Customer Reviews

Matters of Honor: A Novel

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This remark by Henry White, a Jewish survivor of World War II from Poland, could have been made just as easily by either of his two Harvard roommates. Sam Standish, the book's narrator, from Lenox, Massachusetts, is the adopted son of an old family, though his side of the family has little money and a dubious reputation. Archibald P. Palmer III, the third roommate, and son of an army man, has traveled the world and speaks many languages, and though he is not part of the "Chicago Palmers," he does not mind being considered one of them. The boys meet as freshmen in the 1950s, each determined to take advantage of Harvard's possibilities for forming new friendships, discovering new interests, and "connecting."

Through Sam, the narrator, we see the boys developing and dealing with the age-old issues of college boy-men. Henry, whose family has never been observantly Jewish, discovers prejudice because of his ethnic background. Archie cultivates the Latin-American ultra-rich, his facility in Spanish and his living experience in Argentina giving him entrée into a world that few non-Latinos can breach. Narrator Sam suffers a breakdown but turns his sensitivity and new insights to his own advantage by becoming a writer.

Begley traces the lives of these men separately and together from the age of eighteen through their seventies. The novel is a generational study, and the beginning is especially effective as the students each exceed their parents in education and opportunity. As the former roommates pursue careers, travel the world, lose touch and then connect again, often at funerals or weddings, Begley shows the personal resolution and growth of young people who, having outgrown their parents, recognize that they live in different worlds which their parents will probably never understand. As they age, in time, into their seventies, the reader recognizes their difficulties finding happiness, forming loving relationships, and developing the generosity of spirit which would enable them to enjoy life fully.

If the subject matter and themes sound a bit trite--anti-Jewish prejudice at an elite college, difficulties with parent-child relationships, aspirations to elevated social positions, thwarted love, maintaining a sense of honesty and honor while seeking success--well, they are, to some extent. Yet the novel is fun to read, and the picture of Harvard in the 1950s provides a glimpse of a world gone by. Though Sam often "tells about" the action, rather than recreating it (violating a cardinal "rule" of fiction-writing), the more than fifty-year chronology of this novel and the reappearing characters keep the reader's interest high. Begley, a formal, traditional writer, maintains his own sense of honor and never stoops to sensationalism. n Mary Whipple

I was awaiting Louis Begley's latest impatiently, having relished in the pointed yet elegant prose of his past books. For the most part, it was worth the wait. The story of three, intermittently four 1950's Harvard buddies and their on- and off-campus antics did not seem all that engaging to me from the outset, but in true Begley style, he had me at the first few sentences. For anyone to make you actually like a bunch of preppies living off their parents' (and grandparents', and great-grandparents') deep pockets, whom you'd rather see with a "kick me"-note stuck on their navy-blue blazers, is some achievement; but to create a page-turner out of WASP routines, particularly in the middle part of the book, is high art. In fact, Begley could be writing about the Democratic Convention and it would still be beautiful. Readers may have been conditioned not to interpret novels as tinkered-on autobiographies, but it is hard to dismiss the the idea that Henryk Weiss/White's search for identity is, in large part, the story of Louis Begleiter/Begley's Americanization and temporary de-judification.

Ah, to be young and rich and admitted to Harvard in the days when undergrads still dressed and behaved! Like in his previous novels, we get a sniff of the rarefied air of high society, in a skilled mix of mockery and admiration. This time it's the picture of the jeunesse dorée and their delightfully old-fashioned college life that has us wishing our grandfathers had invested in J.P. Morgan stock at the right time. Of course there are skeletons in the polished dark-wood closets in the exclusive world exempt from material worries, the biggest being the nagging doubt about one's place in that world. The juxtaposition of narrator Sam's depression and Henry's self-negation as a Jew, having spent years in hiding during the Nazi occupation of Poland may seem cynical, but Begley manages to make both seem legitimate through all the gloss. Likewise, the extended monologues he inflicts upon the characters as narrative vehicles may be unrealistic in live conversation, but the read still flows perfectly.

