Talk in Henry James’s “The Awkward Age”: The Brookenham Women Speak Forbidden Words

Henry James’ modernist masterpiece, The Awkward Age, was published in 1899, four years after he was booed off the stage at the premiere of his play, Guy Domville. Drawing on his experience as a playwright, James purged the demons of failure by composing The Awkward Age mostly in dialogue.

In this intricate novel, the characters reveal themselves through words. They speak urbanely, indirectly, sometimes falsely:  what is too indirect and verbose for the stage works in a novel. 

At the center of the novel are Mrs. Brookenham, nicknamed Mrs. Brook, and her 20-year-old daughter Nanda.  Mrs. Brook is a beautiful, savvy, seductive woman who entertains the wittiest society people in her salon, and manages to be charming when she talks about them behind their backs. Nanda is a free spirit who has many different kinds of friends: she spends time with Tishie, an unhappy woman whose husband has left her, and Aggie, a young woman so pure and sheltered she knows nothing about sex.

 But Mrs. Brook fears sexual competition with Nanda.  When she finally decides to allow the lovely 20-year- old to go about freely in society, she pretends to her friends that Nanda is 18 instead of 20:  Mrs. Brook wants no one to know her own age, 41. 

The two most important male characters, who are on the surface almost non-sexual, are both under the Brookenham women’s spell.  Though witty, smart, charming Mr. Vanderbank (Van) is the secret lover of Mrs. Brook (it takes a while to intuit this), he also admires Nanda. When Mrs. Brook and Van discuss Nanda’s future, Mrs. Brook reveals her jealousy.  “Are you ‘really’ what they call thinking of my daughter?”

Van reminds her that since Nanda has been allowed to come and go freely, he and Mrs. Brook have “put their heads together over the question of keeping the place tidy… for the female mind.”  And Mrs. Brook says she feels inhibited by Nanda.  “…Good talk: you know – no one, dear Van, should know better – what part that plays for me.  Therefore when  one has deliberately to make one’s talk bad – !”

And then there is another unwelcome intruder in Mrs. Brooks’ salon, Mr. Longdon, a stodgy man in his fifties, who by chance met Van at a party. Mr. Longdon has come to London to research the history of Mrs. Brook’s beautiful mother, Lady Julia, who rejected his proposal of marriage decades ago. He becomes obsessed with Nanda, because she looks exactly like her grandmother.

Mr. Longdon is an innocent, but he is also judgmental.  He shows his disapproval of Mrs. Brook:  she calls him on it. He also dislikes Nanda’s manners and free talk, but, before you know it, he has given her a reading list, been her personal docent at museums, and invited her to his house in the country.  Nanda thinks he is a “beautiful” person. Perhaps she likes him because there are no boundaries in her world, and Mr. Longdon knows the rules.

Mr. Longdon is an odd fish.  He hatches a monetary scheme that will benefit Van and, he thinks, Nanda.The scheme is a disaster. But it wasn’t actually Longdon’s scheme: Mrs. Brook’s friend the Duchess suggested it.

Nothing prepares the reader for the ending.

My Favorite Fiction & Nonfiction of 2025

I’m posting my Favorite Books of the Year list a week early.

I’ve read so many lists that I feel behind, though I’m ahead of myself. I’ve read the 100 Notable Books of the Year list, dozens of Best Books of the Year lists, some behind paywalls so I only see the top of the list, and even Books That Almost Made My List lists. On my list, all the fiction writers are dead, but only one of the four nonfiction writers is dead. I’m not quite ready for the 21st century, though we’re a quarter of the way through.

I hope you had a good Christmas and Happy Reading! I plan to read some more lists… seriously.

FAVORITE FICTION (in no particular order)

Kingfishers Catch Fire, by Rumer Godden

The Middle Age of Mrs. Eliot, by Angus Wilson

The Vicar of Wakefield, by Oliver Goldsmith

Vile Bodies, by Evelyn Waugh

The Corner That Held Them, Sylvia Townsend Warner

The Way We Live Now, by Anthony Trollope

The Underground Man, by Ross MacDonald

The Moonlight, by Joyce Cary

Cecilia, by Frances Burney

Don’t Tell Alfred, by Nancy Mitford

FAVORITE NONFICTION (in no particular order)

The AI Con, by Emily M. Bender and Alex Hanna

The Good Word and Other Words, by Wilfrid Sheed (essays)

The Sirens Call: How Attention Became the World’s Most Endangered Resource by Chris Hayes

Electric Spark: The Engima of Dame Muriel Spark, by Frances Wilson

Obama’s List:  A Literary President Comes through

Every year American readers look forward to Obama’s Favorite Books of the Year list. 

