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A Room with a View
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From the Inside Flap
le of British middle-class love which displays Forster's skill in contrasting British sensibilities with those of other cultures.
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Chapter OneThe BertoliniThe Signora had no business to do it," said Miss Bartlett, "no business at all. She promised us south rooms with a view close together, instead of which here are north rooms, looking into a courtyard, and a long way apart. Oh, Lucy!""And a Cockney, besides!" said Lucy, who had been further saddened by the Signora's unexpected accent. "It might be London." She looked at the two rows of English people who were sitting at the table; at the row of white bottles of water and red bottles of wine that ran between the English people; at the portraits of the late Queen and the late Poet Laureate that hung behind the English people, heavily framed; at the notice of the English church (Rev. Cuthbert Eager, M.A. Oxon.), that was the only other decoration of the wall. "Charlotte, don't you feel, too, that we might be in London? I can hardly believe that all kinds of other things are just outside. I suppose it is one's being so tired.""This meat has surely been used for soup," said Miss Bartlett, laying down her fork. "I want so to see the Arno. The rooms the Signora promised us in her letter would have looked over the Arno. The Signora had no business to do it at all. Oh, it is a shame!""Any nook does for me," Miss Bartlett continued; "but it does seem hard that you shouldn't have a view."Lucy felt that she had been selfish. "Charlotte, you mustn't spoil me: of course, you must look over the Arno, too. I meant that. The first vacant room in the front–""You must have it," said Miss Bartlett, part of whose travelling expenses were paid by Lucy's mother–a piece of generosity to which she made many a tactful allusion."No, no. You must have it.""I insist on it. Your mother would never forgive me, Lucy.""She would never forgive me."The ladies' voices grew animated and–if the sad truth be owned–a little peevish. They were tired, and under the guise of unselfishness they wrangled. Some of their neighbours interchanged glances, and one of them–one of the ill-bred people whom one does meet abroad–leant forward over the table and actually intruded into their argument. He said:"I have a view, I have a view."Miss Bartlett was startled. Generally at a pension people looked them over for a day or two before speaking, and often did not find out that they would "do" till they had gone. She knew that the intruder was ill-bred, even before she glanced at him. He was an old man, of heavy build, with a fair, shaven face and large eyes. There was something childish in those eyes, though it was not the childishness of senility. What exactly it was Miss Bartlett did not stop to consider, for her glance passed on to his clothes. These did not attract her. He was probably trying to become acquainted with them before they got into the swim. So she assumed a dazed expression when he spoke to her, and then said: "A view? Oh, a view! How delightful a view is!""This is my son," said the old man; "his name's George. He has a view too.""Ah," said Miss Bartlett, repressing Lucy, who was about to speak."What I mean," he continued, "is that you can have our rooms, and we'll have yours. We'll change."The better class of tourist was shocked at this, and sympathized with the new-comers. Miss Bartlett, in reply, opened her mouth as little as possible, and said:"Thank you very much indeed; that is out of the question.""Why?" said the old man, with both fists on the table."Because it is quite out of the question, thank you.""You see, we don't like to take–" began Lucy.Her cousin again repressed her."But why?" he persisted. "Women like looking at a view; men don't." And he thumped with his fists like a naughty child, and turned to his son, saying, "George, persuade them!""It's so obvious they should have the rooms," said the son. "There's nothing else to say."He did not look at the ladies as he spoke, but his voice was perplexed and sorrowful. Lucy, too, was perplexed; but she saw that they were in for what is known as "quite a scene," and she had an odd feeling that whenever these ill-bred tourists spoke the contest widened and deepened till it dealt, not with rooms and views, but with–well, with something quite different, whose existence she had not realized before. Now the old man attacked Miss Bartlett almost violently: Why should she not change? What possible objection had she? They would clear out in half an hour.Miss Bartlett, though skilled in the delicacies of conversation, was powerless in the presence of brutality. It was impossible to snub any one so gross. Her face reddened with displeasure. She looked around as much as to say, "Are you all like this?" And two little old ladies, who were sitting further up the table, with shawls hanging over the backs of the chairs, looked back, clearly indicating "We are not; we are genteel.""Eat your dinner, dear," she said to Lucy, and began to toy again with the meat that