I'm tempted to use the epithet "Nobel-prize-winning trash". Undeniably well-written, yet relentlessly depressing and somewhat dull, Galsworthy's first novel in what came to be known as the Forsyte Saga is your average adultery novel. You know the drill -- a beautiful woman is trapped in a loveless marriage with a stuffy middle-upper-class prude; she falls for the handsome young architect who is building her husband's new house, yet their love is crushed by the repressive social strictures. Blah, blah, blah...I guess there are a few wrinkles that elevate it slightly above the soap opera realm. The portrait of the extended Forsyte family is masterfully executed, with the griping, gossiping siblings and in-laws painted to perfection. A side plot focuses on an estranged son reconciling with his father, and there are some good moments here. Even the affair itself is presented through a fascinating lens. If it weren't for the fact that their actions drive the narrative, Irene (the wife) and Philip (the architect) would be secondary, almost tertiary characters. The affair is seen almost solely through the viewpoint of Soames (the husband) and the extended Forsyte family, as a shadowy, uncertain, hinted-at possibility only discovered to be fact when it's too late. Indeed, there is only one scene that features Irene and Philip alone -- the crisis where they reveal their feelings for each other -- and even that scene is presented almost as if we are eavesdropping and unable to hear exactly what is being said. Galsworthy does a lot with a little, and perhaps that technical ability in prose is alone worthy of the many accolades he received.
However, there are plenty of cringe-worthy and reductive moments. At one point, Irene and Philip are literally described as "pale moths drawn to a flame" -- maybe this is the first usage of the cliche and I'm just judging it unfairly... Soames has a few humanizing moments, but for the most part he is a bloodless figurehead. His final act against Philip and Irene seems incongruous with his character. Maybe I'm just not in tune enough with the depths of human psychology that I'm sure Galsworthy is plumbing... Long story short, I didn't like it. Even months after reading it (I'm very far behind on the ol' review biz), I wish I had the time back.
Arbitrary rating: 1 out of 5 stuffy upper-middle-class prudes
