E.M. Forster: Howard's End

There are evidently some out there who view this book as Forster's best work.  As for me, I wouldn't even put it in the top five . . . it lacks the tidiness and unity of Passage to India, the thematic clarity of A Room With a View, and the personal connection of Maurice.  Even The Razor's Edge had more of what I have come to appreciate from Forster, everything just works so nicely as a unit, in a word: craftsmanship.  Forster is a master craftsman, as demonstrated in nearly all of his other work.  Why has he sacrificed that endearing quality here?  Rather than being disappointed, one has to marvel upon realizing that behind  this very sloppiness lies the whole meaning of the book.

Forster throws a winking hint to the reader about a third of the way through, possibly just when one is wondering where this is all going:

"Margaret realized the chaotic nature of our daily life, and its difference from the orderly sequence that has been fabricated by historians.  Actual life is full of false clues and sign-posts that lead nowhere.  With infinite effort, we nerve ourselves for a crisis that never comes" (103).

Throughout the book, the reader, especially if conditioned by other literature, is wondering who will end up with whom.  For whom does Forster intend Charles?  And for whom Paul?  In any other book, or indeed in any modern movie, such a character would be happily coupled with one of the females by the end of the book.  Forster, pointedly rebelling against such silliness, does no such thing.  The book is not a commentary on relationships at all, but rather on our irresistible human tendency to make narratives out of everything. 

Even in our daily lives, if something happens that seems foruitious or significant, our instinct is to wonder "What does it mean?" and work it into our personal narrative somehow.  If the event is startling enough, it may even prompt us to rewrite the narrative to accomdate it.  For Forster, this is not the way life works.  There is no narrative, no underlying structure to the things that happen in our lives.  The simply happen, and they may or may not end up having significance on the last page.  Life is filled with "red herrings", as he puts it, and this book properly reflects his view.  While not a delight to read, it is perhaps more brilliant for that than if it had all worked out in a way that left us feeling like the last piece of a puzzle had been properly fit into its niche.

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