{"id":95018,"date":"2016-02-26T12:13:06","date_gmt":"2016-02-26T17:13:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=95018"},"modified":"2016-02-26T14:29:56","modified_gmt":"2016-02-26T19:29:56","slug":"the-native-henry-james","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/02\/26\/the-native-henry-james\/","title":{"rendered":"The Native Henry James"},"content":{"rendered":"

February 28 marks\u00a0the hundredth\u00a0anniversary of James\u2019s death.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Photo: Alice Boughton, 1916.<\/p><\/div>\n

Henry James died in London, at the age of seventy-two, on February 28, 1916, in the midst of World War I. His funeral was held at Chelsea Old Church on March 3, with a mostly British congregation of mourners\u2014though his sister-in-law Alice, widow of his brother, the philosopher William, was in attendance, having crossed the war-torn ocean when she heard of his illness.<\/p>\n

The U.S. had not yet entered the war\u2014the issue was controversial, and indeed, James and his old antagonist Theodore Roosevelt, who had long denounced him as un-American, had found common cause in their indignation at their country\u2019s prolonged neutrality. This caused particular tension on James\u2019s death, because the novelist had taken British nationality in July 1915, an implicit protest against America\u2019s refusal to join the conflict. As he had written to his fellow American-in-London John Singer Sargent just after the event, \u201cIt would really have been so<\/em> easy for the U. S. to have \u2018kept\u2019 (if they had cared to!) yours all faithfully, Henry James.\u201d He had finally grown tired of waiting for America to end its neutrality, and felt he needed, by this gesture, to end his own detachment from the conflict. The memorial in Chelsea Old Church tactfully describes him as \u201ca resident of this parish who renounced a cherished citizenship to give his allegiance to England in the first\u00a0year of the Great War\u201d\u2014the \u201ccherished\u201d insisting from the grave that James had been a good American.\u00a0<\/p>\n

James\u2019s writing, particularly late in life, was known for its ambiguity; and so maybe it\u2019s not surprising his paradoxically patriotic act (doing what he felt his country should do) was misread and resented\u2014even by friends like Edith Wharton and William Dean Howells. The always fragile Anglo-American understanding he had spent most of a lifetime trying to improve had failed yet again, so that many Americans did not grasp the subtle implications of his Anglicization. After his death, those who loved him reclaimed him for the U.S., literally and figuratively. Alice James smuggled his ashes back to Cambridge, Massachusetts, despite wartime restrictions, and buried them in the family plot: she would have been familiar with her late husband\u2019s opinion that Henry was \u201ca native of the James family, and has no other country.\u201d Howells, meanwhile, asserted in a memorial essay that \u201cJames was American to his heart\u2019s core to the day of his death.\u201d<\/p>\n

Issues of allegiance and nationality deeply inform the last books James finished\u2014his memoirs, A Small Boy and Others<\/em> (1913) and Notes of a Son and Brother<\/em> (1914), which are the main texts in the Library of America volume I have just edited, Henry James: Autobiographies<\/em>, alongside the unfinished The Middle Years<\/em>, a selection of autobiographical writings across his career, and Theodora Bosanquet\u2019s charming but critically very acute memoir, Henry James at Work<\/em> (1924). It is the last of the Library\u2019s now-complete set of volumes of James\u2019s major works.<\/p>\n

In A Small Boy <\/em>and Notes <\/em>James set out to write about his brother William, who died in 1910. But as his dictation progressed, as he found the memories flooding back, he gave free rein to the exquisite subjective rendering of his own experience. In the first book, the novelist who had so sensitively charted a young girl\u2019s bewildering experience in What Maisie Knew<\/em> (1897), portrayed his childhood self as \u201ca little gaping American,\u201d and re-created a child\u2019s thrills and confusions\u2014the latter of which were much enhanced by having a rich, eccentric, restlessly paradoxical, religious philosopher father in whose household, as James says, \u201cwe wholesomely breathed inconsistency and ate and drank contradictions.\u201d<\/p>\n

The autobiographies were warmly received even by many who were none too sure about James\u2019s complex late fiction\u2014partly for their vividly detailed pictures of the past he recalled, scenes in New York, Newport, Paris, London, Switzerland, bringing back the textures of a vanished past\u2014and also for the proliferating cast of characters, eccentric and touching, feckless or exploitative or victimized, who are rendered with a quasi-Dickensian power (amongst them, in fact, is Dickens himself, whom James encountered in 1867). James conjures up an Edenic world of peaches, uncles, streets, theaters, circuses, restaurants, hotels, schoolrooms, and atmospheric houses. No one who reads these books can doubt the earnestness of James\u2019s baffled quest to immerse himself in American life; while at the same time, he makes clear how far the James family\u2019s foreign travels and education left him enthralled by a European culture that was broader and richer than what was available in the America of his time.<\/p>\n

When the Great War broke out in 1914, James was immediately reminded of the outbreak of the American Civil War five decades before\u2014writing to a friend that the war<\/p>\n

\n

leaves one small freedom of mind for general talk, it presses, all the while, with every throb of consciousness; and if during the first days I felt in the air the recall of our Civil War shocks and anxieties, and hurryings and doings, of 1861, etc., the pressure in question has already become a much nearer and bigger thing, and a more formidable and tragic one, than anything we of the North had in those years to face.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

James engaged himself actively as far as he could, given his age and state of health, visiting Belgian refugees and British soldiers, writing pieces toward the war effort, becoming President of the American Volunteer Motor-Ambulance Corps.<\/p>\n

Half a century earlier, at Harvard Law School, amid \u201cfine fierce young men, in great numbers \u2026 who hadn\u2019t flown to arms,\u201d James had followed the progress of the Civil War with equally passionate attention, and he saw in his own academic strivings a modest symbolic parallel to the heroics of combat. Begun amid his nation\u2019s great calamity, his literary career could itself be seen as in its origins a kind of patriotic endeavor\u2014and his sense of his function as an American writer in Europe became, and continued to the last, that of a cultural ambassador for his homeland. In this service he has had an extraordinary reach and endurance\u2014for James\u2019s work continues to find passionate, engaged, thoughtful readers in both his native and his adoptive countries, and indeed around the world.<\/p>\n

Philip Horne is professor of English at University College London and the editor of <\/em>Henry James: Autobiographies, just published by the Library of America<\/a>. He is the founding general editor of the Cambridge University Press <\/em>Complete Fiction of Henry James, the first volumes of which, <\/em>The Europeans and <\/em>The Ambassadors, were published in 2015. For the centenary of James\u2019s death, he has put together a series of radio episodes for the BBC program\u00a0<\/em>Book of the Week, to be broadcast from February 29 to March 4 under the title \u201cThe Real Henry James.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

February 28 marks\u00a0the hundredth\u00a0anniversary of James\u2019s death. Henry James died in London, at the age of seventy-two, on February 28, 1916, in the midst of World War I. His funeral was held at Chelsea Old Church on March 3, with a mostly British congregation of mourners\u2014though his sister-in-law Alice, widow of his brother, the philosopher […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":940,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[21301,21302,142,10031,4864,7005,88,153,9323,13197,374,7740],"class_list":["post-95018","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture","tag-21301","tag-allegiance","tag-america","tag-anniversaries","tag-autobiography","tag-edith-wharton","tag-england","tag-henry-james","tag-nationality","tag-william-dean-howells","tag-william-james","tag-world-war-i"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nOn the Hundredth Anniversary of Henry James\u2019s Death<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Philip Horne on the national identity of the revered novelist.\" 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