similar symbolic value - times changing, &c., and of similar importance in the characters' lives.)And of course Woolf and Forster are writing about the same themes, but I couldn't help feeling a bit cynical about Forster dealing with the struggle of women to gain independence, mentally, financially, socially, emotionally, because, I think though I'm not sure, I couldn't help but wonder the whole time if he was actually writing about homosexuality. I did think he did a better job of representing women here than he did of representing Indians in A Passage to India, because a fair bit of imperialism still managed to get through in that. Trouble is, he's not exactly subtle, is he? When Margaret says "She knew that Henry was not so much confessing his soul as pointing out the gulf between the male soul and the female" and "As a handsome young man, [the butler:] was faintly attractive to her as a woman... yet the skies would have fallen had she mentioned it to Henry" isn't it a bit much? I loved the slow dawning realisation I got as I realised that To the Lighthouse was far more than just a pretty bit of prose. In this one's face is rather rubbed in the stuff.Though Forster does write about class, which I know Woolf has been criticised for not paying enough attention to - though personally I think those criticisms may be rather silly - and he does, I believe, a good job of it.Money pads the edges of things... God help those who have none. You and I and the Wilcoxes stand upon money as upon islands. It is so firm beneath our feet that we forget its very existence.And so it continues, rather brilliantly.This did go on, I thought, a bit too long, and the end was mired in airy-fairy sentimentality, but despite everything I am still in love with it. Forster always surprises me like that.
HEADLINE: E.M. Forster to conduct a séance. Want to chat with your dead mother?In Margaret Schlegel E.M. Forster has created a great hero, as her wild and free wheeling sister, Helen, observes late in this novel. These two along with their brother, the hilariously indolent Tibby, are well worth the reading of.Set socially above the Schlegel family, which still includes mother, is the Wilcox family, well-to-do, upper class British asses. Set below them socially are the pitiable Basts, life's losers.The novel is riddled with plot contrivances that would challenge one's ability to suspend one's disbelief, willingly or not, were it not for the skill of our author.Just exactly what was it again that caused Helen to fall in love with Leonard Bast for all of thirty minutes and have sex with him? I have reread her explanation repeatedly, and my response is still, “Huh?”Just exactly what was it again that caused Mrs. Avery to unpack the Schlegels' household goods in Howard's End instead of simply leaving them stored there? Again, Mrs. Avery's explanation smacks of weirdness, although we are assured of her sanity. Let us dispense with other minor examples and get to the big one.Can anyone seriously accept the premise that Margaret falls in love with Henry Wilcox, surpassed in asshole-dom only by his sons? Yes, all of us readers can and do. That may be the biggest literary scam floated by any British author anytime. And yes, E.M. Forster successfully floats that scam. How did he do it? What slight of hand did he employ?He does this by letting us know, at first subtly and later explicitly, that none of these incredible things happen by chance. Rather, the mind and will of the deceased Ruth Wilcox, Henry's former wife, are at work behind all this. The deceased Ruth Wilcox is determined to see that Howard's End comes into Margaret's hands after her explicit death-bed wishes in that regard were seemingly thwarted by the other jerks in her family, husband and children.Now, you might ask, “But Uncle Steve, that seems the most incredible of all. How was it that you swallowed that whole?”My answer, “E.M. Forster made me swallow it.”Before dispensing with Ruth's lifetime services in this novel, E.M. Forster renders her such a sympathetic character, such a warm personality, that we willingly cede supernatural powers to her posthumously. We want her to have these powers. Wanting her so badly to have them, we readers willingly give them to her. All the readers of this novel whom I know, anyway, which are few. Furthermore, we are allowed to sample some of Ruth Wilcox's more believable telepathic powers during her lifetime, such as her ability to tell when people have fallen in love with no worldly clues whatsoever. In effect, then, we are led down the rosy path in this way.As the novel hurtles towards it conclusion, Margaret takes the philosophical approach to her forebodings:And it comforted her to think that the future was certainly inevitable: cause and effect would go jangling forward to some goal doubtless, but to none that she could imagine. At such moments the soul retires within, to float upon the bosom of a deeper stream, and has communion with the dead, and sees the world's glory not diminished but different in kind to what she has supposed. (Emphasis mine.)Do not feel alone, sister. All of us commune with the dead Mrs. Wilcox in this novel, too.The end result: authorial slight of hand or no, an enjoyable novel, in no small part because of E.M. Forster's wit. I found E.M. Forster's wit to be completely intact here albeit a more mordant wit than we see exhibited in A Room With a View, for example.
