The Awkward Age
James, Henry, 1843-1916
English
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Below is a summary of The Awkward Age
THE AWKWARD AGE
HENRY JAMES
PREFACE
I recall with perfect ease the idea in which "The Awkward Age" had its
origin, but re-perusal gives me pause in respect to naming it. This
composition, as it stands, makes, to my vision--and will have made
perhaps still more to that of its readers--so considerable a mass beside
the germ sunk in it and still possibly distinguishable, that I am half-
moved to leave my small secret undivulged. I shall encounter, I think,
in the course of this copious commentary, no better example, and none on
behalf of which I shall venture to invite more interest, of the quite
incalculable tendency of a mere grain of subject-matter to expand and
develop and cover the ground when conditions happen to favour it. I say
all, surely, when I speak of the thing as planned, in perfect good
faith, for brevity, for levity, for simplicity, for jocosity, in fine,
and for an accommodating irony. I invoked, for my protection, the spirit
of the lightest comedy, but "The Awkward Age" was to belong, in the
event, to a group of productions, here re-introduced, which have in
common, to their author's eyes, the endearing sign that they asserted in
each case an unforeseen principle of growth. They were projected as
small things, yet had finally to be provided for as comparative
monsters. That is my own title for them, though I should perhaps resent
it if applied by another critic--above all in the case of the piece
before us, the careful measure of which I have just freshly taken. The
result of this consideration has been in the first place to render sharp
for me again the interest of the whole process thus illustrated, and in
the second quite to place me on unexpectedly good terms with the work
itself. As I scan my list I encounter none the "history" of which
embodies a greater number of curious truths--or of truths at least by
which I find contemplation more enlivened. The thing done and dismissed
has ever, at the best, for the ambitious workman, a trick of looking
dead, if not buried, so that he almost throbs with ecstasy when, on an
anxious review, the flush of life reappears. It is verily on recognising
that flush on a whole side of "The Awkward Age" that I brand it all, but
ever so tenderly, as monstrous--which is but my way of noting the
QUANTITY of finish it stows away. Since I speak so undauntedly, when
need is, of the value of composition, I shall not beat about the bush to
claim for these pages the maximum of that advantage. If such a feat be
possible in this field as really taking a lesson from one's own
adventure I feel I have now not failed of it--to so much more
demonstration of my profit than I can hope to carry through do I find
myself urged. Thus it is that, still with a remnant of self-respect, or
at least of sanity, one may turn to complacency, one may linger with
pride. Let my pride provoke a frown till I justify it; which--though
with more matters to be noted here than I have room for I shall
accordingly proceed to do.
Yet I must first make a brave face, no doubt, and present in its native
humility my scant but quite ponderable germ. The seed sprouted in that
vast nursery of sharp appeals and concrete images which calls itself,
for blest convenience, London; it fell even into the order of the minor
"social phenomena" with which, as fruit for the observer, that
mightiest of the trees of suggestion bristles. It was not, no doubt, a
fine purple peach, but it might pass for a round ripe plum, the note one
had inevitably had to take of the difference made in certain friendly
houses and for certain flourishing mothers by the sometimes dreaded,
often delayed, but never fully arrested coming to the forefront of some
vague slip of a daughter. For such mild revolutions as these not, to
one's imagination, to remain mild one had had, I dare say, to be
infinitely addicted to "noticing"; under the rule of that secret vice or
that unfair advantage, at any rate, the "sitting downstairs," from a
given date, of the merciless maiden previously perched aloft could
easily be felt as a crisis. This crisis, and the sense for it in those
whom it most concerns, has to confess itself courageously the prime
propulsive force of "The Awkward Age." Such a matter might well make a
scant show for a "thick book," and no thick book, but just a quite
charmingly thin one, was in fact originally dreamt of. For its proposed
scale the little idea seemed happy--happy, that is, above all in having
come very straight; but its proposed scale was the limit of a small
square canvas. One had been present again and again at the exhibition I
refer to--which is what I mean by the "coming straight" of this
particular London impression; yet one was (and through fallibilities
that after all had their sweetness, so that one would on the whole
rather have kept them than parted with them) still capable of so false a
measurement. When I think indeed of those of my many false measurements
that have resulted, after much anguish, in decent symmetries, I find the
whole case, I profess, a theme for the philosopher. The little ideas one
wouldn't have treated save for the design of keeping them small, the
developed situations that one would never with malice prepense have
undertaken, the long stories that had thoroughly meant to be short, the
short subjects that had underhandedly plotted to be long, the hypocrisy
of modest beginnings, the audacity of misplaced middles, the triumph of
intentions never entertained--with these patches, as I look about, I see
my experience paved: an experience to which nothing is wanting save, I
confess, some grasp of its final lesson.
This lesson would, if operative, surely provide some law for the
recognition, the determination in advance, of the just limits and the
just extent of the situation, ANY situation, that appeals, and that yet,
by the presumable, the helpful law of situations, must have its reserves
as well as its promises. The storyteller considers it because it
promises, and undertakes it, often, just because also making out, as he
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