Daisy Miller by Henry James

In the interests of taking a break from reading for my thesis - which involves unhealthy amounts of mother-writer bios - I picked up Henry James' "Washington Square" and "Daisy Miller." The primary reason was because it was one of the few books on my shelf that I haven't yet read. I don't love James. "Portrait of a Lady" was absolutely ruined for me by my undergraduate professor. Also, James' overtly male-interpretation-of-female-behavior grates on me after awhile. There is a taste of condesending in his writing towards women, owing to the fact, I suppose, that his tales are primarily told through the eyes of a male protagonist whose job as a narrator is to observe the woman in question and form opinions about her. There's almost something voyeristic about this.

Well, "Daisy Miller" and "Washington Square" are no different in the above regards. However, while I did not like DM, I did enjoy WS to a certain extent. To begin, DM is about HJ's pet topic - American women abroad in Europe and how they do not fit in. Portrait of a Lady is the same thing. I won't spoil the novel for you (hopefully), but my primary dislike about DM was Daisy herself. I really do not like girls like her. Never have, never will. By 'girls like her' I mean girls who are too popular with boys, who always tell you that they have more male friends than female friends, girls who too obviously prefer men's company to women's, but who are not free enough from flirtatious behavior to make this desire for male company seem platonic. Caveat - nothing about this post is supposed to be objective. Continuing.... In DM, all the women around Daisy are faulted for judging her supposed "high spirits" and innocent interest in men. James would like her to appear youthfully independent, intriguing, unconcerned with consequences, along with this odd mixture of coy flirtatiousness and innocent disregard of proprieties. Ugh! says this reader. She is just "too" something. I don't think James understands his subject because she comes across as neither naive nor simple, but just very, very stupid. I mean, she's supposed to have grown up in New York society. Is it really so realistic that she be absolutely ignorant of normal, sensible behavior? Had she been raised under a rock on a farm in the middle of Utah, I might understand the ignorance of proper behavior. But that still does not account for her obnoxious flirtatiousness which implies a great deal of worldly cultivation.

Well, the wages of sin are quick and deadly. Miss Daisy sits out all night with a dreamy Italian in the damp air of the Colosseum and yes, you guessed it. She contracts malaria and dies. Good riddance, I thought. Oh, there may be so much more to this tale that I am blocking out by my inherent dislike of Miss Daisy, but you know what? I'm not in college and no longer need to convince a teacher of the correctitude of my opinions.

Re-readability rating? 1 out of 5 stars.