A Room With a View

By E.M. Forster

A Coming of Age Story of a Young Woman

“We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand, and it is no good moving from place to place to save things; because the shadow always follows. Choose a place where you won't do harm - yes, choose a place where you won't do very much harm, and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine.” ― E.M. Forster, A Room with a View

In E.M. Forster's A Room with a View, a young woman longs for independence and freedom from the constrictions of being a woman at the beginning of the 20th century. In this novel, Lucy Honeychurch is wooed by two gentlemen and she must decide to marry for love or money.
This Xist Classics edition has been professionally formatted for e-readers with a linked table of contents. This eBook also contains a bonus book club leadership guide and discussion questions. We hope you’ll share this book with your friends, neighbors and colleagues and can’t wait to hear what you have to say about it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xist Publishing
• Release date: Jun 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781681950549

E.M. Forster

E.M. Forster (1879-1970) was an English novelist. Born in London to an Anglo-Irish mother and a Welsh father, Forster moved with his mother to Rooks Nest, a country house in rural Hertfordshire, in 1883, following his father’s death from tuberculosis. He received a sizeable inheritance from his great-aunt, which allowed him to pursue his studies and support himself as a professional writer. Forster attended King’s College, Cambridge, from 1897 to 1901, where he met many of the people who would later make up the legendary Bloomsbury Group of such writers and intellectuals as Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey, and John Maynard Keynes. A gay man, Forster lived with his mother for much of his life in Weybridge, Surrey, where he wrote the novels A Room with a View, Howards End, and A Passage to India. Nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature sixteen times without winning, Forster is now recognized as one of the most important writers of twentieth century English fiction, and is remembered for his unique vision of English life and powerful critique of the inequities of class.

Book preview

bed.

Chapter II: In Santa Croce with No Baedeker

It was pleasant to wake up in Florence, to open the eyes upon a bright bare room, with a floor of red tiles which look clean though they are not; with a painted ceiling whereon pink griffins and blue amorini sport in a forest of yellow violins and bassoons. It was pleasant, too, to fling wide the windows, pinching the fingers in unfamiliar fastenings, to lean out into sunshine with beautiful hills and trees and marble churches opposite, and close below, the Arno, gurgling against the embankment of the road.

Over the river men were at work with spades and sieves on the sandy foreshore, and on the river was a boat, also diligently employed for some mysterious end. An electric tram came rushing underneath the window. No one was inside it, except one tourist; but its platforms were overflowing with Italians, who preferred to stand. Children tried to hang on behind, and the conductor, with no malice, spat in their faces to make them let go. Then soldiers appeared—good-looking, undersized men—wearing each a knapsack covered with mangy fur, and a great-coat which had been cut for some larger soldier. Beside them walked officers, looking foolish and fierce, and before them went little boys, turning somersaults in time with the band. The tramcar became entangled in their ranks, and moved on painfully, like a caterpillar in a swarm of ants. One of the little boys fell down, and some white bullocks came out of an archway. Indeed, if it had not been for the good advice of an old man who was selling button-hooks, the road might never have got clear.

Over such trivialities as these many a valuable hour may slip away, and the traveller who has gone to Italy to study the tactile values of Giotto, or the corruption of the Papacy, may return remembering nothing but the blue sky and the men and women who live under it. So it was as well that Miss Bartlett should tap and come in, and having commented on Lucy's leaving the door unlocked, and on her leaning out of the window before she was fully dressed, should urge her to hasten herself, or the best of the day would be gone. By the time Lucy was ready her cousin had done her breakfast, and was listening to the clever lady among the crumbs.

A conversation then ensued, on not unfamiliar lines. Miss Bartlett was, after all, a wee bit tired, and thought they had better spend the morning settling in; unless Lucy would at all like to go out? Lucy would rather like to go out, as it was her first day in Florence, but, of course, she could go alone. Miss Bartlett could not allow this. Of course she would accompany Lucy everywhere. Oh, certainly not; Lucy would stop with her cousin. Oh, no! that would never do. Oh, yes!

At this point the clever lady broke in.

If it is Mrs. Grundy who is troubling you, I do assure you that you can neglect the good person. Being English, Miss Honeychurch will be perfectly safe. Italians understand. A dear friend of mine, Contessa Baroncelli, has two daughters, and when she cannot send a maid to school with them, she lets them go in sailor-hats instead. Every one takes them for English, you see, especially if their hair is strained tightly behind.