A savvy politician, writer, and avid reader, Obama is the only literary president of the twenty-first century.  We have heard nothing of Biden’s, Trump’s, or George W. Bush’s reading. During Obama’s presidency he showed his passion for literature by buying books on Small Business Saturday at Politics and Prose, a D.C. bookstore, and posting his Favorite Books of the Summer and Favorite Books of the Year lists. 

Perhaps our last literary president was Jimmy Carter, a writer of novels, memoirs, and nonfiction who loved Dylan Thomas’s poetry and sent a fan letter to Erica Jong.  (The latter makes sense: he told Playboy that he lusted in his heart.) 

As usual, Obama’s Favorite Books list is inspiring. We have read three on the list: Kiran Desai’s The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, Ian McEwan’s What We Can Know, and Susan Choi’s Flashlight.

Some Obama fans are over-the-top.  Eric Anderson of the Lonesome Reader vlog gushed about Obama’s “charming” book list tradition and suggested that Obama should be a Booker Prize judge.

“Is he saying he’s going to make this happen?” someone asked from the couch.

I’m Bookered-out this time of year. A great longlist and shortlist in 2025 – but I don’t want to think about it again till next summer. Of course Eric has always been Booker-crazy – he even films the award ceremonies. He does a good job.

Would Obama make a great Booker judge?  Yes, of course.  This year Sarah Jessica Parker, next year Obama – great for the Booker Prize. Great PR!  Perhaps not that much fun for Obama, though. Roddy Doyle said they had to sift through a lot of very bad books.

We’ll see what happens.

Here is Obama’s Favorite Books of 2025 list.

  • “The Paper Girl” by Beth Macy
  • “Flashlight” by Susan Choi
  • “We the People” by Jill Lepore
  • “The Wilderness” by Angela Flournoy
  • “There Is No Place for Us” by Brian Goldstone
  • “North Sun” by Ethan Rutherford
  • “1929” by Andrew Ross Sorkin
  • “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” by Kiran Desai
  • “Dead and Alive” by Zadie Smith
  • “What We Can Know” by Ian McEwan
  • “The Look” by Michelle Obama

Going Too Far: Christmas Shopping Book List

One year I went too far in shopping for Xmas gifts. I had a panic attack and had to sit down abruptly in the aisle of a bookshop, trying to look like the kind of person who likes to sit down in the aisle.  I wanted to lie down, but that would have been going too far – I am happy to say that people walked around me without paying attention.

But I learned that it is much easier to shop if you have a list.  Below is a list of new books that might help you out of a jam and charm the readers in your life.

FAVORITE NEW LITERARY FICTION 2025

What We Can Know, by Ian McEwan

Tell Me Everything, by Elizabeth Strout

The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, by Kiran Desai

Audition, by Katie Katumura

FAVORITE NEW BOOKS IN TRANSLATION 2025

There’s No Turning Back, by Alba de Cespades

The Colony, by Annika Norlin (I loved this Swedish novel, but didn’t write about it. See Europa Editions page.)

The Brittle Age, by Di Pietrantonio

FAVORITE SCIENCE FICTION/FANTASY 2025

Written on the Dark, by Guy Gavriel Kay

The River Has Roots, by Amal-El Mohtar

FAVORITE MYSTERIES 2025

The Silver Bone, by Andrey Kukov, a Ukrainian writer, nominated for The International Booker Prize 2024

The Stolen Heart, by Andrey Kukov, sequel to The Silver Bone (a new hardcover)

Lessons in Etiquette: Dissed at a Bookstore!

As a Woman of a Certain age, I encounter two kinds of strangers: the charming, helpful kind, who grab my suitcase and heave it into the overhead compartment (unnecessary, but I’m touched and grateful); and the unmannerly kind who are incredulous that a Woman of a Certain Age can walk, talk, ride a bike, and browse at a bookshop.  

Why, I wondered, on a trip to a bookshop, was I dissed by an employee? 

