The questions of choice and morals in The Spoils of Poynton

Not a sound had reached her of any supreme clash, and Mrs. Gereth had communicated next to nothing; giving out that, as was easily conceivable, she was too busy, too bitter, and too tired for vain civilities. All she had written was that she had got the new place well in hand and that Fleda would be surprised at the way it was turning out. Everything was even yet upside down; nevertheless, in the sense of having passed the threshold of Poynton for the last time, the amputation, as she called it, had been performed.

Her leg had come off — she had now begun to stump along with the lovely wooden substitute; she would stump for life, and what her young friend was to come and admire was the beauty of her movement and the noise she made about the house. The young couple wondered why they had waited so long, since everything was after all so easy.

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Fleda knew, in short, and liked the knowledge, that for several weeks she had appeared exemplary in every relation of life. She had been perfectly prepared to be surprised at Ricks, for Mrs. Gereth was a wonder-working wizard, with a command, when all was said, of good material; but the impression in wait for her on the threshold made her catch her breath and falter.

Dusk had fallen when she arrived, and in the plain square hall, one of the few good features, the glow of a Venetian lamp just showed, on either wall, the richness of an admirable tapestry. This instant perception that the place had been dressed at the expense of Poynton was a shock: The next moment, folded in Mrs. The two tapestries, not the largest, but those most splendidly toned by time, had been on the whole its most uplifted pride.

When she could really see again she was on a sofa in the drawing-room, staring with intensity at an object soon distinct as the great Italian cabinet that, at Poynton, had been in the red saloon. By this time the very fingers of her glove, resting on the seat of the sofa, had thrilled at the touch of an old velvet brocade, a wondrous texture that she could recognize, would have recognized among a thousand, without dropping her eyes on it.

They stuck to the cabinet with a kind of dissimulated dread, while she painfully asked herself whether she should notice it, notice everything, or just pretend not to be affected. How could she pretend not to be affected, with the very pendants of the lustres tinkling at her and with Mrs. Gereth, beside her and staring at her even as she herself stared at the cabinet, hunching up a back like Atlas under his globe?

She was appalled at this image of what Mrs. Gereth had on her shoulders. That lady was waiting and watching her, bracing herself, and preparing the same face of confession and defiance she had shown the day, at Poynton, she had been surprised in the corridor. It was farcical not to speak; and yet to exclaim, to participate, would give one a bad sense of being mixed up with a theft. But what again the full picture most showed her was the far-away empty sockets, a scandal of nakedness in high, bare walls. Then she felt Mrs.

In the soft lamplight, with one fine feature after another looming up into sombre richness, it defied her not to pronounce it a triumph of taste. Her passion for beauty leaped back into life; and was not what now most appealed to it a certain gorgeous audacity? They lighted up with joy — that friend herself so pleased with what she had done. This was not at all, in its accidental air of enthusiasm, what Fleda wanted to have said: Such was clearly the way Mrs. I only brought away what I required. Fleda had got up; she took a turn round the room. Wherever she was, she was herself the great piece in the gallery.

She knew them each, in every chink and charm — knew them by the personal name their distinctive sign or story had given them; and a second time she felt how, against her intention, this uttered knowledge struck her hostess as so much free approval. Gereth was never indifferent to approval, and there was nothing she could so love you for as for doing justice to her deep morality. There was a particular gleam in her eyes when Fleda exclaimed at last, dazzled by the display: Gereth rose as she sharply echoed the words.

For what in the world would you have taken me? I take you simply for the greatest of all conjurers. She completed her thought by a resolute and perfectly candid question: As she strongly depends on the acceptance of those to whose social class she wishes to belong, she hastens to please everybody and hesitates to openly criticise anyone. For Fleda, however, appealing to her benefactress Mrs Gereth is an easy task to begin with, for both women share a heightened aesthetic sensibility.

Under these circumstances, it seems only natural that Fleda should somewhat identify with Mrs Gereth. It is unfortunate that Fleda is unable to recognise the nature of this dependence. Being an aesthete does not prevent Mrs Gereth from having just as materialistic an attitude as the Brigstocks. Both sides accumulate possessions; Adele Gereth chooses with taste, the Brigstocks without.

Entering this upper class society, Fleda appears rather pure and innocent. She is not interested in amassing tacky objects like the Brigstocks, nor does she view aestheticism as the ultimate end as Mrs Gereth does. However, of the opposing parties, neither Owen nor his mother is governed by mutual affection or humane principles in general, as Fleda may have suspected. Therefore, the battle for Poynton is inevitable. Much more than a question of right and wrong, it is a battle for a status symbol; matters of moral or legal justice are secondary.

Both parties aim at degrading their opponent and reinforcing their own place in society. This social battle field is unknown ground to Fleda and she has to be careful not to trip. Even more than the others involved, she must protect her reputation, for the slightest damage to it could make her unacceptable company. Unlike the others, she has no possessions to secure her social standing. This is why Fleda cannot afford to upset anyone with a higher position in society. It is not primarily her love for Owen, though it admittedly makes things even more complicated for her, which puts her in a dilemma, but the necessity to be on friendly terms with everyone.

