73 - 'A Room With A View' by E.M. Forster

One of my favourite things in life, up there with a great Shiraz, listening to my favourite music on my (old and battered) i-Pod mini and smashing shots past the keeper from twenty-plus yards, is finding books I've wanted to read for ages in second-hand shops. When I find one by E.M. Forster for just $1.50 Australian, I'm even happier. Mr. Forster is fast shooting up my most-read-author-of-the-year list, having already supplied two of my favourite novels of 2009 ('Howard's End' and 'A Passage to India'), and, after finishing this short and sweet example of understated Edwardian fiction, I am very tempted to go after some more of his books before the end of the year.

The story is divided into two parts: the first (shorter) section is set in Florence and follows young Englishwoman Lucy Honeychurch on her leisurely holiday in Italy, introducing us (and her) to a cast of people at a boarding house, several of whom are to play further roles in the tale. After a couple of chance encounters with one of them, the young George Emerson, Lucy, under the protection of her spinster cousin Charlotte, races off to Rome - at which point the first part ends.

The second part takes place back in Lucy's home village, back in the safe home counties of the south-east of England. Safely engaged to the eligible, if somewhat loveless, Cecil Vyse, Lucy has managed to suppress any disturbing memories from her European adventures: at least, that is, until a vacant cottage is let to a couple of familiar faces...

If the above summary sounds a little bit Mills & Boon-ish, well, it does run that way at times. I haven't seen the film, but I had heard of it, and even if I hadn't seen her young face plastered across the cover of my battered copy of the book, I still might have had Helena Bonham-Carter's elfin face flashing through my mind on reading certain sections of the book. All the sources I've skimmed through agree that this is the lightest, happiest and most accessible of Forster's novels, and there is a distinct hint of chick-lit about it if you skim the surface.

However, books rarely survive past their centenary without having something a little more substantial to offer than a happy ending, and 'A Room with a View' is a lot more complex than it may appear. Lucy's awakening is part of a wider reflection on the role women should play at the start of the twentieth century. Today, it seems absurd that she requires a chaperon to travel abroad and that she acquiesces to some of the restrictive demands of the people around her, but this was the reality for women in the Victorian era, and it is only with the change of monarch and a shift in mentality (as well as the wars just around the corner...) that the first baby steps towards equality were taken. Lucy's eventual rejection of the oppressive, possessive Cecil, who regards her more as a piece of art in his collection than as a real-life, breathing, living human, parallels this wider societal development.

Society at the time of this story was changing in more ways than just the emancipation, if you like, of women; another change, represented in this novel by the Emersons, is the blurring of the lines between the formerly strictly segregated classes. Whereas, in Victorian times, the upwardly mobile were often portrayed as ungentlemanly and unworthy of the attention they sought from the more genteel, Forster reverses the roles, portraying the Emersons as quirky but 'nice' while Cecil Vyse, Reverend Beebe and, even, Lucy's mother are ridiculed for their inability to adapt to rapidly changing times. This distinction between 'static' and 'progressive' characters is an important feature in other Forster works, especially notable in the contrast in 'Howard's End' between the stick-in-the-mud Wilcoxes and the bohemian Schlegels (one of whom was played, in a Merchant-Ivory film - of course - by none other than... well, I'll let you guess...).

Forster's themes were to be drawn on their grandest canvas in 'A Passage to India' (another Merchant-Ivory adaptation), and some of the scenes in his earlier work point to those in the later text. George and Lucy's moment overlooking Florence is comparable (in a light-and-dark kind of way) to Adele Quested's moment in the Marabar caves; the Emerson' effect on the Honeychurches and their circle can be likened to the disastrous attempts to mix the native and Anglo populations in India. However, by Forster's own admission, the later novel must be considered greater as he believed it was wrong for 'modern' writers to contrive a happy ending. In this sense, indeed, 'A Room with a View' would have to be regarded as an 'inferior' novel...