Do You like book Howards End (2002)?
While this book has an interesting plot and deals with various themes, it wasn't executed as well as I would've hoped. It basically deals with two sisters, Helen and Margaret, and their sister dynamics and family dynamics. However, this is also a story of differences between the middle class and the poor, love, death, hope and revenge. As you can see, the plot contains multiple strong elements, but what had me puzzled was the fact that Forster centers everything around the estate called Howards End. To me, it seemed like Forster tried to make Howards End fit into the story - in other words, the role of Howards End seemed forced. During this story, I experienced quite a wave of feelings. At times, I was intrigued with the sisters and their destiny, at other times I was bored when Forster became too reflective. He lost me in his observations and long passages of descriptions, and I couldn't be bothered with paying too much attention. After having finished the book, I'm not sure why Forster decided to write about this many elements. In my eyes, it all became too jumbled, and when it comes down to it, it's basically just a story about two sisters and them growing up. I felt like Forster was doing too much with this story; however, I was entertained for most of it, and I did appreciate reading about the development and relationship between the two sisters (with or without all of the sub-themes).
—helen the bookowl
Stupidly enough, I hadn't read this book until now. I'd heard plenty of people bandy about the "only connect" epigram that kicks off the book, and now that I've read the book, I see how incorrectly this epigram is usually applied. "Only connect" doesn't refer to connecting with people, except indirectly. It's about connecting the outer life of "telegrams and anger" (i.e. the sensible, get-things-done life) with the inner life of emotions, intellect, striving after beauty and truth, undsoweiter--the idea being that if only the outer and inner life could connect, how simple life would be, eliminating (or joining) the "beast and the monk" that characterize people. The characters in the book all tend to fall into these two camps (outer vs inner), with Margaret as the linchpin for the book--the only person who seems to recognize the difficulty and simplicity of holding these two things in balance. Not coincidentally, she's the only one who seems able to see people as they really are, and to forgive their faults, and to love them anyway. So that stuff is all interesting, if a little black and white, but where this book gets extra interesting for me is in the reflections about class and progressive vs conservative thinking. This all still has a lot of resonance, obviously, and I can see why Zadie Smith lifted the structure of Howards End for her book On Beauty (highly recommended). And for me, this stuff is extra interesting because I live with an Englishman and even though Forster was writing this in the first decade of the 20th century, his observations about England and Englishness and class still hold very true. The plot is occasionally a wee bit ham-fisted, but it's very satisfying anyway.
—KrisAnne
There's always something in Forster's work that prevents me from completely loving it. It's clever and satisfying. Maybe it's that the divisions between those who are artistic and culturally appreciative (those with soul) and those who are crass, commercial, grasping, too much of the machine age (those who lack soul) are drawn a little too crudely. Or maybe it's because I know I'm supposed to side with the artistic people, but their conversations are so silly and verging on nonsensical. I suppose I'm missing the point, which is that Margaret's motto "only connect", that we need to connect the prose and the passion within us, means Forster isn't taking sides at all. Hmm. At any rate, this is a fine meditation on class, gender, and private property. Forster creates a fairly wonderful character in Margaret, who, lacking her sister's beauty, has had to make compromises, and is sturdier for it, and more able to navigate life's obstacles.
—Lobstergirl
