The Weekly Sage hopes to regularly bring brief profiles of key contributors to thought and faith before a Christian audience for historical education and awareness of valuable resources.

Henry James

• “This small struggle sprang not a little, in its way, from the same impulse that had now carried him across to Notre Dame; the impulse to let things be, to give them time to justify themselves or at least to pass. He was aware of having no errand in such a place but the desire not to be, for the hour, in certain other places; a sense of safety, of simplification, which each time he yielded to it he amused himself by thinking of as a private concession to cowardice. The great church had no altar for his worship, no direct voice for his soul; but it was none the less soothing even to sanctity; for he could feel while there what he couldn’t elsewhere, that he was a plain tired man taking the holiday he had earned. He was tired, but he wasn’t plain – that was the pity and the trouble of it; he was able, however, to drop his problem at the door very much as if it had been the copper piece that he deposited, on the threshold, in the receptacle of the inveterate blind beggar. He trod the long dim nave, sat in the splendid choir, paused before the clustered chapels of the east end, and the mighty monument laid upon him its spell.”[1]
• “The torment of this vision became his occupation; he couldn’t perhaps have consented to live but for the possibility of guessing. She had told him, his friend, not to guess; she had forbidden him, so far as he might, to know, and she had even in a sort denied the power in him to learn: which were so many things, precisely, to deprive him of rest. It wasn’t that he wanted, he argued for fairness, that anything past and done should repeat itself; it was only that he shouldn’t, as an anticlimax, have been taken sleeping so sound as not to be able to win back by an effort of thought the lost stuff of consciousness. He declared to himself at moments that he would either win it back or have done with consciousness for ever; he made this idea his one motive in fine, made it so much his passion that none other, to compare with it, seemed ever to have touched him. The lost stuff of consciousness became thus for him as a strayed or stolen child to an unappeasable father; he hunted it up and down very much as if he were knocking at doors and enquiring of the police. This was the spirit in which, inevitably, he set himself to travel; he started on a journey that was to be as long as he could make it; it danced before him that, as the other side of the globe couldn’t possibly have less to say to him, it might, by a possibility of suggestion, have more.”[2]

Henry James (1843 – 1916) was a prominent American writer throughout the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. A prolific author of novels and short stories, James left a significant impact on later writers, such as Flannery O’Connor. Despite this significant professional legacy, James never permanently settled in a particular location, married, or raised a family. The combination of skill and volatility brings together in his works a touchingly realistic but meaningful presentation of both life and lives, making for an enjoyable, familiar, and profound reading experience.

Henry James’ upbringing no doubt influenced both his talent and his irregular lifestyle. Born to Henry James Sr., an independently wealthy and influential thinker who was a friend of Horace Greeley and regular contributor to his New York Daily Tribune, the younger Henry James had a unique access to the highest levels of society.[3] His father oversaw Henry Jr.’s education, intensively exposing him to leading modern thinkers across numerous disciplines, and repeatedly took the family to Europe for cultural exposure and pre-eminent education. As a result, when many young Americans of James’ age were heading west, founding states, and debating slavery, Henry Jr. was travelling through England and Italy. This isolation from his fellow Americans was compounded due to a back injury that made him ineligible for service in the Civil War.

These early experiences led James to enter Harvard Law School, but despite establishing friendships with Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., a future influential Supreme Court Justice, he became more interested in a literary career. Publishing a few short reviews and sketches in American newspapers, James continued to travel widely in Europe. Meeting the leading authors of the European literati, such as William Morris, Matthew Arnold, and John Ruskin, Henry James began to publish significantly. The 1870’s saw him produce such works as Roderick Hudson, Daisy Miller, and The American, establishing his fame on both sides of the Atlantic.

James’ style, developed in these years, contains a number of unique elements that I found particularly valuable. For instance, when relating a series of adjectives, James often left out the commas, resulting in a spewed profusion of impressions: gracious light fair compassionate and spontaneous. Additionally, James’ dialogue often includes repetition, with one character repeating for emphasis or for better understanding the phrase that came before. These flourishes, both significant and beneficial in my impression, made James’ descriptions and scenes more lifelike, mirroring the breathless and confused reality of conversation and personal impressions.

