Frontispieces and Other Ruins: Portraits of the Author in Henry James's New York Edition

Stougaard-Nielsen, Jakob.
The Henry James Review, Volume 28, Number 2, Spring 2007, pp. 140-158 (Article)
Published by The Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: 10.1353/hjr.2007.0009

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Frontispieces and Other Ruins: Portraits of the Author in Henry Jamess New York Edition
By Jakob Stougaard-Nielsen, University of Aarhus
There seems little doubt, Michael Millgate writes in his study of Henry Jamess testamentary actsamong them the textual revisions for the New York Editionthat James thought of himself as improving the surfaces of his past work without affecting what he was accustomed to call its substance (87). Jamess decision to produce a revised edition of his work was first and foremost a gesture of autobiographical repossession (91); James looked back to the past with posterity in mind (3). As such, Millgate confirms Jamess differentiation between surface and substance. The texts are the same, but the re-packaging, the stylistic refurbishing of the original texts, was a conscious attempt at creating an authorized and highly controlled image of his lifes work, not a radical rewriting of the works themselves. This article will take a closer look at what Millgate called Jamess complex selfdeluding notion that his revisions would have only superficial effect on the works substance. The authorial presence in Jamess NYE produces a radically different mode of reading than the one suggested defensively by James above; the authority of the author figure itself is, in fact, part in the works complex, if not self-deluding, obsession with (sur)faces and their interiors. The author is a constant presence in the New York Edition of Jamess Novels and Tales (190709). His photographed bust appears in profile in the frontispiece to the first volume, Roderick Hudson, along with the authors signature. In the prefaces he recounts the process of writing and re-reading his works, when and where they were conceived and written, what he intended with the characters and the plots, which narrative techniques he employed, and the difficulties he faced in the process. The author in his work even claims to know something about the art of fiction of which his presented works will be examples, as for instance in the house of fiction allegory in the preface to The Portrait of a Lady. In this preface, which played an important part in the re-canonization of James by the formalists and new critics in
The Henry James Review 28 (2007): 140158. 2007, The Johns Hopkins University Press

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the 1950s and 1960s, Henry James defines the consciousness of the artistliterary works author-figureas located on the threshold of what the reader will encounter as the camera obscura or camera lucida of his house of fiction. If the author is a constant presence within the textual and visual material of the NYE, the biographical and critical reception of Jamess life and work have furthermore thrown light on the authors practices of composition and revision, to the extent that the NYE cannot be approached without the ready images of the revising author appearing to the readers inner eye:1 images of the author pacing up and down the floors of his Lamb House dictating the prefaces to his amanuensis Theodora Bosanquets resounding Remington typewriter; of James scribbling revisions to his novels and tales between the lines and in the margins of pasted-up pages of first editions; and of the author accompanying his young collaborator, the American photographer Alvin Langdon Coburn, on a hunt for a series of reproducible subjects in London (GB 24). In What an Author Is Alexander Nehamas claims that texts can be said to constitute literary works if they generate an author. Nehamas distinguishes between the actual historical writer and a postulated author, an author-function, in Foucaults sense, which is an interpretive construct and not an independent person (689). The author that is of particular interest after Barthes and Foucault is, therefore, according to Nehamas, the product of interpretation, rather than its interpretive premise: unlike fictional characters, authors are not simply parts of texts; unlike actual writers, they are not straightforwardly outside them (Writer 273). The working writer we found in the anecdotes above is, then, not entirely what Nehamas defines as a postulated author; neither is he the author whose prefatorial comments would seem to both authorize the work and guide its reception. The work may postulate an author-figure, but this figure only takes shape when negotiated in the work itself, on the works premises, so to speak. The New York Edition seems to offer a privileged site for the negotiation of the works generation of an author. The phenomenon of a collected edition is one of the testamentary acts Millgate examines in his work on self-conscious career terminations (3). Such acts signify ways in which writers famous in their own time have sought in old age to exert some degree of posthumous control over their personal and literary reputations (2). According to Andrew Nash, [t]he phenomenon of the collected edition has made a vital contribution to the construction of authorship, the history of reputation, and the formation of the canon (1). So it will seem only natural to turn to Henry Jamess NYE, one of the most famous and complex collected editions of a modern writers works, in order to see how the postulated author figures in the meeting between reader/critic and text and to find how Jamess work posits and constructs its own authorship. In the New York Edition we encounter a literary work that not only postulates an author but also critically and from multiple viewpoints engages the threshold character of the author as a figure not simply inside nor straightforwardly outside the literary work. The interpretive construct of the postulated author in Henry Jamess late work will be found mainly on the thresholds to the literary works themselves, as they appear in the NYE accompanied by Jamess prefaces and Alvin Langdon Coburns frontispieces. These paratexts or textual thresholds (seuils, as Grard Genette names them) are, like the postulated author, both inside and outside the

