Foresight
The first three volumes of The Forsyte Saga have now passed under my glance. I got off to a rocky start, as you know. As mentioned, I concluded that the first chapter is just something that has to be gotten through. In that chapter, Galsworthy introduces something like a thousand Forsytes, gathered at an engagement party. Now, I have no objection to large casts. But Galsworthy throws the reader in among the Forsytes without any real compass, without any inkling of one character being more important than the others, without orienting and in fact confusing his reader (which may be his purpose, but I'm not convinced that he did it on purpose, and there is always the possibility that I am, frankly, dense). I get it, I get it. The first chapter (indeed, the whole first book) is not about individual Forsytes as much as it is about a race, a class of people, an era personified by this family. I get it. But I still call Galsworthy unfair to introduce all these people at once, a flock of Forsytes, as it were.
My biggest gripe I had was with the plethora of maiden aunts, who seemed really quite pointless. It is not fair to a reader for an author to have characters for their own sake. I would argue that, in fiction, they must have a purpose. Miss R argued with me that the maiden aunts reminded her of relatives you see infrequently who may have one or two characteristics or tics that are endearing or at the least memorable. Well, that's nice and all, but in fiction, such characters are pointless. And for the first book, the maiden auts are really rather useless. Sure, they serve a thematic purpose as representatives of that dying era known as High Victorianism, but Galsworthy has other, sharper-edged weapons in his armory of satire to serve this purpose. To say that they are just there for comic relief (as I hastily e-mailed to britadventuress) simplifies the matter too much, and I was very pleased when the aunts served a dramatic role beyond their thematic, satiric, and/or comic role. For the maiden aunts become a conduit (albeit comic) between the Forsyte family en masse and the mysterious Uncle Timothy, who became for me a fascinating figure. For most of the books, Timothy remains offstage, but he seems to control the lives of just about every Forsyte through his opinions taken as law, opinions delivered to the family via the aunts. He is omnipresent, both there and not there all the time, like God. (In that respect, the aunts become like sybils.) I like Timothy, and I have to admit a twinge of disappointment when he finally makes a (physical) appearance with a map with little pins in it to show the wins and losses of the Boer War. He lost a lot of glamour in that scene.
On the whole, I liked the second book In Chancery (1920) better than the first The Man of Property (1906) and the third To Let (1921). (How long can the author drag out the fact that Fleur and Jon don't know about the relationship between their parents?) I have to admit that I find Soames a fascinating character, much more interesting than Young Jolyon, against whom he is juxtaposed. Young Jolyon is a colorless individual who excited little interest in me. Soames, in his adherence to his own massive shortsightedness, is ... fascinating. You just want to scream at him, "Let. It. Go. You will be so much happier" ... or will he? And therein lies his inherent fascination. His thickheaded bumbling through his relationships, the trainwreck of his inability to admit or even see his own shortcomings -- this is the stuff of great fiction. He is a brilliant creation.
In addition to the creation of this brilliant character (and Irene is no whit less brilliant) is Galsworthy's talent as a great scene painter. This is best exemplified by the two interludes "Indian Summer of a Forsyte" which details the last days of Old Jolyon and "Awakening" which details the early days of the youngest Jolyon. The stories are interesting to compare, because Galsworthy captures exactly both old age and extreme youth. The voice that Galsworthy chooses for each -- extraordinary! "Awakenings" is even more of an accomplishment. It is very, very difficult to convey the inner voice of a child without coming across as mawkish or sentimental or ... silly. Gallsworthy pulls it off with the supremest literary skill. Another scene that stands out for me is Soames's rumination on the advent of the automobile (To Let, part III, chapter vii) and its effect on his class and its emblamatic status of the new, speedier twentieth century. A short passage nicely done. (Which I remember because I read it less than an hour before I started writing this entry.)
I fought Galsworthy a lot in these books, but each time I thought that I had had enough, he would do something to pull me back in and keep me hooked. At first, I was mad at him for delaying the compelling relationship between Winifred and her husband Dartie to the second book when it would have made a nice counterpoint to the marriage of Soames and Irene in the first. But as this subplot unfolded, it was just right. I waffled more than once. But, when it was all said and done, The Forsyte Saga was an enjoyable reading experience. Still, I have had enough of the Forsytes for the time being, and it was with mixed emotions that I accepted the loan of the next three books in the series from The Crone. (Who else would have them?) But I'm not reading them right away. It's time for me to delve into Trollope.
It would be an interesting exercise to compare Galsworthy's Forsytes with Zola's Rougons-Macquarts. Both authors purport (Zola more explicitly so) to show the effects of heredity and environment on character. Whereas Zola confines himself to the 20 years of the Second Empire, Galsworthy sprawls his narrative across four decades, spanning from the mid-Victorian era to the late Victorian era to the Boer War to post-World War I. And while Zola chooses to tell his story by focusing on individual family members each the subject of a book, Galsworthy crams the entire family into what is basically one book. Here's the thing: each of Galsworthy's Forsytes could possibly sustain his or her own novel. Galsworthy may not have been able to set each in its own milieu the way Zola does, but each character seems worthy of a fuller tale. With Uncle Timothy in the background, maybe, of them all. Personally, I would love to read more about Swithin Forsyte, June Forsyte, and George Forsyte the gay bachelor -- actually, all of them remain unmarried. How interesting that the unmarried Forsyte choristers would so pique my curiosity.
