A Hazard of New Fortunes

 

Business and jobs are the centre of most of our lives, and yet I can think of few, if any, novels set in a business environment before this one. W D Howells' A Hazard of New Fortunes was published in 1890. 

The ostensible plot is the launch and growth of this New-York based periodical, particularly the involvement of Basil March, who becomes its editor, and moves from Boston to New York with his family for the new job. The crux of this long book is, remarkably, just one incident, during a dinner, a celebration for contributors to the literary periodical Every Other Week. 

At the dinner, there is a confrontation between Dryfoos, an unreformed Southerner who has financed the periodical, and Lindau, a socialist who lost an arm fighting in the Civil War. Dryfoos is the owner; Lindau a poor freelancer who lives for his principles. Both men state their political views, and feelings run high. Subsequently, the owner states he does not want Lindau to work any more for the periodical, and commands Basil March, the editor, not to employ him in the future. 

Up to this point, the novel has been what I would describe as gentle in its morals. The husband and wife Marches behave in a predictably liberal way: supporting liberal causes, but without putting themselves out very dramatically for any good cause. However, at this decisive moment in the novel, Basil March decides he cannot accept the power of money to terminate a worker’s job. He stands up to the investor Dryfoos, and states he will resign rather than terminate a worker because of their political opinions. After a slight wobble) Mrs March supports her husband. 

Howells captures very well the middle-class liberal in 19th-century America: doing their job and keeping their nose clean. They support the vague idea of justice for the workers, but at the same time, they prioritise their family and career, leaving any principles, such as supporting strikes, or standing up for work colleagues, as secondary – until this key turning point. 

The contrast of the literate and civilized Basil March, and the vulgar, insensitive Dryfoos family, who need to have a chaperone to introduce the daughters to society and teach them the basic rule of interaction, is very well done. This is one of the “hazards of new fortunes” in the title; I can see the relevance, but it doesn’t make the title any more memorable. 

What I remember of the book is a graceful, flowing style that is very easy to read, and the remarkable, way the novel deepens almost imperceptible from what appears to be a comedy of manners, not as satirical as Diary of a Nobody, but with a similar deftness of touch, to stark political and social issues: the power of money in the United States to destroy lives, jobs, and relationships. A much better piece of writing than, say, Sally Rooney’s Normal People.

Notting Hill

 

Notting Hill (1999) One of the most successful films ever made in the UK (according to the Internet). But was it that great? 

The plot is very simple. Hugh Grant plays an independent bookseller, who (we are told) is unaware of celebrities and the high life. By chance, he meets Hollywood star Julia Roberts and, unexpectedly, she kisses him. 

The film depicts their very interrupted relationship, ended each time because of some external event that drags her away. In the end, she comes back to him, only for him to reject her. After some rethinking, he states he is interested, and they live happily ever after. The last shot shows her lying on a park bench with her head in his lap; she is clearly pregnant. 

Who could complain about such a tale of wish-fulfilment? Well, I could, because the film has dated badly and because of it basic premise.

• There is never any genuine relationship between the two. She is always the worldly-wise film star; he is always the innocent, rather other-worldly average man. He a
• Except that we know he himself is a highly visible film star, and he does not convince as a nobody.
• Attempts by the scriptwriter to present Julia Roberts as fragile and looking for support do not convince. The script has to show her as larger than life, and the more it does that (for example, she confronts the group of males bad-mouthing her) the less we are convinced that she needs a man to look after her.
• So the film  is in the land of wish-fulfilment. The only really convincing points are when Hugh Grant is, mercifully, given some openly humorous moments, such as pretending to be a journalist from Horse & Hound, and when he attempts to give her the benefit of his knowledge about books to tell her not to buy the book she finally chooses, even though he tells her it is rubbish.
• Grant is far more convincing in Four Weddings and a Funeral, just three years later, or the Bridget Jones films. In this film, the most entertaining role is the Welsh flatmate, played by Rhys Ifans.
• In the end, we are asked to believe a relationship between a starstruck amateur and a sophisticated film star who firstly kisses him without warning (classic fantasy territory) and then declares everlasting love for him. Just before the conclusion, he rejects her advances because he doesn’t want to be disappointed again, as he has been twice before by her. He is subsequently convinced otherwise by his family and friends. I would have walked away from her at that point; he was right.

Durer's Travels (National Gallery, February 2022)

Durer, Portrait of Burkhard of Speyer 

On the showing of this exhibition (at the National Gallery, London, in February 2022), it would appear that Durer was not particularly good at painting, at least, anything other than individual portraits (just heads) or engravings or woodcuts. His large-scale religious paintings, at  least from the originals or copies on view here, are just not that good compared with some contemporaries (Raphael, Michelangelo, Leonardo). Works such as The Madonna with the Iris (albeit a copy) look embarrassingly poor.

