The American

4.5 stars



James makes great headway from Roderick Hudson, where he really begins to hone his dialogue; here, in The American, one almost feels the influence of Trollope on the first half of the novel—the society scenes, the scenes of being lost in crowds, the dialogue that is suggestive rather than overt—all while making Paris come alive for the reader in such a way that we’re able to see it through Christopher Newman’s eyes as a privileged, hard-working, status-obsessed American who’s earned his millions and is taking the Continental tour. Love and Old World tradition sidetrack him, as do a few well-drawn characters who come and go at literally just the right times: in other hands, these characters would be mere show more caricatures, but in James’s hands, the balance is struck and the bell tolls, tolls, tolls. 



This novel sees him much more masterful with his dialogue measured equally with the interiority/figural narratives that place us inside (mostly) Newman’s head as he navigates the Old—but new-to-him—World of tradition, religion, society, and a pride he can’t wholly fathom. The scenes in the Louvre are some of the most breathtaking scenes in James’s work thus far—as I begin to re-read his novels in order, as this mad project of mine—and the countryside of France comes alive, too, in a suffocating, claustrophobic manner that suits the plot and the theme of The American to the letter.



And that ending! What perfection, with the mise-en-scène and the dialogic build-up! And there is a kind of behind-the-curtains duel! And nuns! And backstabbing aplenty… but the latter is James for you, almost across the board. James begins his ambiguity here, in part, and his fascination with a particular classical element that figures heavily in much of his novels and short fiction. 


On to The Europeans which I recall feeling was one of his weaker earlier novels (it is, after all, subtitled A Sketch), but perhaps my mind will change after many years away from it, and on the heels of his previous three novels—yes, I count Watch and Ward, though James later disowned it. show less

I've learned with these older novels not to pre-judge. This cuts both ways though. For example I went into Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice and Northanger Abbey hoping for interesting novels full of wit, subtlety, and complicated observations concerning not only a certain England at a certain time but also a somewhat grander more pulled back vision of a developing empire consolidating its power over a (likewise) developing world.

What I instead read were two boring and incredibly underwhelming pieces of fiction that, in all honesty, have a place in the annals of the literary cannon only because of what they influenced after, not what they themselves achieved. In short, they were two gaudy pillow cases with nothing but dead birds show more inside.

Henry Jame's The American is the incredible counter to Austen here. Though inescapably narrow with its white Christian old world Europe versus White Christian new world America, James is able to work in an astonishing amount of depth and clarity regarding the two begrudgingly allied spheres. A marriage and its potential ramifications is given geopolitical and even pseudo biblical pathos as the tenets of human feeling are slammed against the (at times) paradoxical senses of class difference, blood purity, lineage, and the acquisition of wealth and power.

Along with all of this, The American is funny too. Whereas Austen made me wonder if I was supposed to laugh at some doofus playing with tea-cups and elbow length gloves, James made me genuinely chuckle at how ridiculous it is that people put on airs simply because the concept of playing dress up never truly leaves some people.

So, for me, Austen bad, James good. And although the language at times can be tough (antiquated English is such a joy) it does nothing to detract from The American's intelligence, wit, and compelling story that leaves a sense of having read something significant.

-An addendum: I'm sure Jane Austen was a nice person. The people around her must've been mean as hell or simply as dim and as transparently unlikable as the characters she created (she took what she could get from her own life apparently) though for reading her stuff and not suggesting she write a new bible in the form of a comedy of manners...ugh. show less

I enjoyed this book tremendously. The story roared along and, while it has the usual sad ending, I felt that Newman had made peace with his situation. The introduction says James thought the book's premise was flawed, and I can see his point, but I enjoyed Newman's struggle so much, it didn't matter to me.

7.0/10

What saves this from a lesser rating is that this is Henry James. If someone else had written it, it might barely garner a "just plain awful" rating. But as with all James, there are layers upon layers to peel back and so one discovers lovely seams of sweetness hidden between the dried, stale cake.

I didn't much care for anyone in this novel, except perhaps Mlle Noémie, for at the least there is no pretense with her. Like the erstwhile Becky Sharp, she knows what she wants, and pursues it with vigour. The egalitarian soul in me cheers her on and longs to see more of her -- but alas, James decrees she is a classless woman, in both senses of the word, and leaves her to languish, off-stage, for most of the novel.