Call him Mr. Game of Thrones. He has long hair, a partially braided beard, and a Tormand Giantsbane t-shirt. He used to work on the floor; now he has been promoted, or perhaps demoted, to the cafe. He used to be chatty. Now he is sullen.

I kept my order simple, because I didn’t like the vibe. After tapping repeatedly on the the decline-to-tip feature on the card machine – it is determined to get a tip – I received my drink and cookie, and Mr. GOT vanished without giving me a straw.  “Sir? Excuse me?”  No answer. So I nipped behind the counter and grabbed my own straw. 

And then I tried to find the poetry section.  The manga now occupied those shelves.   Perhaps the poetry was in the old manga section?  No. So where?

Once or twice a year, the store is mysteriously rearranged, seemingly by faeries and hobbits.  By night they move the tall bookcases of knicknacks and notebooks from the back to the front of the store where they block the excellent fiction section.  Or they move the fiction upstairs, and the nonfiction downstairs, or vice versa

I was stumped.  Where was the poetry?

All the clerks were frenziedly working as cashiers at this busy time of day.

I was on my own.

Then I glimpsed Mr. GOT, who had broken out of the cafe and was talking (conspiring) with a fellow employee, who had come from somewhere; who knows where?

I said, “Excuse me.  Could you tell me where the poetry section is?” 

Mr. GOT pointed. “Over there.” 

“I looked.  I couldn’t find it.”

He pointed again.  “Right there.”

“I don’t see it. Could you please show me?”

“Over there.”  He turned away.

And so I walked away, bemused and solitary, and finally found it on the far side of the self-help section, which would not have been my first place to look.  And, as usual, the poetry section had shrunk, this time from five to four shelves. I’m not criticizing, but couldn’t they stock a little more poetry just for the look of things? Wouldn’t the manga sales make up for the lack of poetry sales?

Anyway, I found what I was looking for, so I left, more or less, a satisfied customer.

Dissed, though!

Out of Print, Out of Sight:  Joyce Cary’s “The Moonlight”

One of my favorite books of the year is Joyce Cary’s out-of-print novel, The Moonlight (1946).

This mordant novel chronicles the lives of three women in a dysfunctional family, two elderly sisters and their niece, who live in their family’s historic home in the country. It is also a “loam-and-love-child” novel (think Thomas Hardy’s pastoral novels and the lyrical tales of country passion by Mary Webb and Sheila Kaye-Smith), with a trace of histrionic Tennessee Williams.

Cary is nostalgic for Victorian manners but concentrates on the changes in the 20th century. He describes the psychological problems of the conflicting times:  the destructive envy, the dangers of repression, and the clash of Victorian morals with 20th-century mores.

The family issues are complicated by the issue of sex, or the lack thereof.  The two sisters, Rose Venn and Ella Venn, born in the Victorian age, are now in their seventies.  Rose is still a stuffy, gung-ho Victorian, but Ella wants to break the rules and embrace modernity.   She is determined to save their niece, Amanda, from spinsterdom and childlessness. (There is a twist: Ella’s life is not as it seems.)

Rose is the oldest sister. She has had no sex life. When she was in her twenties, she sacrificed herself to keep house for their widowed father: she broke off her engagement to an older man she loved to do so.  Later Rose martyred herself again by urging her younger sister, Bessie, to marry her ex-fiancé, whom, by the way, Bessie hated. Now Rose is an imperious invalid who still rules the household from her sickbed.

The sister who gets on our nerves, Ella, emerges as our favorite character. This 74-year-old youngest sister helps take care of Rose, but can leave her in the nurse’s care while she attends to her own affairs without interference. Most of all, she wants to free Amanda from Rose’s moral rigidity and spinsterdom.

Cary’s writing is always a delight. I was hooked from the opening paragraph.

Miss Ella Venn, aged seventy-four, coming downstairs, just before dinner, saw her niece in the arms of a young farmer called Harry Dawbarn, who had just entered the house by way of the garden.  The sight gave her such pleasure that she ran back to her room.  “Oh, thank God!” she said to herself.  She was tearful with joy.

It may not be a classic, but it’s a great read.

It Wasn’t Like That

Elderly woman watching TV.

“No, of course not.  Nothing like that.”