Miss Bartlett was unconvinced by the safety of Contessa Baroncelli's daughters. She was determined to take Lucy herself, her head not being so very bad. The clever lady then said that she was going to spend a long morning in Santa Croce, and if Lucy would come too, she would be delighted.

I will take you by a dear dirty back way, Miss Honeychurch, and if you bring me luck, we shall have an adventure.

Lucy said that this was most kind, and at once opened the Baedeker, to see where Santa Croce was.

Tut, tut! Miss Lucy! I hope we shall soon emancipate you from Baedeker. He does but touch the surface of things. As to the true Italy—he does not even dream of it. The true Italy is only to be found by patient observation.

This sounded very interesting, and Lucy hurried over her breakfast, and started with her new friend in high spirits. Italy was coming at last. The Cockney Signora and her works had vanished like a bad dream.

Miss Lavish—for that was the clever lady's name—turned to the right along the sunny Lung' Arno. How delightfully warm! But a wind down the side streets cut like a knife, didn't it? Ponte alle Grazie—particularly interesting, mentioned by Dante. San Miniato—beautiful as well as interesting; the crucifix that kissed a murderer—Miss Honeychurch would remember the story. The men on the river were fishing. (Untrue; but then, so is most information.) Then Miss Lavish darted under the archway of the white bullocks, and she stopped, and she cried:

A smell! a true Florentine smell! Every city, let me teach you, has its own smell.

Is it a very nice smell? said Lucy, who had inherited from her mother a distaste to dirt.

One doesn't come to Italy for niceness, was the retort; one comes for life. Buon giorno! Buon giorno! bowing right and left. Look at that adorable wine-cart! How the driver stares at us, dear, simple soul!

So Miss Lavish proceeded through the streets of the city of Florence, short, fidgety, and playful as a kitten, though without a kitten's grace. It was a treat for the girl to be with any one so clever and so cheerful; and a blue military cloak, such as an Italian officer wears, only increased the sense of festivity.

Buon giorno! Take the word of an old woman, Miss Lucy: you will never repent of a little civility to your inferiors. That is the true democracy. Though I am a real Radical as well. There, now you're shocked.

Indeed, I'm not! exclaimed Lucy. We are Radicals, too, out and out. My father always voted for Mr. Gladstone, until he was so dreadful about Ireland.

I see, I see. And now you have gone over to the enemy.

Oh, please—! If my father was alive, I am sure he would vote Radical again now that Ireland is all right. And as it is, the glass over our front door was broken last election, and Freddy is sure it was the Tories; but mother says nonsense, a tramp.

Shameful! A manufacturing district, I suppose?

No—in the Surrey hills. About five miles from Dorking, looking over the Weald.

Miss Lavish seemed interested, and slackened her trot.

What a delightful part; I know it so well. It is full of the very nicest people. Do you know Sir Harry Otway—a Radical if ever there was?

Very well indeed.

And old Mrs. Butterworth the philanthropist?

Why, she rents a field of us! How funny!

Miss Lavish looked at the narrow ribbon of sky, and murmured: Oh, you have property in Surrey?

Hardly any, said Lucy, fearful of being thought a snob. Only thirty acres—just the garden, all downhill, and some fields.

Miss Lavish was not disgusted, and said it was just the size of her aunt's Suffolk estate. Italy receded. They tried to remember the last name of Lady Louisa some one, who had taken a house near Summer Street the other year, but she had not liked it, which was odd of her. And just as Miss Lavish had got the name, she broke off and exclaimed:

Bless us! Bless us and save us! We've lost the way.

Certainly they had seemed a long time in reaching Santa Croce, the tower of which had been plainly visible from the landing window. But Miss Lavish had said so much about knowing her Florence by heart, that Lucy had followed her with no misgivings.

Lost! lost! My dear Miss Lucy, during our political diatribes we have taken a wrong turning. How those horrid Conservatives would jeer at us! What are we to do? Two lone females in an unknown town. Now, this is what I call an adventure.

Lucy, who wanted to see Santa Croce, suggested, as a possible solution, that they should ask the way there.

Oh, but that is the word of a craven! And no, you are not, not, NOT to look at your Baedeker. Give it to me; I shan't let you carry it. We will simply drift.