On the other hand she must not offend Owen and the Brigstocks. Playing for time and hoping everything will somehow work out fine is the only option left to her. She constantly assures either party of her loyalty and only when pressed admits that she does very little to convince the other of their being wrong. Nov 14, Sketchbook rated it did not like it Shelves: Last night I dreamt I went to Poynton Those stately homes of England -- up in flames.

In this fatiguing short novel , the compulsive and highly neurotic protagonist by name of Fleda Vetch James in a campy mood? No one, including the author, questions her coveteous demands. Confidante Fleda merely coughs.

Fleda is a thumping bore as well as a Puritan who keeps harping on Honor and Pride and Virtue and Rectitude in six delicious flavors. The son is repeatedly described as hollow, dull and lacking in taste. James again repeats but fails to illustrate. These 2 characters are not even pencil sketches. James, in his nosey Old Lady mood, does better with Old Mum.

So, there's constant blather about Negotiations: Everything is a goddamned dilemma. None of it is believable. James couldn't release any passion, it seems, until a few years later when he went Mad About the Boy, American sculptor Hendrik Andersen, and he was into his late 50s.

Then he wrote "The Ambassadors," a novel that preached: It should have remained a short story. Nov 14, Bruce added it. A quintessentially Henry James novel, this was a joy to read. Gereth has spent her life furnishing her home, Poynton, with all manner of elegant furniture and art objects which are the focus of her attention and value.

In the young Fleda Vetch she has found an impressionable appreciator of her efforts and objects. But her son Owen has determined to marry the rough and unappreciative Mona Brigstock who does not appreciate the furnishings of Poynton, which Owen will inherit on his A quintessentially Henry James novel, this was a joy to read. But her son Owen has determined to marry the rough and unappreciative Mona Brigstock who does not appreciate the furnishings of Poynton, which Owen will inherit on his marriage, but who is determined to let nothing elude her grasp. Gereth connives instead to attempt to have Owen marry Fleda.

The story plays itself out. This is not a book, short as it is, to be read quickly and superficially. Indeed, many sentences and sometimes even paragraphs will need to be read more than once. But the effort pays off handsomely, and most readers will find themselves delighted with the experience. I'm working on a theory that Fleda resists marriage to Owen because she doesn't want to end up another item in Mrs. Despite the fact that Fleda always comes when called, she certainly values her independence enough to make this plausible.

I have trouble with Henry James. I'm going to start reading one of his novels a year just to prove he's not the boss of me. Oct 11, Jeff rated it it was ok.

The Spoils of Poynton

Even though the story isn't all that great, James uses lots of words in ways that make the book difficult to read. I've seem concrete examples that show how his revisions of sentences deliberately push the verb farther back and add pronouns that don't have an immediately identifiable object. If you can get beyond that, or enjoy it as some people seem to, maybe perversely, there's a finely knitted yarn in there.

Gareth must vacate her home, Poynton, filled with Even though the story isn't all that great, James uses lots of words in ways that make the book difficult to read. Gareth must vacate her home, Poynton, filled with the treasures she's collected her whole life, and hand it over to her inheriting son Owen and his fiance Mona, both philistines who don't appreciate fine things. Gareth's only hope is in Fleda, intelligent and trained in the arts, to attract Owen and influence him to drop the engagement to Mona, who isn't particularly nice anways.

Of course dropping engagements was much more scandalous then. Impressively dense, rewarding to study, but not something you'd want to read. View all 4 comments. Besonders spannend fand ich hierbei Fleda. Besonders spannend war es auch, ihre Entwicklung nachzuverfolgen und gegen Ende nimmt dieser Punkt immer mehr an Spannung zu. Provisional review and rating: Will bear fruit in close analysis — but I don't really ha' the energy for that Jan 24, Robert Beveridge rated it did not like it Shelves: Henry James, The Spoils of Poynton Dell, The Spoils of Ponyton is the first novel James wrote in his "later style," in other words, drawing-room satire that isn't really about much of anything at all.

For some odd reason, later-era James is what's universally praised in lit classes around the globe, while the early stuff, which is actually worth reading, is largely ignored. To be fair, James did get better at satire as time went on, but The Spoils of Ponyton has all the hallmarks of being a Henry James, The Spoils of Poynton Dell, The Spoils of Ponyton is the first novel James wrote in his "later style," in other words, drawing-room satire that isn't really about much of anything at all.

To be fair, James did get better at satire as time went on, but The Spoils of Ponyton has all the hallmarks of being a first attempt at a stylistic change. The novel centers on two characters who are utterly incapable of action, which wouldn't be so bad if the characters who were doing the acting were more involved.

Such is, sadly, not the case.

1. Les anges se font plumer (Fleuve noir) (French Edition)!
2. The Spoils of Poynton, by Henry James : VII!
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4. Fragile but Strong.