she had once censured.Lucy mumbled that those seemed very odd people opposite."Eat your dinner, dear. This pension is a failure. Tomorrow we will make a change."Hardly had she announced this fell decision when she reversed it. The curtains at the end of the room parted, and revealed a clergyman, stout but attractive, who hurried forward to take his place at the table, cheerfully apologizing for his lateness. Lucy, who had not yet acquired decency, at once rose to her feet, exclaiming: "Oh, oh! Why, it's Mr. Beebe! Oh, how perfectly lovely! Oh, Charlotte, we must stop now, however bad the rooms are. Oh!"Miss Bartlett said, with more restraint:"How do you do, Mr. Beebe? I expect that you have forgotten us: Miss Bartlett and Miss Honeychurch, who were at Tunbridge Wells when you helped the Vicar of St. Peter's that very cold Easter."The clergyman, who had the air of one on a holiday, did not remember the ladies quite as clearly as they remembered him. But he came forward pleasantly enough and accepted the chair into which he was beckoned by Lucy."I am so glad to see you," said the girl, who was in a state of spiritual starvation, and would have been glad to see the waiter if her cousin had permitted it. "Just fancy how small the world is. Summer Street, too, makes it so specially funny.""Miss Honeychurch lives in the parish of Summer Street," said Miss Bartlett, filling up the gap, "and she happened to tell me in the course of conversation that you have just accepted the living–""Yes, I heard from mother so last week. She didn't know that I knew you at Tunbridge Wells; but I wrote back at once, and I said: 'Mr. Beebe is–' ""Quite right," said the clergyman. "I move into the Rectory at Summer Street next June. I am lucky to be appointed to such a charming neighbourhood.""Oh, how glad I am! The name of our house is Windy Corner."Mr. Beebe bowed."There is mother and me generally, and my brother, though it's not often we get him to ch– The church is rather far off, I mean.""Lucy, dearest, let Mr. Beebe eat his dinner.""I am eating it, thank you, and enjoying it."He preferred to talk to Lucy, whose playing he remembered, rather than to Miss Bartlett, who probably remembered his sermons. He asked the girl whether she knew Florence well, and was informed at some length that she had never been there before. It is delightful to advise a new-comer, and he was first in the field."Don't neglect the country round," his advice concluded. "The first fine afternoon drive up to Fiesole, and round by Settignano, or something of that sort.""No!" cried a voice from the top of the table. "Mr. Beebe, you are wrong. The first fine afternoon your ladies must go to Prato.""That lady looks so clever," whispered Miss Bartlett to her cousin. "We are in luck."And, indeed, a perfect torrent of information burst on them. People told them what to see, when to see it, how to stop the electric trams, how to get rid of the beggars, how much to give for a vellum blotter, how much the place would grow upon them. The Pension Bertolini had decided, almost enthusiastically, that they would do. Whichever way they looked, kind ladies smiled and shouted at them. And above all rose the voice of the clever lady, crying: "Prato! They must go to Prato. That place is too sweetly squalid for words. I love it; I revel in shaking off the trammels of respectability, as you know."The young man named George glanced at the clever lady, and then returned moodily to his plate. Obviously he and his father did not do. Lucy, in the midst of her success, found time to wish they did. It gave her no extra pleasure that any one should be left in the cold; and when she rose to go, she turned back and gave the two outsiders a nervous little bow.The father did not see it; the son acknowledged it, not by another bow, but by raising his eyebrows and smiling; he seemed to be smiling across something.She hastened after her cousin, who had already disappeared through the curtains–curtains which smote one in the face, and seemed heavy with more than cloth. Beyond them stood the unreliable Signora, bowing good-evening to her guests, and supported by 'Enery, her little boy, and Victorier, her daughter. It made a curious little scene, this attempt of the Cockney to convey the grace and geniality of the South. And even more curious was the drawing-room, which attempted to rival the solid comfort of a Bloomsbury boarding-house. Was this really Italy?Miss Bartlett was already seated on a tightly stuffed armchair, which had the colour and the contours of a tomato. She was talking to Mr. Beebe, and as she spoke, her long narrow head drove backwards and forwards, slowly, regularly, as though she were demolishing some invisible obstacle. "We are most grateful to you," she was saying. "The first evening means so much. When you arrived we were in for a peculiarly mauvais quart d'heure."He expressed his regret."Do you, by any chance, know the name of an old man who sat opposite us at dinner?""Emerson.""Is he a friend of yours?""We are friendly–as one is in pensions.""Then I will say no more."He pressed her very slightly, and she said more."I am, as it were," she concluded, "the chaperon of my young