Accordingly they drifted through a series of those grey-brown streets, neither commodious nor picturesque, in which the eastern quarter of the city abounds. Lucy soon lost interest in the discontent of Lady Louisa, and became discontented herself. For one ravishing moment Italy appeared. She stood in the Square of the Annunziata and saw in the living terra-cotta those divine babies whom no cheap reproduction can ever stale. There they stood, with their shining limbs bursting from the garments of charity, and their strong white arms extended against circlets of heaven. Lucy thought she had never seen anything more beautiful; but Miss Lavish, with a shriek of dismay, dragged her forward, declaring that they were out of their path now by at least a mile.

The hour was approaching at which the continental breakfast begins, or rather ceases, to tell, and the ladies bought some hot chestnut paste out of a little shop, because it looked so typical. It tasted partly of the paper in which it was wrapped, partly of hair oil, partly of the great unknown. But it gave them strength to drift into another Piazza, large and dusty, on the farther side of which rose a black-and-white facade of surpassing ugliness. Miss Lavish spoke to it dramatically. It was Santa Croce. The adventure was over.

Stop a minute; let those two people go on, or I shall have to speak to them. I do detest conventional intercourse. Nasty! they are going into the church, too. Oh, the Britisher abroad!

We sat opposite them at dinner last night. They have given us their rooms. They were so very kind.

Look at their figures! laughed Miss Lavish. They walk through my Italy like a pair of cows. It's very naughty of me, but I would like to set an examination paper at Dover, and turn back every tourist who couldn't pass it.

What would you ask us?

Miss Lavish laid her hand pleasantly on Lucy's arm, as if to suggest that she, at all events, would get full marks. In this exalted mood they reached the steps of the great church, and were about to enter it when Miss Lavish stopped, squeaked, flung up her arms, and cried:

There goes my local-colour box! I must have a word with him!

And in a moment she was away over the Piazza, her military cloak flapping in the wind; nor did she slacken speed till she caught up an old man with white whiskers, and nipped him playfully upon the arm.

Lucy waited for nearly ten minutes. Then she began to get tired. The beggars worried her, the dust blew in her eyes, and she remembered that a young girl ought not to loiter in public places. She descended slowly into the Piazza with the intention of rejoining Miss Lavish, who was really almost too original. But at that moment Miss Lavish and her local-colour box moved also, and disappeared down a side street, both gesticulating largely. Tears of indignation came to Lucy's eyes partly because Miss Lavish had jilted her, partly because she had taken her Baedeker. How could she find her way home? How could she find her way about in Santa Croce? Her first morning was ruined, and she might never be in Florence again. A few minutes ago she had been all high spirits, talking as a woman of culture, and half persuading herself that she was full of originality. Now she entered the church depressed and humiliated, not even able to remember whether it was built by the Franciscans or the Dominicans. Of course, it must be a wonderful building. But how like a barn! And how very cold! Of course, it contained frescoes by Giotto, in the presence of whose tactile values she was capable of feeling what was proper. But who was to tell her which they were? She walked about disdainfully, unwilling to be enthusiastic over monuments of uncertain authorship or date. There was no one even to tell her which, of all the sepulchral slabs that paved the nave and transepts, was the one that was really beautiful, the one that had been most praised by Mr. Ruskin.

Then the pernicious charm of Italy worked on her, and, instead of acquiring information, she began to be happy. She puzzled out the Italian notices—the notices that forbade people to introduce dogs into the church—the notice that prayed people, in the interest of health and out of respect to the sacred edifice in which they found themselves, not to spit. She watched the tourists; their noses were as red as their Baedekers, so cold was Santa Croce. She beheld the horrible fate that overtook three Papists—two he-babies and a she-baby—who began their career by sousing each other with the Holy Water, and then proceeded to the Machiavelli memorial, dripping but hallowed. Advancing towards it very slowly and from immense distances, they touched the stone with their fingers, with their handkerchiefs, with their heads, and then retreated. What could this mean? They did it again and again. Then Lucy realized that they had mistaken Machiavelli for some saint, hoping to acquire virtue. Punishment followed quickly. The smallest he-baby stumbled over one of the sepulchral slabs so much admired by Mr. Ruskin, and entangled his feet in the features of a recumbent bishop. Protestant as she was, Lucy darted forward. She was too late. He fell heavily upon the prelate's upturned toes.

Hateful bishop! exclaimed the voice of old Mr. Emerson, who had darted forward also. Hard in life, hard in death. Go out into the sunshine, little boy, and kiss your hand to the sun, for that is where you ought to be. Intolerable bishop!

The child screamed frantically at these words, and at these dreadful people who picked him up, dusted him, rubbed his bruises, and told him not to be superstitious.