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literary work. The paratexts and the postulated author both condition and are the results of interpretation. Paratexts situate the readers interpretation of a text by evoking expectations through generic codes such as titles, covers, typography, paper quality, etc., or by guiding the readers interpretation by way of an authors or editors preface. Such paratexts frame the readers interpretation. To overlook the paratextual features of Jamess work, his paratextual self-fashioning, is to miss the full complexity of his art of fiction. Reading the works of James, then, is conditioned by a necessary double view of the interpretation of the author-figure: the readers view of the author is always over his shoulder as he is engaged in representing his own self-portrait. This is the condition of Nehamass de-personalized, postulated author, produced jointly by writer and text, by work and critic: an author who has no depth, who is not exposed as someone elses state of mind (What 689). The complexity of Jamess engagement with his own authorship has been the object of many interpretations over the years and has received renewed attention under various influences of cultural, material, and New Historicist trends of interpretation. Central in the reinvigoration and reconfiguration of Jamess somehow dusty and entombed authorship has been the work leading to, represented in, and resulting from David McWhirters seminal collection of essays, Henry Jamess New York Edition: The Construction of Authorship. Its wide range of approaches and issues, according to John Carlos Rowes foreword, construct [Henry James] according to our changing intellectual methods and literary concerns (xxiii). The intellectual climate from which the new approaches to Jamess texts arise has helped revise the pompous figure of James as Master of the Novel into the vulnerable, sexually anxious, and lonely writer struggling with the new modern art and the new age he had helped make possible (xxiv), in the process exposing certain repressions of the previous reception. Most notably, the re-contextualization of Jamess authorship over the past decades has allowed a multitude of postulated Jameses. As Rowe writes: These new Henry Jameses are instead full of life and interest, not only in their times but for our time, which as we begin to understand it continues to wind its way back to its early modern origins as it unfurls into our own new century (xxv). Recent approaches to Jamess authorship and his self-perception have answered Michael Aneskos call in Friction with the Market: Henry James and the Profession of Authorship: For too long we have taken James at his word, accepted uncritically his idealized (and occasionally melodramatic) portrait of the artist (vii). Aneskos detailed work on Jamess troubled relationship with the business of literature shows how Jamess authorship, as it is generated in letters, notebooks, in his fiction, and in the context of contemporary literary market dynamics, finds a middle way between the roar of the marketplace and the silence of the tomb. In a related study, Richard Salmons Henry James and the Culture of Publicity, the authors representations of and resistance to the new mass market and celebrity culture of the late nineteenth century reveal a complex critical engagement with the cultural space of authorship, and its movement across a shifting boundary between private and public spheres (2). As in Aneskos study, Salmons Henry James is an author-figure who constantly transgresses the boundaries between cultures, who is not enclosed in a palace of art, and whose work challenges the autonomy of the authorial, individual viewpoint, portraying creative process and individual consciousness as both social and performa-

