The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 344 pp., $20.00
Members of my literary generation first met E.M. Forster in the early 1930s. Before this, while we were undergraduates, he was a legend to us. Howards End seemed one of those books that make each reader a unique discoverer of its partly realistic, partly symbolic world. It was a novel of scrupulous prose realism about poetic reality, and contained hidden clues to the meaning of life. Although about human tragedy, it also seemed a guide to values that led to happiness. It was a key.
Review, 2882 words
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