It's a shame it was only mid-week (and mostly daylight) while I was reading this as I think a glass of Shiraz or two would have gone nicely with this book (or, in deference to the setting, a fine Chianti). After the tiring struggle with 'Anna Karenina' (a book which is probably best avoided by someone with back issues), Forster's subtle love story was just what the doctor (or the physio) ordered. However, it does make me think that I may have been overdoing it with the classics if this was my relaxation. Whatever the superficial similarities, this is no chick-lit; 'A Room with a View' is definitely worthy of classic status

24 - 'A Passage To India' by E.M. Forster

Here's a quick question to start us off today: what do indie greats 'The Stone Roses', writer E.M. Forster and Australia's national football team, the Socceroos, have in common? Answer at the end of the review!

Moving from trivia to the not-so-trivial, 'A Passage To India' is generally regarded as Forster's masterpiece, and it is easy to see why when reading this novel. The reader is transported into a lost world of British (English) colonialists attempting to subdue the natives in far-away lands, where men in three-piece suits drink gin and tonics while the servants wait patiently in the scorching sun, and elephants wander around playing football... wait, no, that was the kangaroos. In any case, Forster, who worked and travelled in India, something which shines through in his treatment of the culture in his writing, is able to conjure up a magical, enticing image of a place many westerners have never seen (and which those with a sensitive stomach probably never will).

The book describes Adela Quested's journey to India, where she is to decide whether to marry Ronny Heaslop, one of the Anglo-Indian ruling class. In the course of her visit, wishing to see 'the real India' and the native people, she is befriended by an Indian surgeon, Dr. Aziz. In a desire to win the favour of Adela and his new-found English friend, Cyril Fielding, Aziz organises a trip to the famous Marabar caves, a day-trip which goes drastically wrong and has dire consequences for all concerned...

The main idea of the novel was the impossible relationship between the colonisers and the colonised and how alien cultures could co-exist under such circumstances. The English attempted to seal themselves off from the locals in order to prevent any loss of power, and the Indians, resentful of this unfriendly attitude, discard the desire for peaceful, friendly servitude and start to dream of ousting the white invaders from their land (something they only had to wait another twenty-five years for). Despite the obvious connection to actual events in the sub-contintent, the difficulties experienced on both sides parallel those in many other parts of the world. Living in Australia, I am only too aware of the potential for disaster when two cultures collide; the plight of the Aboriginal population, even today, shows the difficulties of mutual respect for cultures. This is also true in more advanced stages of civilisation; the trial of Doctor Aziz reminded me strongly of the plot of 'To Kill A Mockingbird' with the difficulty in separating prejudice and fact in a racially-charged atmosphere.

Aside from the larger issue of politics and colonisation, Forster examines the thorny question of intercultural friendships and asks the question of whether true friendship is possible under conditions such as those in British India. Fielding, regarded disapprovingly by his fellow Englishmen for his relations with the natives, and Aziz, the educated surgeon in the pay of the Crown, would appear to be as likely as anyone to be able to get past the veneer of civilised politeness; in the end, however, psychology, geography and fate doom the friendship to failure. Their ways of thinking, their views of life, their morals, their ways of looking at the universe, everything about them puts obstacles in the path towards a true understanding of each other's character.

Over the past decade, I have spent the majority of my time either in Asian countries or working with Asian students, and I have experienced both of the situations outlined above. During my three-year stay in Japan, despite my efforts to learn the language and find out as much as posible about the culture, I never really got past superficial niceties with any Japanese people and certainly never got close to any locals (although many of the other western teachers got very close with the help of alcohol and love hotels). Admittedly, I spent a lot of my time working or with my Australian (then-) girlfriend, but even in conversations with coworkers in bars after work, I never really felt that we had much in common. One of the problems was that, just like the Anglo-Indians, the foreign workers in Japan often stayed together (although not to the extent that the English in Chandrapore did), living in the same apartments and drinking together on free evenings.

Now that I'm here in Australia and educating young (mostly) Asian students, I can see them falling into the same traps. There is a tendency to share houses with compatriots and a reluctance to socialise, or even work together, with students of a different nationality. Of course, this is a generalisation, and some students do strike up friendships outside their own ethnic group; however, from my own experiences (supported by Forster?!), I'm not sure how deep these friendships go, especially when they involve two such disparate philosophies as the Asian and Western cultures.

