It was back in the fall of 2000 that I first encountered Henry James in a wonderful American Literature class. On the syllabus was Daisy Miller, and I confess: I wasn’t thrilled. I expected it to be tedious, not at all for me. But when I read it, my eyes were opened. I loved Daisy Miller, and before long I had gone on to Washington Square (adored) and The Turn of the Screw (amazing). Ever since, I’ve been intrigued by the idea of tackling one of James’s larger novels—especially The Portrait of a Lady—though I worried it might be hard going. I hadn’t learned my lesson.

But then I got just the kick I needed. @bibliopaul and I invited Lori Feathers to join us on our next podcast episode and she suggested I finally give The Portrait of a Lady a try. Folks, I loved it. Every page, every chapter—I was completely absorbed.

We begin at the Touchetts’ beautiful estate in England, where Mr. Touchett, his son Ralph, and their friend Lord Warburton sit talking on the lawn over afternoon tea. The conversation is witty, gentle, and full of charm—a perfect introduction to James’s world, with two Americans and an English aristocrat exchanging perspectives against this lush backdrop. The descriptions are vibrant, and I found myself happily lingering in the scene.

Then Isabel Archer—a relation from America—arrives. Young, independent, sparkling with intelligence, she brings even more lift into the novel. Suitors gather—an earnest American has followed her overseas, Lord Warburton is immediately taken by her, and even her cousin Ralph harbors his quiet devotion.

But Isabel wants none of it. She insists on her independence, her right to think and live freely. Ralph, admiring this very quality, conspires to give her the means to do so by helping her come into the inheritance that might otherwise have been his. Suddenly Isabel is not only captivating—she is wealthy, and her choices become even more complicated.

Of course, the brightness of those early chapters doesn’t last. James gradually leads Isabel—and us—into a world of manipulation, compromise, and disappointment, where her fierce independence is tested in ways she hadn’t imagined. Some of the most odious and chilling characters I’ve ever read appear in these pages, their cruelty all the more devastating for being cloaked in refinement.

It would be easy enough to keep summarizing the plot, but capturing the intricacies of psychology, emotion, and tone is impossible. This is one of those books that will continue to captivate me as I discover more within its pages.

Have you read The Portrait of a Lady? It has made me eager to explore more of James’s larger novels. Which ones would you recommend?

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