Look at him! said Mr. Emerson to Lucy. Here's a mess: a baby hurt, cold, and frightened! But what else can you expect from a church?

The child's legs had become as melting wax. Each time that old Mr. Emerson and Lucy set it erect it collapsed with a roar. Fortunately an Italian lady, who ought to have been saying her prayers, came to the rescue. By some mysterious virtue, which mothers alone possess, she stiffened the little boy's back-bone and imparted strength to his knees. He stood. Still gibbering with agitation, he walked away.

You are a clever woman, said Mr. Emerson. You have done more than all the relics in the world. I am not of your creed, but I do believe in those who make their fellow-creatures happy. There is no scheme of the universe—

He paused for a phrase.

Niente, said the Italian lady, and returned to her prayers.

I'm not sure she understands English, suggested Lucy.

In her chastened mood she no longer despised the Emersons. She was determined to be gracious to them, beautiful rather than delicate, and, if possible, to erase Miss Bartlett's civility by some gracious reference to the pleasant rooms.

That woman understands everything, was Mr. Emerson's reply. But what are you doing here? Are you doing the church? Are you through with the church?

No, cried Lucy, remembering her grievance. I came here with Miss Lavish, who was to explain everything; and just by the door—it is too bad!—she simply ran away, and after waiting quite a time, I had to come in by myself.

Why shouldn't you? said Mr. Emerson.

Yes, why shouldn't you come by yourself? said the son, addressing the young lady for the first time.

But Miss Lavish has even taken away Baedeker.

Baedeker? said Mr. Emerson. I'm glad it's THAT you minded. It's worth minding, the loss of a Baedeker. THAT'S worth minding.

Lucy was puzzled. She was again conscious of some new idea, and was not sure whither it would lead her.

If you've no Baedeker, said the son, you'd better join us. Was this where the idea would lead? She took refuge in her dignity.

Thank you very much, but I could not think of that. I hope you do not suppose that I came to join on to you. I really came to help with the child, and to thank you for so kindly giving us your rooms last night. I hope that you have not been put to any great inconvenience.

My dear, said the old man gently, I think that you are repeating what you have heard older people say. You are pretending to be touchy; but you are not really. Stop being so tiresome, and tell me instead what part of the church you want to see. To take you to it will be a real pleasure.

Now, this was abominably impertinent, and she ought to have been furious. But it is sometimes as difficult to lose one's temper as it is difficult at other times to keep it. Lucy could not get cross. Mr. Emerson was an old man, and surely a girl might humour him. On the other hand, his son was a young man, and she felt that a girl ought to be offended with him, or at all events be offended before him. It was at him that she gazed before replying.

I am not touchy, I hope. It is the Giottos that I want to see, if you will kindly tell me which they are.

The son nodded. With a look of sombre satisfaction, he led the way to the Peruzzi Chapel. There was a hint of the teacher about him. She felt like a child in school who had answered a question

Reviews for A Room With a View

[jonfaith · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The inhabitants of Windy Corner (as well as Pensione Betolini) are left pale and perforated after Forster's serial needling. Forster can only stop heckling his characters long enough to appreciate the song of the season's and the subtle currents of music.

[breic-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

It's fun and builds up stronger, but I never really connected with it. Maybe the weak start threw me.

[cindywho-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Listened to the Classic Tales podcast version. Not bad.

[theloislevel · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Well, I think I'm going to be teaching this book this year. I see the themes that make it a good one to teach to adolescents. I have a little trouble reading it, though, unless I'm not tired and have no distractions...I tend to get a little lost in the words!

[herenya_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Lucy Honeychurch and her cousin Charlotte are visiting Florence when they meet Mr Emerson and his son. Later in England, when they encounter the Emersons again, they both have private reasons for wanting to avoid them.I was delighted by much of this; it is astutely observant and gently humorous. Much ado is made over a kiss, which is baffling from a modern perspective, but I suspect this not only reflects attitudes common at the time but that Forster is intentionally showing that his characters are being a bit ridiculous.I would be even more enthusiastic if the final chapters had unfolded as they did. There’s an irritating scene where a man lectures Lucy, telling her what she should do. His motives aren’t unsympathetic, and his advice isn’t unreasonable -- but it is uninvited and he persists even when she becomes obviously upset. Moreover, the story then jumps in time, skipping over Lucy deciding what to do next and how she goes about it. I’m pleased with the final result, but why must you diminish her agency like that?It is obvious enough for the reader to conclude, “She loves young Emerson.” A reader in Lucy’s place would not find it obvious. Life is easy to chronicle, but bewildering to practice, and we welcome “nerves” or any other shibboleth that will cloak our personal desire. She loved Cecil; George made her nervous; will the reader explain to her that the phrases should have been reversed?

