Quote:
Originally Posted by beppe
Forster, years later of writing A room with a view, explained in a famous lecture that he gave in Cambridge, how to build full characters that have three dimensions and flat characters, that are represented by just some action or some aspects of their personality, and that he uses for the narrative purposes. To me it was interesting, and one of the many keys in enjoying the reading, to distinguish among them. I think you sensed, or reasoned of course, a very similar effect. Good for you and compliments for the nice comments. Very enjoyable.
I still think that the value of the novel is the fabric of Forster considerations, directly as comments, or through some of the characters line. More than the plot itself. And the lightness of his touch.
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Interesting about his methods of building characters. I'm going to have to find that lecture. I think that though his characters had personality, that doesn't quite mean they had depth of character. Mrs. Bennett (from Pride and Prejudice) had plenty of personality, but I don't think anyone would accuse her of being a deep person. These surfaces also matter and really help develop the themes and narrative. Even though the characters don't seem repressed, even though they all seem unique and lively, they are still repressed in their hearts. That personality is just a facade; its fancy architecture and colorful clothing. It's artificial and shallow. It hides the reality. They can be lively and fun but they are not allowed to achieve their personal desires, to connect to each other on a personal level. Everything is still on the level of the external. Everything beautiful is externalized so that they don't have to find beauty within themselves or in others. Society may no longer be stuffy, but any progress that represents is a sham. The notion of progress itself might be a sham, an illusion, that justifies personal oppression.
I think the lightness of his touch, or the delicateness, is Forster's strength and weakness. Unlike most nineteenth century writers, like Dostoevsky, Dickens, and Balzac, Forster doesn't slam his themes into the readers head. Nineteenth century writers (except for maybe the realists) were unmistakable in what they were trying to convey. They'd tie you up, throw you to the ground, and force feed you their themes. Forster doesn't hold the readers hand or drag him along. Forster's delicacy can be weakness, though, because it makes it easy to miss important details, to gloss over the book and see nothing. That's why I think so many readers feel empty after reading this novel. Still, I think if the reader manages to pay attention he can absorb the themes and by the end the themes become apparent in some way. Like with the characters, the revelation lingers and ebbs at the outer edges of the reader's consciousness, until the moment the reader is ready for a breakthrough. I suggest to readers who didn't get this novel the first time to give it a second shot, this time with the big picture in mind. You'll see things that were hiding behind the characters and events before, all the little hidden actors and forces will come to the fore, and you'll find that this book is worthy of its classic status.
Forster still, however, exhibits characteristics of the Victorian writer. His style and methods are in a transitionary state between Victorianism and Modernism. His narrator still tends to elaborate a bit much, still explicates themes or summarizes characters too tidily. He hasn't quite achieved the "scrupulous meanness" described by Joyce. For me it created an odd feeling of reading something that is modern yet not-quite-so modern. For other readers this state of flux may be alienating.