Does anyone else get the
notion that the second part of this novel feels so much less of everything? It has
the effect of having come down from something like a very high, almost
metaphysical consciousness to something lower, a more mundane sub-consciousness.
Isabel’s actions and
conversations occur in this fast forward skim over the heart of the
situation. Take, for example, Lord
Warburton’s final interview with Mr. and Mrs. Osmond in Rome. James spends more time telling about the happening than letting his
audience experience the
situation. And such occurs for the vast
majority of the second half. With that,
the explicit dialogues become much more valuable. It is in these that it is possible to
reconnect with Isabel again; she seems more alive. But when James returns to accounting for the
events, she comes off as someone in a reality show.
By choosing the alliance with
Gilbert, which is a less deserving term for all its actuality, Isabel forsook
her consciousness. Now she lives in
something like subconscious or perhaps skewed-conscious. She knows him well, and she knows many others
just as well. No longer is she highly self-conscious;
her self-consciousness is subdued. Her
own consciousness seems to serve only the benefit of the others. And perhaps that is the great fear Mazzella
attributed to her in the article, though I still do not agree with it being a
fear of sexual possession. That makes it
sound so much like a psychological issue, and I do not believe that is what
James would have us believe.
Hunter brings up a great
point in labeling Isabel a knight of infinite resignation. I certainly see that in Isabel. She could have been a knight of faith, but
Gilbert’s presence denied her the possibility—as would any of her suitors for
that matter, except perhaps Ralph.
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