February 21, 2005
Henry James: My Excuse to Say "Ingénue" Repeatedly
Prior to this reading, my contact with Henry James consisted solely of a fair amount of enjoyment from reading his eerie The Turn of the Screw, and naught but the most shockingly dismal reviews of his novel The American from a good friend and fellow English major. I didn't know quite what to expect of Daisy Miller, his classic story of a young American ingénue running loose (that's a key word) in Europe.
But before I proceed any further, allow me to get a little something out of my system:
ingénue ingénue ingénue ingénue ingénue ingénue ingénue ingénue
There. I think I can proceed normally now. Note link to full text of novel, which you will not be following, but which I have thoughtfully provided anyway.
Daisy Miller by Henry James
The novel follows the experiences of the simple and innocent Daisy as she moves with her equally simple family (mother, young brother, and their guide Eugenio) through the cultivated circles of Americans who reside in Europe. Her story is seen through the eyes of an American resident of Geneva, Winterbourne, who has a bit of a romantic stake in the story (at least at first).
To make a long story as short as possible, Winterbourne first encounters Daisy and her family in Switzerland where he is visiting his aunt. Almost immediately, his own impression of her comes into conflict with the perceptions of everyone around him. What he views as a disarming naiveté, the upper crust see as flirtatious vulgarity. He is warned away from Daisy numerous times during the novel, particularly by his aunt.
Daisy is a very immature, headstrong girl, and her mother does very little to rein her in. Left with the power to make her own decisions, she impetuously winds up alone with Winterbourne on a sight-seeing expedition. They grow closer to each other, and Daisy is upset to hear that Winterbourne's visit is drawing to an end. She makes him agree to visit her in Rome in the winter, to which he willingly acquiesces, considering that he will be visiting his aunt at any rate.
Upon arriving in Rome, Winterbourne finds that Daisy is developing quite a reputation among the other Americans for her associations with various undesirables, most notably the faux gentleman Giovanelli, with whom she is very familiar. Her behavior grows steadily more wild and uninhibited, and consequences to health or reputation don't seem to matter at all. The Americans in Rome grow less and less tolerant of her behavior even as Winterbourne is mystified by it.
Seeing how intimate she has grown with Giovanelli, he distances himself somewhat from the situation, but does what he can to help (which is very little). The story draws to a close when Daisy and Giovanelli risk catching Roman fever despite Winterbourne's warning. Upon hearing his apathetic response to the possibility that she might be engaged, she declares herself equally apathetic at the prospect of catching her death.
And then she does.
At the funeral, Winterbourne learns from Giovanelli that he has misjudged Daisy's character, and that she truly was the helpless innocent he originally believed her to be. He informs his aunt of this fact, declares that he has been away from America for too long, and returns to live in Geneva.
This book really reminded me of A Room With a View by E. M. Forster, which I read over Christmas break. The only really important difference is that Forster's ingénue is male, and winds up married at the end of the story. I think I prefer that book to this, for various reasons . . . but that is neither here nor there.
Leaving out any snide remarks about Daisy's possession of the classic female tragic flaw, I have to wonder about calling it that. Daisy's innocence is most certainly tragic, but does Henry James consider it a flaw? Considering carefully the behavior of the other characters in the story, I find this highly doubtful. Throughout the story, the desirability of Daisy's innocent nature is highlighted, and when she is led astray it is not her fault, but the fault of those around her.
Nearly everyone she encounters knows a good deal more about how the world works (or, at least, how their own little world works) than she does. Assuming that she knows as much as they, they also assume that she is using a false innocence to disguise her questionable pursuits. This is never portrayed in a positive light. As Winterbourne attempts to balance on the knife's edge without clearly taking a side, his relationship with Daisy quite naturally deteriorates whenever he begins to trust his original instinct less.
It is the continued abuse, exploitation, ridicule, and mistrust of this ideal which lead to its eventual destruction. It deserved care and protection, and it was shunned . . . but it is almost as if the only concerned party who has a chance of carrying anything away from the whole affair is the reader. Winterbourne and Giovanelli are the only two who express any remorse over what has transpired.
Giovanelli's revelation is a plot device, and his humble admissions are soon replaced by the semi-polished veneer he maintains. Winterbourne, after a soul-cleansing confession of his own, travels full circle and winds up right back where he started. Is he any wiser?
It is left to the reader, then, to ensure that poor Daisy has not died in vain. It is we who must learn and impart the lesson of the story. Unpolished innocence is superior to cultivated worldliness.
Personally, I remain unconvinced. Innocence is a precious thing, particularly among the very young. However, as with any delicate blossom, the time comes when it must wilt and fade away . . . I say fade because it is better that it disappear gradually, rather than be snapped unceremoniously from its stalk by rough hands. Nevertheless, preserve innocence beyond its time and you court disaster, unless you plan on keeping your bloomin' flowers safe in their greenhouse pots forever.
If innocence is sheltered beyond the time when it should expire by natural means, someone is almost certainly in for a rude awakening sooner or later. It is to be hoped that, unlike Daisy, their innocence is all they lose (speaking, as we were, of flowers).
Posted by Jared at February 21, 2005 11:59 PM | TrackBack