The evil gothic show more family twirls its collective mustachios, also mostly off-stage, and makes spontaneous, almost-unscripted appearances that reinforce how evil they are, without giving much substance to the story.

An idiot-looking-for-a-village appears in the languid, spiritless Mme de Cintré who meets a justifiable end in sackcloth and ashes. I was glad to see her go.

And Christopher Newman -- the lovable, trusting, hero who lays his metaphorical cloak in the mud for the almost-supine de Cintré, is a character study in passivity. The word pudd'nhead comes to mind.

Just the kind of pseudo-gothic novel I despise.

On the other hand, there is James fighting the never ending hand-to-hand combat of comparing and contrasting old world sensibilities with new world morality, and occasionally throws us a few gems, hidden in Newman's character. It is for these gems that one reads James.

And as with all James, one is lost in the soft beauty of the language -- so much so that reading him is like watching paint dry: but what a painting!



Nothing happens, nothing at all. But you are content to gaze upon it for hours.

To his credit, James realized the major errors in this novel, and considered it one of his least successful; he re-wrote major parts of it later in life -- but even he knew it was too riddled with error that it couldn't be rewritten to any satisfaction. In fact, most of the revisions were scrapped, and most modern editions stick to the original version. This is one of those novels that should, probably, never have seen the light of day -- except of course, that it was James. show less

One of his better works, but still not great. It appears as though his earlier works were better written. By the time I got to "The Wings of the Dove" (1902) I had grown tired of him. By the end of his career, there wasn't a simple action or thought that he couldn't convey in an unending stream of words. His mantra seemed to be, "I could be succinct, but why? I enjoy writing. I couldn't give a damn whether I burden the reader with my verbal diarrhea." A highly overrated writer, maybe because he was an ex-patriot.

I decided to pick up this old classic piece of literature and give it a try. One of the things I wonder sometimes is how books move from being unquestioned parts of the Canon to being afterthoughts, and I think this is an example. It's a product of its time, and gives some insight into what life among the French aristocracy was like in the late 19th century; great literature takes a particular story set in a particular place, and leaves one struck by the universality of the themes. I would imagine this accomplished that at one time, but I'm not sure how relevant it feels in the 21st century.

The title refers to an American, Newman, a fabulously wealthy businessman living in Paris and mixing with the French elite in the 1870s. He falls in show more love with Claire de Cintre, a young widow born of the Bellegarde's, an aristocratic old French family. He courts and becomes engaged to her before her mother and brother intervene to try to stop the marriage to a mere mercantilist, wealthy though he may be.

And one striking thing is how incredibly wealthy he is- he has apparently made so much money that he can live a life of leisure indefinitely.

One complaint is that the book starts with Newman in Paris, and gives very little backstory. It explains that he is of a very calm and pleasant disposition, which is actually quite important to the plot at the end, but it doesn't really explain why he is like that, which would have been more interesting.

Anyway, the book moves slowly, with long bouts of dialogue. James turns a phrase well, and there are some good descriptions of scenery, but generally I think this book deserves to have been dropped from the canon. Lots of great new books get written every year, and though we shouldn't stop reading Steinbeck just yet, I think James can be consigned to a little corner of obscure writers that were once famous. show less

The American as one of the early novels of Henry James does not have as many readers or enjoy as much popularity as the later novels. Still, by all means, The American is a very good novel, and would serve very well as an introduction to the later, more mature novels.

The American has all the elements of the later novels. The contrast between the lack of sophistication of the American nouveau riche versus the decadence of the old, European aristocracy. Life in the great salons of the European metropolises versus trips to Geneva and other pleasurable holiday destinations. As The American is one of James's early novels to explore this theme it is also explorative of the features of the exchange of cultures, American versus European, while show more the motives are still somewhat superficial, as opposed to the psychological drama of the later novels. In addition to that, The American has a rich plot, with various, unexpected turns.

I did not like the secundary plot, which in a way explores the same motive from a mirrorred perspective of not so very sophisticated Europeans looking for their luck with Americans, but perhaps it was needed to connect some elements of the story. It gives the novel a slight Dickensian "Tale of Two Cities" character.

Upon completion, I felt I would have hoped to have known of this novel when I started reading Henry James, and not necessarily, as most people, through the shorter fiction. show less