cousin, Lucy, and it would be a serious thing if I put her under an obligation to people of whom we know nothing. His manner was somewhat unfortunate. I hope I acted for the best.""You acted very naturally," said he. He seemed thoughtful, and after a few moments added: "All the same, I don't think much harm would have come of accepting.""No harm, of course. But we could not be under an obligation.""He is rather a peculiar man." Again he hesitated, and then said gently: "I think he would not take advantage of your acceptance, nor expect you to show gratitude. He has the merit–if it is one–of saying exactly what he means. He has rooms he does not value, and he thinks you would value them. He no more thought of putting you under an obligation than he thought of being polite. It is so difficult–at least, I find it difficult–to understand people who speak the truth."Lucy was pleased, and said: "I was hoping that he was nice; I do so always hope that people will be nice.""I think he is; nice and tiresome. I differ from him on almost every point of any importance, and so, I expect–I may say I hope–you will differ. But his is a type one disagrees with rather than deplores. When he first came here he not unnaturally put people's backs up. He has no tact and no manners–I don't mean by that that he has bad manners–and he will not keep his opinions to himself. We nearly complained about him to our depressing Signora, but I am glad to say we thought better of it.""Am I to conclude," said Miss Bartlett, "that he is a Socialist?"Mr. Beebe accepted the convenient word, not without a slight twitching of the lips."And presumably he has brought up his son to be a Socialist, too?""I hardly know George, for he hasn't learnt to talk yet. He seems a nice creature, and I think he has brains. Of course, he has all his father's mannerisms, and it is quite possible that he, too, may be a Socialist.""Oh, you relieve me," said Miss Bartlett. "So you think I ought to have accepted their offer? You feel I have been narrow-minded and suspicious?""Not at all," he answered; "I never suggested that.""But ought I not to apologize, at all events, for my apparent rudeness?"He replied, with some irritation, that it would be quite unnecessary, and got up from his seat to go to the smoking-room."Was I a bore?" said Miss Bartlett, as soon as he had disappeared. "Why didn't you talk, Lucy? He prefers young people, I'm sure. I do hope I haven't monopolized him. I hoped you would have him all the evening, as well as all dinner-time.""He is nice," exclaimed Lucy. "Just what I remember. He seems to see good in every one. No one would take him for a clergyman.""My dear Lucia–""Well, you know what I mean. And you know how clergymen generally laugh; Mr. Beebe laughs just like an ordinary man.""Funny girl! How you do remind me of your mother. I wonder if she will approve of Mr. Beebe.""I'm sure she will; and so will Freddy.""I think every one at Windy Corner will approve; it is the fashionable world. I am used to Tunbridge Wells, where we are all hopelessly behind the times.""Yes," said Lucy despondently.There was a haze of disapproval in the air, but whether the disapproval was of herself, or of Mr. Beebe, or of the fashionable world at Windy Corner, or of the narrow world at Tunbridge Wells, she could not determine. She tried to locate it, but as usual she blundered. Miss Bartlett sedulously denied disapproving of any one, and added: "I am afraid you are finding me a very depressing companion."And the girl again thought: "I must have been selfish or unkind; I must be more careful. It is so dreadful for Charlotte, being poor."
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Product details
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Vintage; Reissue edition (October 23, 1989)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0679724761
ISBN-13: 978-0679724766
Product Dimensions:
5.2 x 0.6 x 8 inches
Shipping Weight: 10.6 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
3.9 out of 5 stars
769 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#147,048 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
A Room with a View is a great novel that offers insight into society during the early twentieth century. From the beginning of the book, Lucy Honeychurch, the protagonist, is torn between what is socially acceptable. This is illustrated by the love triangle between Lucy, George (her true love), and Cecil (her fiancé). George is of a lower class than her, and yet, he is the one she truly loves. Cecil is her pretentious, upper class fiancé who would rather protect her than be her equal. Will she choose George, whom is of a lower social class than her, or Cecil, the socially acceptable wierdo? The themes of love and social status are forever present in the novel. The book is made even more enjoyable by the dry humor employed by E.M. Forster. He is so serious and sarcastic whenever he makes jokes, it makes the book all the better. I found myself loving the book mainly because of how relatable Lucy is. She is a young women trying to find herself in the midst of social pressures. Overall, I thought the book was amazing and would definitely recommend it.