James’ work, partially due to these flourishes, is full of vivid description that brings his characters and settings to life. Indeed, it was noted that a seasoned European traveller would be able to easily follow James’ narratives, whether in Venice, Paris, or London, as his own experience allowed him to simply and significantly root his work in a lifetime of observation. Nevertheless, his ability to touch on the inner life and introspection of his characters was even more powerful. The reader is able to gain a real understanding of the hopes, aspirations, and intuitions of James’ characters. That so many characters, of widely varying ages, nationalities, backgrounds, and plot contexts suggests a prodigious mind and imagination on James’ part.

The subject matter of his many novels and short stories involved travellers, whether from Europe or America, engaging in natural conflicts and confusions resulting from their different backgrounds. James used these engagements to bring out his observations of the character and characteristics brought out by the Old World and the New, whether in relation to art, money, tradition, work, never pointing to one or the other as utopian or hopeless. The wealth of the American, the tradition of the European, the former’s youth the latter’s age, appear as valuable or destructive depending on the situation and basic morality of the subject.

During the 1880’s, James lost his father and mother, and suffered some failures among his works, leading him towards more commercial labors, such as serials. Nevertheless, these difficult years led James to a broader stylistic vision, producing by the 1890’s iconic works such as The Turn of the Screw and The Aspern Papers. Additionally, the death of his brother William in 1910, with whom James was very close, led him to publish autobiographical works touching on their youth, upbringing, and relationship.

Henry James’ career was thus a prolific expression of talent coupled with a unique but isolated life. Engaging with his work will no doubt lead to a deeper consideration of their choices, plans, and relationships. Nevertheless, considering the contrast between his profound legacy as a writer and his solitary, rootless way of life should draw each reader to reflect on the eternal realities behind our lives. While Henry James’ dissatisfaction in the face of significant professional success led to influential works such as The Turn of the Screw, it reflects a deeper need for meaning that cannot be satisfied by knowledge or fame. The true Christian grounding that Henry James Jr. never received from his father could not be replaced by an education, no matter how excellent.

• “’My place in life has been made for me and it seemed easy to occupy. But you who, as I understand it, have made your own place, you who, as you told us the other day, have made and sold articles of vulgar household use – you strike me, in a fashion of your own, as a man who stands about at his ease and looks straight over so many high walls. I seem to see you move everywhere like a big stockholder on his favourite railroad. You make me feel awfully my want of shares. And yet the world used to be supposed to be ours. What is it I miss?’

‘It’s the proud consciousness of honest toil, of having produced something yourself that somebody has been willing to pay you for – since that’s the definite measure. Since you speak of my wash-tubs – which were lovely – isn’t it just they and their loveliness that make up my good conscience?’

‘Oh no; I’ve seen men who had gone beyond wash-tubs, who had made mountains of soap – strong-smelling yellow soap, in great bars; and they’ve left me perfectly cold.’

‘Then it’s just the regular treat of being an American citizen,’ said Newman. ‘That sets a man right up.’”[4]

• “It was for the elucidation of a mystery in one of these works that I first tried Mrs. Monarch. Her husband came with her, to be useful if necessary – it was sufficiently clear that as a general thing he would prefer to come with her. At first I wondered if this were for ‘propriety’s sake’ – if he were going to be jealous and meddling. The idea was too tiresome, and if it had been confirmed it would speedily have brought our acquaintance to a close. But I soon saw there was nothing in it and that if he accompanied Mrs. Monarch it was – in addition to the chance of being wanted – simply because he had nothing else to do. When they were separate his occupation was gone and they never had been separate. I judged rightly that in their awkward situation their close union was their man comfort and that this union had no weak spot. It was a real marriage, an encouragement to the hesitating, a nut for pessimists to crack. Their address was humble – I remember afterwards thinking it had been the only thing about them that was really professional – and I could fancy the lamentable lodgings in which the Major would have been left alone. He could sit there more or less grimly with his wife – he couldn’t sit there anyhow without her.”[5]

[1] Henry James, The Ambassadors, (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1964), 171.

[2] Henry James, “The Beast in the Jungle,” in The Short Stories of Henry James, ed. by Clifton Faidman, (New York: Random House, Inc., 1945), 590-591.

[3] Henry James, Autobiography, (New York: Criterion Books, 1956), 604.

[4] Henry James, The American, (New York: The Cromwell Critical Library, 1972), 88-89.

[5] Henry James, “The Real Thing,” in The Henry James Reader, ed. by Leon Edel, (New York: Charles Scribner’s            Sons, 1965), 598-599.