There are imperfections to the novel, not the least of which is that the subject matter may be getting worn out. Proficient though Begley may be in portraying the American ersatz-aristocracy (and the real, old-world-deal), we have already had plenty of elite lawyers, novelists, subdued antisemitism, and francophonics in his previous novels, most notably The Man Who Was Late and Shipwreck, the precursor to Matters of Honor. Also, at some point one gets the impression that situations are being described and characters introduced merely for the sake of demonstrating ever more inside knowledge. This art pour l'art, as Begley would probably agree to name it, was plain irritating in the last fourth or so of the novel, when I was asked to care about an initially marginal character, an obscure Belgian count, obstinately pushed into center stage. Situational descriptions seem to be Begley's stronger side than that of characters, anyway. Take Sam Standish: Although presented from first-person-perspective and offered insight through various psychoanalytical sessions, he remains oddly distant The women, in particular, are sketchy at best. Their features are covered by neuroses, promiscuity or, as a contrast, saintly ladyship, but that is hardly news for Begley readers. Unlike in the previous works, sex is largely absent (still plenty of booze, though).

All in all, a satisfying, sophisticated book that makes me look forward to the next one in a couple of years. Hopefully there will be some more new ideas by then.

The novel charts the life of Henry Weiss, a Jew who survived the war in Nazi-occupied Poland, from his awkward arrival in Harvard through his rise to become an immensely able and successful partner in the Paris office of a "white-shoe" New York law firm, as seen by a writer friend who is the adopted child of a couple who are marginal members of the Lenox, Massachusetts squirearchy. Among its major themes are the experience and meaning of being an outsider and the complex relationship that can exist between parents and children. Begley pictures with equal skill the awkward life of young people in the fifties and the complexities of a legal opinion that is in its consequences the climax of the book. Of all of his books, this may be the deepest and most rewarding.

I have enjoyed some of Begley's other novels (including the Schmidt books and Mistler's Exit), but this latest one just lies there on the page. The idea that the narrator could become a famous best-selling author is undermined by the narration itself, which always feels about three steps removed from actual human existence. Almost nothing ever happens just by happening. We learn things when the narrator recounts how some other character told him about what some third character did (or said about some fourth character).

Begley went to Harvard, but even the Harvard scenes feel artificial and mannered. Times change, of course, but has any Harvard undergrad in recent decades referred to libraries as "the Widener" or, ludicrously to anyone who has spent time at Harvard College, "the Lamont," as Begley's characters do? And "porter's lodges"? Maybe the term was used at Harvard in the 50s, but it sounds more British to me. In general, the narration suffers from what I think many Americans would find to be excessively British diction. Characters find themselves "at table," for example.

I imagine that part of what Begley was after here was a narrator who could have been created by Henry James, including the sexual ambiguity that many modern readers and critics associate with James. However, Begley's sentences---while often convoluted like James's---too frequently have the qualifications and elaborations of a corporate lawyer, not of an artist or storyteller. While reading the novel there were many times I said to myself something along the lines of, oh, here is where Begley realized on his nth re-reading of the draft document that he had not explained why this particular character had money at this particular time, so let's just add another clause to this sentence.

"To his own surprise, Archie was taken into a final club that was not at the bottom of the social pecking order, and very quickly club activities- festive alumni dinners and bouts of drinking- absorbed most of his time."

I was very entertained by this novel and gave thanks to author Louis Begley for the book.
The novel stretches from the time these three lads entered into Harvard, green and in some ways insecure. Sam Standish tells the story throughout. Sam an adopted son of the Standish family arrives first and quickly then Henry White joins him. Henry, a Polish refugee whose parents escaped the war has lived in America for some time. Everyone expects him to be afraid of being Jewish, but he shows something different, while Archie Palmer, a spoilt son, arrives last, is the sophisticated one speaking many languages and being well traveled, he fits in anywhere. He is at ease with the well heeled and the upper crust, as he is with the grass root people. The novelist takes us through their years at Harvard and into their adult lives. A marvelous read for those who love characters and fat books.
Reviewed by Heather Marshall Negahdar ( SUGAR-CANE 13/12/07)

One can wonder why this novel was written, it seems so dated and it certainly doesn't offer a new perspective. The big difference from the world of Louis Auchincloss is that the lawyers all work hard. Still, the novel is very well plotted, and the characters, at least the male characters, are competently drawn. I think Begley did particularly well with the ruthless Belgian aristocrat, and also with the parent/child relationships while his characters are in college.

As the characters leave college, time speeds up, as it does in real life I guess, but sometimes the reader has to infer how much time has passed, and at one point strict chronology is abandoned almost inadvertently it seems. Henry's decision to abandon corporate law seems to shock all the other characters more than I think it should.

I guess the narrator is supposed to be gay, although this is never made explicit. He has one gay experience, but his heterosexual friend also has that experience (with male prostitutes). The inference is based on the lack of any heterosexual intimacies or desires, and the multiple extended stays/trips with male friends which are alluded to.