[brandie_14 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Cute book. Certainly not one of my favorite books, but it wasn't a bad read.

[booktothefuture · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

My yearly reread. Bravo, Mr Forster. All of the stars.

[foof2you · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A painfully slow start but it does pick up. A good read, interesting as it goes.

[stouthearted_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

In an era where the heroine playing Beethoven was considered shocking, the novel seems before its time. The Emersons are Socialist athiests devoted to the philosophy of freedom, causing them to behave in a manner that defies convention. Caught between the allure of the Emerson son George and her socially acceptable, yet dry and repressive, fiance Cecil Vyse, Lucy is on the cusp of womanhood and learning where her place in life is supposed to be.Her journey begins in Italy along with her fussy chaperone and cousin Charlotte, the two lamenting over the lack of a view in their room. The Emersons impulsively offer to switch rooms, which offends Charlotte and the older ladies present. The Emersons don't understand that social rules deem it shocking for unmarried ladies to put themselves under the obligation of men they are not introduced to. After much pressing and awkwardness, Charlotte reluctantly accepts the switch. From then on, the Emersons' fate becomes entwined with Lucy's. Lucy and George seem brought together by fate: through witnessing the murder of an Italian passer-by, through the carriage driver' miinterpretation of Lucy' poorly translated request to be take to "the good man" (meaning clergyman), through Cecil's cruel joke on Lucy's neighborhood by securing the uncouth Emersons a home promised to more respectable ladies, and through Charlotte's actions. Cecil and Lucy have no such fatalistic connection. Ultimately, Lucy must make a choice between each man and the vastly different lives they represent.Forster is magnificent with scenery, especially depicting the sensuousness of the Italian countryside. He does great justice to his heroine by depicting her as more a child being repressed by her society. She has hidden passions of her own, as revealed by her piano-playing that stirred the romantic feelings of a clergyman. Despite these feelings, religion is depicted as a repressive force. It is another clergyman that, during an outing to the countryside, forces the carriage driver's girlfriend to get out in the middle of the journey when the couple is caught kissing. These clergymen are English, and the country's presence in Italy is the source of much repression. In England, the repression is almost suffocating: it is at her home there, Lucy is stifled by her engagement with Cecil. Only when in Italy is Lucy free. Italy represents passion, sensuality, and openness, the polar opposite of England. Forster daringly suggests that society de damned, follow your heart wherever it takes you. It is a beautiful sentiment, rendering this one of the most romantic novels of all time. Wonderfully written whether tackling romance, humor, or conflict, this novel is worth rereading.

[hstringham-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A lovely romance.

[bell7_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lucy Honeychurch is visiting Italy with her cousin, Charlotte, who as an older single female has come along as a chaperone. While on the trip, she meets an "original" older woman, Miss Lavish, who is writing a novel; the stuck-up clergyman Mr. Eager; and the Emersons, a father and son duo whose forthrightness and political leanings rather shock some of the more orthodox crowd. Her time in Italy affects Lucy greatly: she sees a man murdered and experiences her first kiss. Upon returning home, she must decide between living up to the expectations of tradition, as embodied by her cousin Charlotte, or following the desires of her heart.Perhaps it's because I read [A Passage to India] as an English major, or maybe it's the many layers to E.M. Forster's classic story that made me feel, when reading it, that I could write a paper about his use of inside and outside, of old and new. Class distinctions are still important, particularly to the older characters and city dwellers, while less so to the younger and country folk. Lucy's fiance says at one point that Lucy pictures him inside a room, which seems connected with his repression of her spirit and independent thought, hugely in contrast with George Emerson and Frank Honeychurch's behavior outdoors in the Sacred Lake. The layering of metaphors and brilliant characterizations made this a real pleasure to read, and I would not hesitate to read it again knowing that I would get just as much - if not more - out of it with multiple readings. At the same time, the story is accessible and compelling, a classic that is neither long nor slow reading. Highly recommended.

[bpagano_5 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I was surprised at how pleasant this book was to read. It was refreshing considering how much I disliked Pride and Prejudice, which initially this book seemed to resemble. Luckily, this book had likable characters, intelligence, and plenty of wit.