Good grief, this has been my second and possibly third reading of this work (This is over quite a number of years and my long term memory is beginning to fail me...sigh), and I must say that I enjoyed it as much this go-around as I did the first. There is something about this work that simply appeals to me.Now this is not to say that it will be on every readers most favored list - no, far from it, and this is how it should be. For me thought it is an excellent read and if I last longer I will most likely read it again on down the road.This is one of those tales that touches on a wide range of the general overall human condition. It should also ne noted here that the time element covered by this novel is 1908 which is pre WWI and it IS NOT taking place during the `Victorian era' of which several reviewers have stated. No, we are talking the Edwardian era in England and while some of the morals and morays of Victorian times still linger, it is never the less a different age completely. This must be understood to understand the story.Anyway, back to the subjects covered in this work: Love, prejudices, betrayal, strong but understated humor, a snapshot of a previous era, sociological observation of the English upper middle class and of course the clashes of culture; of the rather painful differences between the perceived social classes in England at that time. It also investigates the dilemma of `self' v/s the expectations of society and family. All in all, if you look at it a certain way, not much has changed over the years and the issues addressed in this classical work are still strongly among us even to this day. It takes a long, long time for attitudes in society to fade. I know in my own case that I was raised very closely to grandparents who were as about as Edwardian as you can get and there is no doubt that their influence had a great deal in molding my personality and attitudes...for better or for worse. (Hey, I am old and yes, I can remember people of that generation quite well).We have a young lady; a young lady with brains, even though she does not realize it at the time, who is motivated and pulled apart by her true feelings and those feelings that she is either suppose to have or not suppose to have in a number of situations.Yes, the author has used a number of what we could consider stereotypes of the time but he has used them to good effect and used them to tell his story quite well. While this may bother some folks, I found it to make the overall story more understandable and easier to `go down.'This work starts in Italy and drifts back to England and again, to understand the story, you have to have some understanding of the cultural gap between England and the continent in those days. Good or bad, it was what it was.Few will deny that this is a well written work...it may not be to every ones taste, as I have stated, but good is good by most standards. I can get quite lost in the author's narrative prose and descriptive writing.I was delighted to see that this work is now free via your reading machines...it was about time.Don BlankenshipThe Ozarks
This is one of my favorite books. I read it right after watching the movie. I love both. I am a fan of E.M. Forster. This was my 1st, but I have since read most of what he has written. I would say he is one of my all time favorite writers, up there with Jane Austen, and J.K. Rowling. I tend to like either Romance or fantasy/Sci fi. E.M. Forster delivers on Romance. It is true, his books may move a bit slow for some. I prefer it. I feel like I get to know the characters in a more personal way, when I see more of their day to day in the pages. This one moves faster than his others, and is the most cheerful of all his books.The characters are written so well. Lucy is our slightly bratty main character. The mother and the brother are sweet. I love Mr Beebe: the very liberal vicar. I love George and his father. Both are romantic, manly characters. Cecil is clueless but still entertaining and lovable. I love the mischievous romance novelist. I love the Miss Alans, who I am probably most like, in the story,("tiresome... with all of their iffing and butting.") I especially love that you are still able to love all of the characters despite quite obvious flaws. None of them are one dimensional characters. They all have their bright points and redeeming characteristics. Just thinking about this book makes me smile. SPOILER: My favorite line:....................................................................................................... "It is Fate, but you can call it Italy if it pleases you Vicar."
This is another absolute gem from Forster; writing, characters and story extremely good. His common themes of class and love and a changing England get a new layer of scandal and modernity that was simultaneously surprising and absolutely natural. He was able to write in the house as a character in such a way as I was transported and didn't want to leave in a hurry. Beautiful.
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