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tive. Salmon shows convincingly that the self materializing in Jamess work, as early as in The Bostonians (1886), is tied to its enunciation or performance (44), an early consideration of the non-autonomous, modern performative self which also reflects on the author figure postulated in Jamess work. Aneskos study reveals a wealth of social factors playing important parts in the formation of his work, thereby challenging paradigms of autonomous authorship. Philip Horne, from a different angle, has also found that James was far from in complete control of the NYE: its format, structure, and public fate were not only determined by the market but also by the wishes of publishers, critics, and editors (Revision and Cultural Frame). According to McWhirter, Henry Jamess self-performancehis often ambivalent construction of self, authorship, and authoritymay be apprehended in its full complexity in the New York Edition (1). McWhirter agrees with Anesko, Salmon, and Horne when he claims that Jamess authority is both constructed and compromised by the surrounding social, political, and cultural discourses that in some undeniable sense wrote both the New York Edition and its author. But these pressures from without, such as the marketplace and the culture of publicity, do not disempower the author, since they are countered from within by an author who is still very much an active, responsible agent in his text (3). The still active, postulated author is a social construct. But the author is also a responsible agent within the literary work, itself mediated, for instance, through its paratextual devices. In the following, I discuss two postulations of the author in the prefaces to The Portrait of a Lady and The Golden Bowl and relate these to Alvin Langdon Coburns portrait of James in the frontispiece to Roderick Hudson. I wish to counter moral readings of Jamess revisions, as for instance in the case of Hershel Parker, who found that when the opportunity came for [Jamess] monument to his art to be erected, his respect for, and memory of, his past achievements collapsed before his compulsion to reshape his immature works for an ultimate, ideal audience indistinguishable from his later self (114). The fascination of the New York Edition lies in the very tensions between past and present selves, original and revised literary works, and the author figure constantly negotiating this tension. Jamess philosophy of revision as it is performed and evaluated in the texts and paratexts of the NYE is an interesting, self-confident2 attempt to renovate a house of fiction, which only performs a superficial monumentality (the cultural significance of the book and especially the collected edition had been waning at least since the turn of the century3). In my view, the monumentality of Jamess New York Edition has more in common with the aesthetic value of the ruin, in Georg Simmels contemporary description, which combines the disharmony, the eternal becoming of the soul struggling against itself, with the satisfaction of form, the firm limitedness, of the work of art (265). The architectural metaphors are not innocent either in the reception of Jamess NYE (from Edel to McWhirter) or in the NYE itself. What is the metaphorical relation between the face of the work (the house of fiction as perceived by the author) and the face of the author (in the frontispiece of the work and as perceived by the self as an older, revising author)? A critical unraveling of the structure of representation figured in the authors attempt to interpret the interiors and (sur)faces of the work, and the author may, if we are still thinking with Nehamas, reveal the performed postulated author of the NYE and ultimately address the status of the NYE as a monumental literary work of art.

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In the preface to The Portrait of a Lady James illustrates the nature of the literary work of art and the position of the author by way of the famous architectural allegory of the house of fiction. James posits the artist behind a number of possible windows signifying a multitude of Cartesian perspectives available to the individual will (PL 7). While the artists voyeuristic position seems safely hidden and detached from the outside human scene, he is not so entirely veiled that the reader may not perceive him and pass judgement on his moral reference as it is represented in the quality of the frame (the window or viewpoint) chosen for perception. The artist within Jamess house of fiction is, I shall insist, postulated as the object of anothers gazea gaze belonging to the revising author, the reader, or any critical, interpretive position. I shall quote this allegory in its full length since the details of it will be discussed below, and it will also allow the reader to see just how James stretches the metaphor actually to the point where it almost becomes a literal, although unheimlich, house. The house of fiction has in short not one window, but a milliona number of possible windows not to be reckoned, rather; every one of which has been pierced, or is still pierceable, in its vast front, by the need of the individual vision and by the pressure of the individual will. These apertures, of dissimilar shape and size, hang so, all together, over the human scene that we might have expected of them a greater sameness of report than we find. They are but windows at the best, mere holes in a dead wall, disconnected, perched aloft; they are not hinged doors opening straight upon life. But they have this mark of their own that at each of them stands a figure with a pair of eyes, or at least with a field-glass, which forms, again and again, for observation, a unique instrument, insuring to the person making use of it an impression distinct from every other. He and his neighbours are watching the same show, but one seeing more where the other sees less, one seeing black where the other sees white, one seeing big where the other sees small, one seeing coarse where the other sees fine. And so on, and so on; there is fortunately no saying on what, for the particular pair of eyes, the window may not open; fortunately by reason, precisely, of this incalculability of range. The spreading field, the human scene, is the choice of subject; the pierced aperture, either broad or balconied or slitlike and low-browed, is the literary form; but they are, singly or together, as nothing without the posted presence of the watcherwithout, in other words, the consciousness of the artist. Tell me what the artist is, and I will tell you of what he has been conscious. Thereby I shall express to you at once his boundless freedom and his moral reference. (PL 7) The reader of a Jamesian novel faces a formal structure developed around three basic novelistic building blocks: the author (inside), the thematic subject (outside), and the literary form (the house) mediating this relationship. The house of fiction with its multiple windows grants the artist not only holes or different types of windows through which to observe the human scene, but also the formal constraint, Simmels satisfaction of form, of the artifice through which the subject is mediated. The watcher holds a prominent position behind the pierced apertures. Through positing