Only about 260 pages, but as you can tell from the disjointed musings above, there is a lot packed in. Despite the fairly straightforward plot, the psychological byplay and the beautifully drawn conflict of minds makes this a great book to read and justifies the opinions of the critics; which makes it a shame that this was only Forster's fifth and last novel. Oh, and the quiz question? The common theme was tardiness: The Stone Roses took about five years to follow up their eponymous debut album with a slightly disappointing second effort; the footballing Marsupials first qualified for the World Cup in 1972 but didn't appear for a second time until 2006 (cheating Italians - that's all I'll say...); and Forster also made his fans suffer by finishing 'A Passage To India' a full fourteen years after his fourth novel, 'Howard's End', was published. Like John Aloisi's penalty against Uruguay (and unlike 'Second Coming'), it was definitely worth the wait.

14 - 'Howards End' by E.M. Forster

E.M. Forster is one of those novelists that you've vaguely heard of but whose books you've probably never read. When skimming the pantheon of British literary greats, his name is likely to go unnoticed as you skip from Austen, the Brontes, Dickens and Thackeray, to Conrad, Woolfe and Lawrence (and then, right through to J.K. Rowling...). I picked up 'Howards End' (a book that, more than any other, must have inspired countless adult video productions) in the trusty university second-hand bookshop, mainly because it was only $5.14, without any major expectations; I had read it once before, back in my undergraduate days and couldn't really recall being overly impressed by it, but I was very happy with my choice (anyone who really thought it was of an adult nature would, however, have been very disappointed).

'Howards End' is a house. The story starts here, and it also ends here; you could almost consider it as one of the main characters in the novel as it has a major bearing on the actions and events involving the human characters. The intermingling of the fates of the Wilcox and Schlegel families in turn-of-the- (twentieth) century London has serious consequences for all involved and an even more tragic result for poor old Leonard Bast, a lower-middle-class office clerk who becomes involved with the Schlegel sisters on a quest for more meaning in his life.

Forster uses his novel to discuss several themes. One is the relentless onslaught and expansion of civilisation and technology. Machines, especially cars, are seen as ugly and polluting, and Helen and Margaret are keen to get out of London to flee the oncoming suburbia (although, as we see at the end, the sprawl of the capital is visible even from Howards End). This advance in civilisation also demands human sacrifice; the few success stories get richer and richer in business while the not-quite poor struggle desperately to keep their toe-hold on the very bottom rung of the ladder of success. This is seen in the fate of Leonard, who loses his job after some poor, spur-of-the-moment advice from Henry Wilcox. Henry is unable to acknowledge (or even comprehend) that he bears any responsibility for the events that follow until he is finally ground down by their tragic ending.

The other major theme is the conflict between the inner life and the outer life, art and business, love and friendship and respectability. Henry falls at one of these extremes, and this eventually cripples him when events overtake his ability to adhere to his beliefs. His inability to connect his life experiences to those of Leonard (they are essentially the same) renders him pathetic and slightly mechanical (and, as we know, that's not a good thing!). Helen veers too much the other way and must also pay the price for letting her emotions out too freely. Despite this, she recovers from her crisis and wanderings on the continent and is able to live comfortably again.

One minor theme which crops up a few times is the role of art, or the arts, in life. Leonard spends his spare time frantically attempting to catch up as much as possible with culture, literature, music, art, tries to make up for not having had a cultured upbringing, only wants to speak of the arts with the sisters when he visits them. Margaret, however, knows the truth about the arts and wants Leonard to find out that they are a means to an end, not an end in themself. The reason for reading novels, listening to music, and studying paintings is to develop one's understanding of the world better, in order to then be able to appreciate it more.

That concept definitely rings true for me; about fifteen years after reading the book for the first time, I feel I am able to understand it better than when I was a young adult trying to get educated as quickly as possible. I also hope that I would be able to forgive trespasses (as Margaret does) and not criticise people for doing things that I also did when I was their age (as Henry does). In my new job as a Learning Adviser (see one of my earlier posts for more details!), I have to deal with young international students who may not always have such a fond regard for punctuality, attendance and all-round hard work as we may like at our college; while I am certainly not going to let them know that when I was nineteen, I was ten times worse, I'll definitely try to keep a sense of perspective and a bit of sympathy. And that's a pretty good thing to get from any book, let alone one which was only $5.14.