Perhaps she had been watching The View, The Talk, Ellen, Oprah, Dr. Phil, or Dr. Oz.  Mom and I sat through hours, days, weeks, months, it seemed years, of  TV shows in her apartment at the Assisted Living Facility. 

She began watching afternoon talk shows after her favorite soap operas were canceled.  No more evil twins! No more torrid affairs with landscapers!  Now she was stuck with “women’s magazine problems.” It was that, or Let’s Make a Deal.

One day she presented me with a checklist.  She had kept track of the talk show guests’ financial problems, psychological conditions, and even metaphysical angst.   “Honey, do you ever have insomnia? Or anxiety?”

The checklist was adorable. And it showed she was well-organized. One of my relatives was convinced Mom had Alzheimer’s.  I kept the list to show him/her she still had her marbles.

“No, no, nothing like that,” I said. ” My only problem is an allergy to eye liner.”

“What a waste of time eyeliner is!” she said.  “Makeup is stupid.”

Neither one of us “painted,” as they say in 19th-century novels. Aside from occasional lipstick, that is. I had a 1990 sample from Elizabeth Arden.

We tried to figure out what kind of makeup the talk show hosts were wearing.  They looked great, but their guests looked disheveled and trashy. 

“I think all those guests are actors, don’t you?” Mom asked.

I laughed.  “I never thought of that!” 

Not only did she have all her marbles, she was canny. 

Celebrity Book Clubs:  Are They Just PR?

“What a brilliant idea,” I said when Oprah Winfrey started her book club in 1996.  “Think of the millions of people she’ll reach.” 

Book clubs have been popular for decades, but Oprah’s TV venture inspired a radical grassroots movement. Fans buy the books (Oprah book club picks become best-sellers), presumably read them, and watch the show’s book club segments. 

Oprah specializes in literary fiction:  her selections over the years have included Louise Erdrich’s The Night Watchman, Toni Morrison’s Paradise, Kaye Gibbons’ A Virtuous Woman, Elizabeth Strout’s Tell Me Everything, Wally Lamb’s I Know This Much Is True, and Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom.  

For a few years, Oprah experimented with discussing classics.  Her picks included Anna Karenina and East of Eden. (Kelsey Grammer, the actor who played Frasier, participated in the East of Eden discussion).  But Oprah’s fans rebelled when she assigned a boxed set of three books by Faulkner.  Good for her for trying!  

And so Oprah returned to literary fiction.  Sometimes she selects non-fiction. The pick this month is Ann Packer’s Some Bright Nowhere.

Not everyone is a fan of celebrity book clubs,  Some are  offended by the mere idea of a celebrity reading a book.  In fact, they are of the opinion that celebs don’t actually read books.  I’m not sure where they get this idea.

“I don’t need Oprah/Reese Witherspoon/Jenna to tell me what to read,” a friend with a Ph.D. in English said.

“Well, obviously not, but it’s a fun concept!” 

My friend rocked my world when she suggested, “The assistants read the books and brief the boss.”  Well, please, don’t destroy my idealism here!  I’m sure the celebs can read!  And if the assistants screen the books (they probably receive thousands in the mail and get phone calls from PR people), this is more than a one-woman enterprise.

And then we move on to Reese Witherspoon’s Book Club. The selections are a bit light for me, but I’m sure they’re great fun. The current selection is Rebecca Armitage’s The Heir Apparent.

And then there’s Jenna Bush Hager’s “Read with Jenna” on  the Today Show.  She is a fan of literary fiction. This month she’s opted for a classic: her pick is Pride and Prejudice, in honor of Jane Austen’s birthday on December 16! 

I don’t keep up with celeb book clubs, but they do sell a lot of books. It’s all about inspiring readers, isn’t it? And letting people know about good books.

Facing Reality: Women in the 21st Century Need to Imitate Men

What does it mean to be a woman in the 21st century?  

Be assertive, yet feminine.  Be bold, yet obsequious. Climb the ladder of success – albeit unobtrusively.  Then you can be as dictatorial and crazy as Caligula.

Here’s what you are expected to do.

Work full-time, preferably at a job that is traditionally male. If you don’t make partner at your law firm, or get the promotion at Edward Jones, you’re not working hard enough.  Sacrifice your weekends!  Drop out of your yoga class! YOU ARE YOUR WORK. 

