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3.0 out of 5 stars
The most readable thing James has written, Jan 21 2004
I've always admired Henry James' vision. His exploration of character's desires, intriguing premises, and occasionally brilliant imagery all would certainly give him the title of "the Master". It's just too bad these strengths in most of his work are buried under unbelievably dense prose. Finishing one of James' novels is like emerging from an expedition into a deep cave. You certainly feel the same sense of accomplishment and fatigue. That said, James' debut novel, Roderick Hudson, is a relatively quick read, filled with the interesting characters and settings, but without the convoluted writing style. It is the story of a young artist who is taken to Italy by an admiring patron, to become a great sculptor. Along the way, the artist struggles with his genius, and becomes distracted by...what else? A woman. I felt for Rowland Mallet, the philanthropist who supports the man-child Roderick in his work. He has the patience of a saint, and is impeccably polite, almost to the point of annoyance. He is the reader's eyes and ears, through which the we perceive the other characters in the story. Roderick Hudson himself is not likeable beyond a vague sympathy from the reader. He is given the opportunity most aspiring artists dream of: a patient, supportive patron, an exotic locale in which to work, the praise of his peers. He ends up squandering all of this over the most enigmatic of flirts, Miss Christina Light. Throughout my reading of this novel, I wished one of the characters had the nerve to shed their 19th century sensibilities and put the coquettish Miss Light in her place. Rowland comes the closest, but he never musters the courage to mutter anything beyond a grudging, (and unrealistic) admiration for her. He watches the already engaged Roderick fall for her and does nothing until it is too late. None of the characters have much of a backbone. This novel almost begs for a genuine villain to be a foil to the dull main characters and their encounters. Every other chapter involves Roderick, Rowland, and Christina somehow always running into each other, be it a roman coliseum, a catholic church, or a Swiss monastery. This doesn't seem to faze any of them, and they go on with their conversations with barely a, "fancy seeing YOU here" to be found. Henry James has enough brilliance in his work to be worthy of study, but for those who read for entertainment (and that's what novels are supposed to be) Roderick Hudson is about the most accessible thing James has ever done. It's too bad the story itself isn't one of his better ones.
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