[miguelnunonave · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A sweet little book, a young girl's coming of age amidst the uncomparable landscapes of Florence and surroundings. Poetical language. Somehow lacking depth. One of the rare occasions where the movie is so much better and actually does rapture your imagination much more than the book itself.

[minnesotadebbie · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Wonderful social satire, and Forster does a great job describing the various characters - who they are and how they interact with each other and their surroundings. I thought the ending was a bit too neat and sweet, as if a focus group decided that a happy ending would make them feel better, when in reality I think Lucy's actions were really going to have her heading down a different and more lonely path in life.

[kirmuriel-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Wow! it was super great!! If Cecil had traded fiancés with Newland Archer, all of them would be happier. Reminded me a lot of Jane Austen, particularly P&P. The beginning of chapter XVIII makes me think of Poe's story "The Domain of Arheim".

[echoesofstars · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book is about an English young woman, Lucy, who is caught in the battle between propriety and passion. Overall, Lucy has little say in the matters that concern her life. At first, she does not reflect deeply on the events that happen to her and because of her. It is not until she witnesses a murder that she begins to think about the events that happen to her and how she interacts with and shapes them. However, she only understands herself and her actions through discourse with other people, who easily influence her frame of mind with emotional appeal or intellectual argument. At one point, Mr. Beebe observes that if Lucy were to live with as much passion as she plays the piano, both her life and the lives of those around her would be much more interesting. Although she ultimately alienates her family to pursue the man whom she loves, even this decision is not reached without the strong influence of Mr. Emerson. In this respect, although the author's definition of passion won over propriety, I was sincerely hoping that Lucy would be able to throw off all the harnesses of well-meaning advice and reach her own conclusion of what do do with her life. I was also disappointed with the rather abrupt and mostly happy ending. In my opinion, although Lucy grew in self-awareness, she never truly discovered herself apart from the influence of others.

[theampersand · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"A Room with a View" is a good novel in the nineteenth-century style, but it becomes a really interesting novel when one considers that it feels like one of the last of its kind. The old themes and plot devices -- marriage, propriety, manners, financial security, and consideration -- are still present, but in a changing, modernizing world. Indeed, a lot of the manners that allowed characters in previous romantic novels to effectively communicate with each other sometimes seem like hindrances to communication here: much of the time, the author seems to suggest that language itself can be a barrier to real understanding. Forster also includes a few characters with unmistakably modern ideas, describes the way that suburbia is encroaching on traditional English country life, and, most exciting of all, explores how values associated largely with the twentieth century, such as freedom and independence, might affect the traditional novel. Forster's imagery, particularly his use of water, seems more attuned to post-Freudian or Modernist writing as well. The novel's ending didn't surprise me in terms of plot -- this is, after all, a love story -- but it takes a few genuinely surprising thematic terms that would have been almost unimaginable in, say, a Jane Austen novel. It might not be an exaggeration to say that "A Room with a View" feels like the Victorian novel writing itself out of existence. The novel also has some other attractions. Forster has a lot of fun with the English abroad, who seek to bring their own country with them or take pride in finding an probably imaginary "real Italy." And then, of course, there's Lucy Honeychurch, the female character at the novel's center, who is wonderfully human and sympathetic. She's not as headstrong as Elizabeth Bennett, but because the conflict she feels, which often hinges on the conflict between her own affection for her upbringing and her desire for a new sort of life, her character might be an excellent recapitualtion of all the novel's themes. I didn't find "A Room with a View" to be a fun or thrilling read; in its way, it's very formal. But that doesn't mean it isn't a very, very good novel.

[amydross · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

What a dreadful, dreadful work of sentimental nonsense -- I'm frankly sorry to have read it. I can't believe this is what passes for serious literature in some circles.The whole piece is supposed to show the contrast between the shallow, conventional "high society" and the radical free-thinkers who oppose them. But these free-thinkers, supposedly so in touch with Nature and Truth and Love come across as sometimes tiresome, sometimes plainly mad. I also found the love story entirely unconvincing -- what on earth did Lucy see in a foul-tempered brute like George? I could write more about the subtle misogyny of this work, but it would just raise my blood pressure, so I'll let it lie.At least the writing was stylistically elegant and enjoyable to read.