Durer, Studies of St Christopher

For me, the best works include his nine Studies of St Christopher (1521), wonderful studies of the draped figure in motion. I also enjoyed several of the works from his sketchbook, such as Two Young Women in Netherlandish Costume, 1520-21, silverpoint. He has a marvellous ability to capture a face, as in the Portrait of a Man (possibly Jan Provoost), 1520-21, although even here, while the face is magnificent, the arms don’t quite appear to be in the right place

Some of the best portraits are Portrait of a Man, 1521 (Prado) and Burkhard of Speyer (1506). But when all his portraits are shown together, it is clear they all follow a very similar presentation, always shown at around 45 degrees to the viewer, lit from the left, and with a blank background. A portrait such as that of Emperor Maximilian, 1519 (not in the exhibition), looks as though the High Renaissance had not happened. The Prado Self-Portrait (1498) and the Munich Self-Portrait (1500), where he depicts himself in a Christ-like pose looking directly at the viewer, is not included in this exhibition.

Durer, Christ among the Doctors, 1506

Where he stands with religion seems unclear. He made his money from sets of prints on religious themes. There is the tantalising reference to Luther as “this Christian man, who has rescued me out of deep anguish” (he wrote in a 1520 letter). But although he showed an interest in Luther, and made lists of Luther’s works, there did not appear to be any switch in emphasis of the religious works – he was painting a Madonna and Child in 1526. Works such as Christ among the Doctors (1506) look like antisemitic caricatures. The exhibition catalogue suggests that the famous Lutherklage (“Lament”) in response to Luther’s supposed imprisonment is not by Durer at all, although Jeroen Stumpel, author of the essay on Durer and Luther, doesn’t seem to doubt Durer’s interest in Luther’s writings. More interesting would have been to see if this interest affected Durer’s art.

Durer, Adam and Eve, 1504

It isn’t clear if Durer drew much from life. Certainly, he never seems to have successfully captured the female form, although there are several sheets in the exhibition documenting his struggle to interpret classical treatises on the proportions of the human body.  His depictions of lions and rhinos were done without ever seeing a live example – so it could have been the same with females. His Eve (1504) certainly does not look very life-like.

So to conclude from this exhibition, I would guess that Durer’s achievement was to create a highly lucrative business and reputation from printmaking, but I don’t think he introduced any major innovation in the subject matter or the treatment of religious works. The focus on the self, which of course is what everyone knows about Durer, is not at all evident from this show.

About this exhibition: of course, I am pleased the exhibition allows me to see works by Durer that I would never otherwise see, but:

• Could the audio guide not get the pronunciations of names and places in foreign languages accurate? The Italian and German names were woefully mispronounced.
• The arrangement of works seemed very curious. Durer had four main international journeys, but they seem to be divided across the several rooms of the exhibition, so you were never clear which journey was being shown in any room.
• It was unclear why some of the paintings by other artists had been included, apart from the simple fact that there were part of the National Gallery collection and so easy to include. I got the impression that an artist mainly famous for engravings and woodcuts, even one of Durer’s stature, would not be sufficient for the paying public, who want to see full-colour paintings, and big ones at that. So each room has some big paintings, even if they aren’t by Durer. This is the only explanation I can find for including, say, The Assassination of St Peter Martyr, by Giovanni Bellini. I estimate that, of the 130 works in the exhibition, there were 43 works by other artists, compared to 88 by Durer (or after Durer) – that’s around one-third. 

Ibsen, An Enemy of the People

 

Henrik Ibsen

    

A fascinating play, performed by Cambridge students at the ADC Theatre. It ought not to have worked; most of the characters seemed to be wearing their street clothes, and two of the males had earrings, while Stockmann’s wife had stylish nail varnish, but in the spirit of true theatre, you suspended your disbelief as the plot revealed. The play even survived teacups being replaced by baby drink containers, used, I heard from people in the audience, because the stage manager refused to do a risk assessment about liquids on stage. 

To be honest, the plot is not complicated. Dr Stockmann discovers a contamination problem with the water supply for the local baths. But when he reveals the issue, his sister (who happens to be the town mayor) prevents him revealing the story, claiming the cost of fixing the problem would have to be borne by the householders, with the baths closed for two years. At a public meeting, the doctor is outmanoeuvred by the local notables.

There things would end, except that Ibsen introduces a couple of twists in the second half. The doctor rails against public opinion, and produces some rather unsettling complaints against the masses. The masses are stupid, but the stupid majority will always overrule the clever minority. There is more than a hint of racial superiority here: the idea that the best political system is an autocracy, rule by the aristocracy, or rule by a meritocracy. That mass opinion overrides other views is of course one of the major failings of democracy: a referendum on capital punishment in the UK would almost certainly reintroduce it. That does not mean, however, that the majority is stupid.

Ibsen’s rather uncompromising idealism means he pushes the character of Stockman until he becomes a Christ-like figure, and a further late twist emphasises his moral purity – and his practical weakness. His father-in-law,  Morten Kiil, buys up shares in the baths and offers them to Stockmann so his family have something for the future. But to accept shares in the Baths, Stockmann would have to repudiate his principles – so he refuses.

So there is the question: how far do you go for your principles? What struck me were the scarily close links to the present day. The local paper I read would not dream of offending public opinion. Several times more space has been given to residents complaining about the East-West railway that might be positioned near their garden than to anyone presenting a more balanced case. But perhaps the play survives because Ibsen had the awareness to present Stockmann, his prophet (well captured in this production) with a streak of manic enthusiasm, which made his performance entertaining, and even comic, if ultimately unrealistic. We dream about sticking to our principles, but after the play is over, we go back to compromise. Life is easier that way.