Is Henry James’s masterwork really about narcissism?
*SPOILER ALERT*
In Henry James’ masterpiece, The Portrait of a Lady, the rather naive American heroine receives a generous inheritance from distant relatives. Newly rich and independent (and with a number of ardent suitors) Isabel Archer is inexplicably seduced by the intensely narcissistic Gilbert.
Unbeknownst to the trusting Isabel, Gilbert has targeted her (and her fortune) through his “friend” Mme Merle whose mastery of Schubert draws Isabel into the narcissistic web to ensure the protection of Mme Merle & Gilbert’s daughter Pansy.
According to the back of the novel, Isabel represents American naivety falling prey to the sophisticated machinations of European guile (actually intense narcissism, but hey, aren’t all Europeans naturally narcissistic?) I prefer to look at the novel through the lens of narcissism. (As you might expect.)
Gilbert Osmond (our Malignant Narcissist anti-hero) is an artist and social climber par excellence with expensive tastes and a very well developed sense of entitlement. He absolutely must have fresh orchids EVERYDAY for his networking salons in the beautifully appointed palazzo he shares with Isabel in Florence. The smallest deviation from his whimsical and selfish demands can produce tantrums worthy of a sleep deprived three year old. The term coercive control must surely have been invented for good ole Gilbert.
Without Isabel’s fortune, Osmond would be just another depleted poseur, an over-refined hanger-on in the high art social millieu of ex-pat Florence. She is the essential enabler for his overweening pretentions.
Trapped in an abusive relationship, Isabel does the best she can, but there isn’t much room to move, given property laws and marriage conventions in 19th century Europe.
Many have asked: why the hell does a beautiful, accomplished heiress marry this poncy pretendeur whose damask waistcoat hides a heart of lead. Certainly he is “charment”. Sophisticated. Worldly. Witty and well-connected — a literate aesthete with an encyclopeadic knowledge of art, but HELLO, the emperor has no clothes.
I (along with thousands of other increasingly horrified readers) hoped Isabel would marry the wealthy and worthy Lord Warburton or good old Caspar Goodwood (solid, dependable mensch). Both outstanding choices. But of course that would have made a boring novel. Boy meets girl, boy marries girl, happiness ever after, yada yada yada.
Girl meets narcissist is sooooo much more entertaining. Just not in real life.
Why then does Isabel marry the evil Osmond? Of course, it’s probably a lot more complex than can be explored in a single blog post.
In Jane Campion’s film we get the sense that Isabel wants to be seduced, to be overwhelmed by another’s desires. Like most narcissists, Osmond is able to project his powerful will and Isabel, vulnerable to the “desire to be desired” identifies with this projection, succumbing to the narcissist’s seductive power. Perhaps she’s read Jessica Benjamin’s The Bonds of Love one too many times. Swimming under the surface of the film are some pretty interesting ideas about female masochism. I often wonder what James would’ve thought about the sexual politics in this interpretation of his masterwork.
As a therapist with an interest in narcissism, I would say that Isabel has a somewhat underdeveloped sense of self. Attracted to the over-inflated grandiosity of the pumped up and pretentious Osmond, she hopes to weld herself to his assumed knowledge and oh-so-fine taste. He is a connoisseur without the means to support his highly honed tastes. From James’s point of view, the relationship is symbolic of the American need to legitimise itself by purchasing European grandeur, only to be trapped by European guile. Isabel (at least initially) seems to need the aura of substance projected by Osmond. She has the money, he has the taste.
In the end, we discover that she is the one with substance and taste, but unfortunately not enough foresight to avoid marrying a malignant narcissist.
At the end of the novel, readers are left with the depressing realisation that Isabel has chosen a gilded cage through a misguided sense of stubborn pride. As we turn the last page we recognise that she is trapped for the forseeable future in a shiny, beautiful, narcissistic hell.
You’ve done all the work. You’ve been there & done that. You’ve come to know yourself and your past, but you still can’t resist those delicious grandiose men.