![]() Critics since then, though, have tended to say "Seriously, James? You're dead wrong." As proof of James's dead-wrongness, the Modern Library ranked the book #26 on its list of the top 100 English-language novels of the twentieth-century. In his preface to the New York Edition of The Wings of the Dove, Henry James said-get this-that he wasn't all that happy with how this novel turned out. So she convinces him to seduce a woman dying of tuberculosis in order to inherit all of her moneyz. But basically, this novel is about a newly rich woman who is forbidden to continue making out with her working-class boytoy. Sure, there are corsets and multi-course dinners and ascots and all of that madness. Henry James' novel presents British aristocracy as way more Downton Abbey-style sex-on-the-DL than prim pinkies-extended-at-tea-time. Seducing a dying woman to get all of her money? Yeppers. It has almost Game of Thrones levels of intrigue, manipulation, and sex-as-transaction. Bo-ring.īut, uh, actually it's not boring at all. ![]() ![]() It would be easy think that The Wings of The Dove is a fusty sort of book: you know, the kind that ancient Lit professors with halitosis and Earl Gray Tea stains on their sweater vests like to thumb through on a rainy afternoon. ![]()
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