[varwenea · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Some women would be satisfied simply being a “Leonardo”, so beautiful and mysterious, like the Mona Lisa by DaVinci. But not Lucy Honeychurch, our heroine desires to be a living, breathing woman with her own ideals – “a rebel who desired, not a wider dwelling-room, but equality beside the man she loved. For Italy was offering her the most priceless of all possessions – her own soul.” Some men can envelope a woman like a room, a room without a window, without a view. That’s Cecil Vyse. Her fiancé is a handsome gent from a respectable family – mediaeval, “Like a Gothic statue. Tall and refined… Well educated, well endowed, and not deficient physically.” This man checks off like a grocery list of traits to look for in an ideal husband in the Victorian ages, but alas he is soulless, “the sort who can’t know any one intimately.”Lucy, our resident Victorian rebel, finds in George Emerson, the man who literally offered his room with a view in the Bertolini Pension during a chance meeting while vacationing in Florence but also becomes the man who offers her the life she wants – to be with a man who is capable of sharing his life, open and picturesque, like a room with a view. Tada! In all honesty, the book is simple in plot. The fun is in reading the time it represented. I’m not sure I like having “the comic muse” and “the reader” included in the writing. I also didn’t get into the book immediately. A bit slow, a bit dulled by early 1900’s female conventions. But clearly, Lucy is at the verge of bursting at the seam with individualism. From Father Emerson to Lucy early in the book, “… Let yourself go. Pull out from the depths those thoughts that you do not understand, and spread them out in the sunlight and know the meaning of them.” When her betrothed “laughed at her feminine inconsequence” and concluded her frowning is “the result of too much moral gymnastics”, how does one learn what she really wants and accept who she really is? Father and son Emerson and a questionable “prematurely aged martyr” of a cousin/chaperone Miss Charlotte Bartlett will help Lucy find the way. Some quotes:On Gossip:“The Ghoulish fashion in which respectable people will nibble after blood.”On Men vs. Women:Freddy (Lucy’s younger brother upon meeting George): “How d’ye do? Come and have a bathe.”“Oh, all right,” said George, impassive.Mr. Beebe was highly entertained.“’How dy’ye do? how d’ye do? Come and have a bathe,’” he chuckled. “That’s the best conversational opening I’ve ever heard. But I’m afraid it will only act between men. Can you picture a lady who has been introduced to another lady by a third lady opening civilities with ‘How do you do? Come and have a bathe’? And yet you will tell me that the sexes are equal.”And “The Garden of Eden,” pursued Mr. Emerson (father), “which you place in the past, is really yet to come. We shall enter it when we no longer despise our bodies.”Mr. Beebe disclaimed placing the Garden of Eden anywhere.“In this – not in other things – we men are ahead. We despise the body less than women do. But until we are comrades shall we enter the garden.”On ? – heck, I don’t know. It’s just beautiful, a paragraph that I would never be creative enough to write:“That evening and all that night the water ran away. On the morrow the pool had shrunk to its old size and lost its glory. It had been a call to the blood and to the relaxed will, a passing benediction whose influence did not pass, a holiness, a spell, a momentary chalice for youth.”On the concept of doing minimum harm in life, but enjoying it nonetheless:“There is a certain amount of kindness, just as there is a certain amount of light. We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand, and it is no good moving from place to place to save things; because the shadow always follows. Choose a place where you won’t do harm – yes, choose a place where you won’t do very much harm, and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine.”Lucy’s farewell to Cecil:“’When we were only acquaintances, you let me be myself, but now you’re always protecting me.’ Her voice swelled. ‘I won’t be protected. I will choose for myself what is ladylike and right. To shield me is an insult. Can’t I be trusted to face the truth but I must get it second-hand through you? A woman’s place! ….. Conventional, Cecil, you’re that, for you may understand beautiful things, but you don’t know how to use them; and you wrap yourself up in art and books and music, and would try to wrap up me. I won’t be stifled, not by the most glorious music, for people are more glorious, and you hide them from me. That’s why I break off my engagement. You were all right as long as you kept to things, but when you came to people –‘ She stopped.”

[john257hopper · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I read this purely because of the Italian setting, though only the first section is set there, in Florence. A lot of action then takes place "off-set" as it were in Rome, before the setting transfers to England. I found most of the characters rather irritating and the situations esp in the England section very dull, though there are a few funny moments due to the ridiculous snobbery of some of them.

[amelish · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

My favorite book for a long, long time.

[readingrat_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A quaint Victorian social satire and romance that makes for a short pleasant read.

[tairngire · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

For such a forward thinking book set in such a stringent culture, A Room With a View is rather fun to read. E.M. Forster's writing is smooth and his characterizations of people are ones the reader can really relate to. You know a Cecil, you've met a Lucy. And while they're not larger than life characters, they are characters full of life. The story itself is simple yet intriguing, and sits on that shelf of history that is not quite dated and not quiet modern. Also, the Baedeker and English tourist bits are still hilarious.