In the 20th century, and now the 21st century, women have striven to make the Hall of Mirrors (not the Hall of Fame).  Be anorexic! Have breast implants!  Hollow cheek bones, no butt – this look doesn’t come for free.  After a hard day of doing neurosurgery, work out for two hours and, please, eat nothing. You may faint at work, but you’ll look good. N.B. You can also, theoretically, be overweight, because body-shaming is now frowned upon. And don’t let them tell you thinness is a matter of health: it’s not. It’s a matter of how they want you to look.

Pursue the American dream.  You have the right to buy a big house in the ex-urbs, with a three-car garage.  And you should give birth to 2.5 perfect children. What? You can’t afford it? Nobody told you it was just a dream? Radicalize yourself.  Sit down with some classics of the ’60s:  The Whole Earth Catalogue, Fred Herbert’s Dune, Our Bodies Ourselves, The Population Bomb, Ken Kesey’s One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and Alix Kate Shulman’s feminist novel, Burning Questions

It’s not a women’s world. The U.S. has never had a woman president. In 2016, I argued with an Australian who said, “America has the worst political system in the world.” He slammed Obama “for doing nothing,” so I explained the political system, how much Obama had accomplished in his first term, and why he was blocked in his second. And I swore that Hillary Clinton would win the election. In that case, I was not psychic.

Here’s what we’ve learned:  female politicians need to embrace their last names for the sake of dignity.  Kamala had the disadvantage of being a Black woman running for president at the last possible minute. (The Democrats should have made the decision much earlier.) Here’s a thought: perhaps Kamala and Hillary would have won if they’d used first and last names on their signs: Kamala Harris, Hillary Clinton. Much more dignified. (But I think Clinton did win the popular vote.)

The truth is: my mom was devastated that there wasn’t a woman president in her lifetime. She idolized Hillary Clinton, and gave me a copy of her autobiography because she thought it was “important.” Mom was political, and in her eighties went to a Hillary Clinton rally.

I’m more vested in community now. You know, community gardens and all that. But it is not all flowers in the city government, either. I seem to have voted for the wrong person…

But I suppose we must continue to vote.

Who, Me? Burned-out?

My ex-stepmother calls, brimming with holiday glee. She loves Christmas and makes a flannel nightgown for me every year. She”s my absolute favorite ex-stepmother, but I already have holiday burnout. Christmas is three weeks away… then there’s the New Year… and we just had Thanksgiving!

My advice on acting cheery about the holidays: pick a perky mood before you improvise on a holiday phone call.

I’m feeling merry!  “I’m singing “Jingle Bell Rock.” You know:  “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock.”

I’m feeling hopeful!  My exercise regimen?  Getting the mail.

I’m feeling sentimental! Have you seen The Bishop’s Wife?  Well, Cary Grant is an angel. 

I’m feeling nostalgic!  Yes, Cary Grant is literally an angel.  He’s in love with the bishop’s wife.  Kind of like Wings of Desire.

I’m feeling incredulous! You’ve never seen Wings of Desire? No, no, Cary Grant is not in Wings of Desire. It’s a Wim Wenders movie.

I’m feeling smart!  Wim Wenders is a German director.  Yes, it’s “Vim.” Not Jim

I’m feeling ecstatic!  I ate your Christmas cookies!  Thank you so much.

I’m feeling virtuous!  Yes, I did send you that Christmas cactus!  It’s minimal maintenance.

I’m feeling Christmasy!  An advent calendar?  I’ve never had one.  Thank you so much.

I’m feeling envious!  You’re going to Hawaii for Christmas?  So much fun. 

I’m feeling overwhelmed!  No, that’s too kind.  I can’t go.  I have plans, unfortunately.  

I’m feeling exhausted!  Buying gifts… forgetting to get gift receipts… losing the other receipt..  talking the manager into giving me gift receipts without the receipt…

I’m feeling annoyed!  Oh, nobody keeps the gifts.  No, they dash to the mall with eggnog hangovers to buy something they’ll decide later they don’t like. It’s consumer madness.

I’m feeling so happy for you!  Talk to you soon, darling ex-stepmother.

I would never share the dark side of Christmas with that sweet, hopeful, cheerful, Christmas-loving ex-step. It would shatter her world.

May she always be merry!