Now on to Henry James, whom I revere. The first paragraph of The Europeans:
“A narrow grave-yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of enlivening suggestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the mouldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the ineffectual refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall.”
Everybody with me? Why do they call this guy overcomplicated? I just got the complete works of H. James for my Kindle, which gives me 11 novels and 4 novellas to wallow in. Most of them I have wallowed in before, so this will be a real James-wallow-fest.
