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The Sacred Fount, by Henry James
10:33 May 30 2023
Times Read: 81




While the American writer Henry James had written Gothic literature such as, for example, "Another Turn of the Screw", the same cannot be said of the rest of his production. In particular, "The Sacred Fount", which I have just finished reading, could not qualify as a "Gothic novel" because it contains none of the traditional minimum elements: there is no mysterious or suspenseful ("uncanny") element; the architectural factor that can avocate us a medieval atmosphere or, at least, of the Romantic era, is not present; there are no complicated family plots or ancient manuscripts, no ancestral legends, no mythical labyrinths or symbolic elements; there are no emotions pushed to the limit, no larval eroticisms or pathetic fallacies. Nothing; there is none of that.

The edition I used offers the following review "During the last of his weekend stays at the great Newmarch mansion in the English countryside, the narrator of this story has occasion to observe astonishing transformations in some of the guests: an ugly woman has become inexplicably beautiful, a young man has aged in an exaggerated way, an imbecile exhibits a dazzling intelligence..., in short, some get better while others get worse. The protagonist spies on and analyzes these phenomena, trying to find the key to the enigma in a supposed series of mysterious "life force exchanges.""

However, there is nothing mysterious about these "life force exchanges" but, on the contrary, it is the excuse to make a psychological study of the characters.

Certainly, the narrator, who speaks in the first person, comes invited to a certain mansion where he meets old acquaintances, men and women, in whom he observes a change since the last time he had seen them. And from there begins a series of conversations and reflections to try to elucidate if this one is the lover of that one, if he likes the other one, if he has been influenced by her, if he is well preserved, or if love keeps him young.

Another thing: I said to myself, "well, since we are not going to enjoy a gothic novel, at least we will enjoy that wonderful British style oozing with irony and cynicism that will make us smile". Well, no, no, no, no, no. Henry James, who was not English but American, is a bore, a bland, a namby-pamby, a repellent, a sad, bitter man who tries to make psychological and positivist interpretations of life.

In short, my regret that, as short as life is, I have wasted a week reading "The Sacred Fountain".