Owen and Fleda just sort of drift and react; as the book is told from Fleda's point of view, we end up with page after page of something that, in the hands of a better author even a later James, had he re-written it would have come off as uber-Tevye; weighing the various merits of various courses of action, not being able to decide on a course, and letting fate take her where it will. In Fiddler on the Roof, it works largely because Tevye's monologues are brief and to the point ; in Poynton, it blithers on endlessly, with all the fascination for the reader of watching cheese spoil.

If you're new to James, by all means do yourself a favor and start with something he wrote earlier in his career. Leave Poynton until after you've developed enough of a taste for James to pick up later-era works, and then read the major ones before diving into this. Jun 18, Billie Pritchett rated it it was amazing Shelves: Gereth who must give up her property to her son because the property is to be transferred to the son and his wife upon his marriage.

Gereth is from Old Money, and she has meticulously collected all the fine pieces in her home, and so she does not want to part with them. Matters are complicated from the beginning when a woman, who is not wealthy, named Fleda becomes Mrs. Gereth's ally in her fight to preserve those ant The Spoils of Poynton by Henry James is the story of a widowed woman name Mrs. Gereth's ally in her fight to preserve those antique pieces. The novel becomes a battle between the Old Money of Mrs.

Gereth and the New Money of her son and wife. I've never seen a more compelling novel written about the desire to keep 'old things,' as James called them. That a novel can stay remain so focused on one object, the acquisition of furniture, and still be compelling is a testament to James's writing, and how writing about an object, if done well, can reveal great insights into people and the human condition, as well as the societies in which these people belong. This is a fantastic book. May 09, Nicole Schrag rated it really liked it Shelves: This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers.

To view it, click here. Will the world end in fire or ice? In this novel, James gives us the answer. May 03, Dirk rated it liked it.

I have great respect and admiration for Henry James, but this is not one of his best efforts. A pretty good novel, but not one of his best efforts. The plot is set in motion by the following events: They have a son who is a kind of jolly, well-meaning English upper class bloke, insensitive to the beauty of the objects. The father dies and, under English law, the son inherits everything. The son falls in love with a girl very much like himself. His mother fervently wants control of the objects and befriends another girl, our heroine, with the sensitivities the mother would like to see in a daughter-in-law who would cherish the objects.

The events and emotional entanglements that follow are quite tense. This book has a more active plot, more twisting, and turning, than you usually associate with Henry James. There is something closer to a physical love scene than I can recall in any other of his novels.

The Spoils of Poynton by Henry James

The ending is a bit of a deus ex machina. Only the mother and our heroine, whose name is Fleda Vetch, are fully characterized. Henry James lavishes all his powers of witty, incisive, allusive, and complicated character description on these two. The other characters are cursory. The mother is energetic, aggressive, self-centered, and rather likable for her down-to-earth focus.

Fleda is one of those self-defeating morally punctilious James protagonists, who snatches self-justification from the jaws of satisfaction time and again. The prose is James' elaborate middle style, fun to follow but not easy, building up characters and situations with a million smart observations, but he is too fond of calling characters "magnificent" or 'luminous'. I say I'm fond of Henry James, but I find myself angry with him when his protagonists damn themselves to mediocrity at the moment a rich life is within their grasp over what seems to me ridiculous moral compunctions.

Lambert Strether in The Ambassadors could perfectly well settle down with Maria Gostrey in Paris to a rich and meaningful life if he didn't have a painful horror of having profited from others' mistakes. Isabel Archer in Portrait of a Lady could divorce her husband and have a passionate marriage with Casper Goodwood, if she would drop the obligation to suffer for her own mistakes.

It is a measure of James greatness that I care enough about these people to be really angry with him. Most of the characters of this sort in James are scrupulously honest; Fleda is a variation. She lies all the time. She is chronically dishonest with the other characters and with herself, but for the highest of motives, or at any rate the most self-defeating.

James aficionados will know that he is fond of dimly significant names. His notebooks are replete with several lists of such names and musings on what a person with such and such a name would be like. Fleda is a pert little thing, not in the least bovine or ovine. This is an extraordinarily intense novella: I use the phrase cast list intentionally: And what are these relationships and interactions?

This was indeed because it might be one of so many things. Here, however, it is the fire of passion. The haze from all these passions hangs over the whole of the novella -- witness the way that we too, like Fleda, have to read some sentences over more times than the rest, such as when it is often not clear which woman -- Fleda, Mrs Gereth or Mona -- is being referred to by the casual use of "she" and "her". The author's long sentences, with their several subordinate phrases, only add to the opacity.

In many ways they are like the sudden settlings inside a bonfire that's slowly smouldering at its core before, all of a sudden, the whole thing violently bursts into flame. One might hope for and expect a fairytale ending, perhaps with Fleda as Cinderella and Mrs Gereth as fairy godmother; or could it be a late 19th-century Pride and Prejudice , featuring Fleda as Elizabeth Bennet and Owen as the enigmatic Mr Darcy of Pemberley?

But James is clearly aiming for a more realistic outcome, even if some might call 'foul! For all that very little appears to happen, two or three crucial actions determine which way the plot moves, and those moves prove decisive for the inevitability of the final resolution.