My biggest gripe I had was with the plethora of maiden aunts, who seemed really quite pointless. It is not fair to a reader for an author to have characters for their own sake. I would argue that, in fiction, they must have a purpose. Miss R argued with me that the maiden aunts reminded her of relatives you see infrequently who may have one or two characteristics or tics that are endearing or at the least memorable. Well, that's nice and all, but in fiction, such characters are pointless. And for the first book, the maiden auts are really rather useless. Sure, they serve a thematic purpose as representatives of that dying era known as High Victorianism, but Galsworthy has other, sharper-edged weapons in his armory of satire to serve this purpose. To say that they are just there for comic relief (as I hastily e-mailed to britadventuress) simplifies the matter too much, and I was very pleased when the aunts served a dramatic role beyond their thematic, satiric, and/or comic role. For the maiden aunts become a conduit (albeit comic) between the Forsyte family en masse and the mysterious Uncle Timothy, who became for me a fascinating figure. For most of the books, Timothy remains offstage, but he seems to control the lives of just about every Forsyte through his opinions taken as law, opinions delivered to the family via the aunts. He is omnipresent, both there and not there all the time, like God. (In that respect, the aunts become like sybils.) I like Timothy, and I have to admit a twinge of disappointment when he finally makes a (physical) appearance with a map with little pins in it to show the wins and losses of the Boer War. He lost a lot of glamour in that scene.
On the whole, I liked the second book In Chancery (1920) better than the first The Man of Property (1906) and the third To Let (1921). (How long can the author drag out the fact that Fleur and Jon don't know about the relationship between their parents?) I have to admit that I find Soames a fascinating character, much more interesting than Young Jolyon, against whom he is juxtaposed. Young Jolyon is a colorless individual who excited little interest in me. Soames, in his adherence to his own massive shortsightedness, is ... fascinating. You just want to scream at him, "Let. It. Go. You will be so much happier" ... or will he? And therein lies his inherent fascination. His thickheaded bumbling through his relationships, the trainwreck of his inability to admit or even see his own shortcomings -- this is the stuff of great fiction. He is a brilliant creation.
In addition to the creation of this brilliant character (and Irene is no whit less brilliant) is Galsworthy's talent as a great scene painter. This is best exemplified by the two interludes "Indian Summer of a Forsyte" which details the last days of Old Jolyon and "Awakening" which details the early days of the youngest Jolyon. The stories are interesting to compare, because Galsworthy captures exactly both old age and extreme youth. The voice that Galsworthy chooses for each -- extraordinary! "Awakenings" is even more of an accomplishment. It is very, very difficult to convey the inner voice of a child without coming across as mawkish or sentimental or ... silly. Gallsworthy pulls it off with the supremest literary skill. Another scene that stands out for me is Soames's rumination on the advent of the automobile (To Let, part III, chapter vii) and its effect on his class and its emblamatic status of the new, speedier twentieth century. A short passage nicely done. (Which I remember because I read it less than an hour before I started writing this entry.)
I fought Galsworthy a lot in these books, but each time I thought that I had had enough, he would do something to pull me back in and keep me hooked. At first, I was mad at him for delaying the compelling relationship between Winifred and her husband Dartie to the second book when it would have made a nice counterpoint to the marriage of Soames and Irene in the first. But as this subplot unfolded, it was just right. I waffled more than once. But, when it was all said and done, The Forsyte Saga was an enjoyable reading experience. Still, I have had enough of the Forsytes for the time being, and it was with mixed emotions that I accepted the loan of the next three books in the series from The Crone. (Who else would have them?) But I'm not reading them right away. It's time for me to delve into Trollope.
It would be an interesting exercise to compare Galsworthy's Forsytes with Zola's Rougons-Macquarts. Both authors purport (Zola more explicitly so) to show the effects of heredity and environment on character. Whereas Zola confines himself to the 20 years of the Second Empire, Galsworthy sprawls his narrative across four decades, spanning from the mid-Victorian era to the late Victorian era to the Boer War to post-World War I. And while Zola chooses to tell his story by focusing on individual family members each the subject of a book, Galsworthy crams the entire family into what is basically one book. Here's the thing: each of Galsworthy's Forsytes could possibly sustain his or her own novel. Galsworthy may not have been able to set each in its own milieu the way Zola does, but each character seems worthy of a fuller tale. With Uncle Timothy in the background, maybe, of them all. Personally, I would love to read more about Swithin Forsyte, June Forsyte, and George Forsyte the gay bachelor -- actually, all of them remain unmarried. How interesting that the unmarried Forsyte choristers would so pique my curiosity.