[cdeuker · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Many wonderful things in this novel about finding love and fighting conformity. Lucy is an endearing heroine, brave and cowardly in turns. The minor characters are interesting, the descriptions of place (Windy Corners, Florence) tremendous. Marred for me by a bit more preachiness than I like, and also by the lack of depth of George, Lucy's love. He's depressed at first, has sporadic Lawrencian attacks of "life," is depressed again, and is saved in love by his father at the end. It's hard to rejoice with Lucy in such a choice for life. Still, beautifully written and even though preachy, I'm in agreement with all that's being preached.

[michaelbartley · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

the story of a young woman in the victora age coming to find herself and her own voice. it is a classic for good reason worth reading

[lidbud · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is absolutely lovely. I would recommend this to someone who is wanting to read classics, but is unsure where to start, as it is a very easy read.

[ffortsa · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I had the great pleasure of listening to this via an Audible recording by B.J. Harrison, whose narration was wonderful. It's an early Forster, in which he delightfully skewers Edwardian upper middle class manners. A young woman takes a tour of Italy, with a rather purse-lipped older cousin/chaperone, and of course falls in love, to her own dismay, flees, makes bad choices, and then good ones.The characters are vividly different, and include sneering expats, an inappropriately wild female novelist, a clergyman, a pair of older British spinsters, and even a rather un-Italian pension proprietress. The writing is equally vivid. What is most striking to me is how Forster makes us privy to the thoughts of our heroine Lucy Honeychurch (what a name!). We hear her testing her conventions and emotions, as Italy shows her the possibilities of generous feeling, as well as the dangers of passion. Back home, she struggles to re-adapt to the expectations of society, but plans go delightfully awry.I've rarely laughed out loud walking uptown listening to a novel, but I did several times listening to this.

[leslie398 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I found Lucy a bit wishy-washy, although a fairly realistic version of a girl in her late teens at this time. For me, the most interesting part of this novel was the relationship between Lucy and Miss Barlett, although I do admit to a soft spot for Mr. Emerson Sr. :)

The British tourists were pretty insufferable, but it felt true to life.

[donura1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Another English Classic down and too many to count left to listen to. Room with A View, one of the many E. M. Forster greats, as a Librivox audio book was very satisfying. I must give credit to the reader, Kara Shallenberg, for reading with feeling and lilt. It so makes a difference. I wear my iPod and listen to books whenever I am doing mundane work or knitting or sewing. I find that many of the classics calm me and humor me at the same time and needless to say, there is an unending supply waiting to be heard.Lucy Honeychurch was a breath of fresh air for a time period when young single women were mostly at the mercy of their mothers or the men they had promised to marry. Lucy and a senior cousin take a trip to Italy to immerse themselves in the art of Florence. They stay at a pension that caters to English travelers and it is there that Lucy meets Mr. George Emerson and his father. The Emersons are different from your typical English gentlemen. George was somewhat a bohemian for the day and an atheist. Lucy seems to even doubt herself and how she became immediately enchanted by someone so different from her circle in society so she denies her feeling for as long as possible and almost loses the one thing she was sure she wanted. Love. Forster illustrates class, and gender issues with great feelings but he also draws beautiful nature settings with words. I am now going to treat myself to a viewing of the film, with Helena Bonham Carter. Said to be one of her best roles.

[karin7-11 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

2 stars

Lucia (Lucy) Honeychurch is a conventional young woman on tour in Italy in the early 20th century who is accompanied by her middle aged cousin who is a spinster. The trip awakens more in her as she meets some unconventional people and witnesses a murder. She falls in love with George Emerson, an unconventional man who is a socialist and very much an individual. However, she denies and suppreses this as they are separated by Lucia's cousin, Miss Charlotte Bartlett. Lucy becomes engaged to a man she thinks she loves before meeting George once again, and the rest you have to read to find out.

The book started of rather insipidly, and there wasn't much depth put into the characters. Forster often used surnames as characters labels (surnames such as Eager, Lavish, Vyse (a surname, but sounds just like vise aka vice), or after famous people with certain outlooks that tied into his characters), which I found rather annoying. I finished this for 1001 books, etc, but was not thrilled with this book. Forster clearly meant this book to be a statement, but I didn't find it impressive in the least.