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the artists consciousness behind these multiple windows, James is able to conclude this elaboration on novelistic discourse with the problem that sparked his thinking about novelistic form in the first place: the possibility for illustrating the moral sense of a work of art . . ., the more or less close connexion of the subject with some mark made on the intelligence, with some sincere experience (PL 6). Jamess criticism and novelistic ideal converge in the readability of this mark traceable in the work of the artist: Tell me what the artist is, and I will tell you of what he has been conscious. Thereby I shall express to you at once his boundless freedom and his moral reference (7). Jamess conclusion speaks of the freedom to choose an individual point of view and, consequently, an authors individual moral reference, visualized and made available to the discriminating, critical eye for evaluation. The transparency of the window as aperturethe possibility for figuring the consciousness of the artist in its referentis countered by the opacity of the dead wall and the hinged door, which is the only figure for direct, unmediated transgression of the threshold between the inside and the outside. The consciousness of the author is situated as a detached observer (watcher) behind the windows; but, in the logic of the preface, which figures the author perceiving his own work (seeing it again [GB 29]), the gaze of the original author inside the house of fiction is deflected by the revising, evaluative gaze on the author. Such a reading of the house of fiction may be suggested by the first paragraphs of the preface to The Portrait of a Lady, in which the revising author, in the reading over (3), is tracing the original scene of writing. The revising author remembers working on the novel in Italy in 1880 where the ceaseless human chatter of Venice came in at my windows, to which I seem to myself to have been constantly driven. The writer, in the recollection of the revising author, finds himself constantly disturbed and interrupted by voices from outside his window to the point where he must realize that historic, romantic cities like Venice are too rich in their own life and too charged with their own meanings merely to help him out with a lame phrase. Still, in reading over his novel more than twenty years later, the Venice outside the writers window seems to have found its way into its pages in the revising authors recollection: There are pages of the book which, in the reading over, have seemed to make me see again the bristling curve of the wide Riva, the large colourspots of the balconied houses and the repeated undulation of the little hunchbacked bridges, marked by the rise and drop again, with the wave, of foreshortened clicking pedestrians. The Venetian footfall and the Venetian cryall talk there, wherever uttered, having the pitch of a call across the watercome in once more at the window, renewing ones old impression of the delighted senses and the divided, frustrated mind. (34) In the opening pages of the preface, in which the general theory of narratorial viewpoints and aesthetic evaluation of the novelistic representation appear, we find a particular author, the revising James, looking at or reading over his younger self engaged in the composition of the work the author has just finished, it is assumed, revising. The author is observed by his other revising self: a play on self-perception that James later describes in the preface to The Golden Bowl, and one to which I shall return.

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It would seem impossible not to regard the conflation of imagery and recollection in the two scenes as significant. This conflation suggests that Jamess general theory of narratorial viewpoints and artistic consciousness are at least partly derived from the revising authors recollection of the scene of writing and the encounter with his own divided and frustrated mindhis younger self across an expanse of timeeven as being the figurative products of scenes and architecture within the novel itself.4 Architectural description in the preface to Portrait complements the wealth of architectural descriptions in the novel that James was rereading and revising prior to the composition of the preface. Architectural reference even complements or gives voice to The English Home: the frontispiece photograph that probably represents Gardencourt of the novel, but definitely, according to Jamess own theory of the representational logic of the photographic illustrations, symbolizes a general idea or type rather than just a particular thing in the text (GB 24). So, too, the house of fiction also refers to particular descriptions of architecture and to a general idea or type of mediated observation or authoring. Ellen Eve Frank notes this double reference in Jamess use of architecture as both general idea and particular description: Every time we read architectural descriptions in James, whether houses, rooms, windows, or balconies . . . we are asked to read about fictions as well. Literary fictions are as houses are and houses are like the forms of fiction (189). Houses, walls, and windows are prominent technemes in Jamess allegory and within the novel itself, suggestive objects that outline, according to Philip Hamon, a sort of architectural system in nineteenth-century literature (38). The presence of architecture in literature Hamon argues . . . is linked to the practice of ekphrasisdetachable rhetorical set pieces that are summed up for the purpose of praise or for the purpose of blame (24). Hamon finds in the verbal descriptions of architectonic set pieces a preoccupation with the formal features of novelistic discourse, implicitly claiming that the inclusion of ekphrasis as such, the verbal representation of visual representation (Heffernan 3) or the literary evocation of spatial art (Yacobi 600), allows the literary text to address its own nature as structured verbal discourse and to evaluate, praise, or blame this discourse through the employment of architectural technemes. The New York Edition Portrait exhibits both within the narrative and in the two paratexts (the frontispiece and the preface) the systematic and self-referential nature of architectural imagery in fiction. Hamon finds that when architecture is described in nineteenth-century fiction it often allows the text to speak of its own investment in evaluation (Jamess moral reference) and structure (Jamess positioning of the author-observer within the formal constraint of narrative discourse): Ekphrastic descriptions [e.g., descriptions of architecture in literature], then, indicate the heavy ideological investment that occurs at these moments of the literary text (since it is at these points that it turns to speaking of value, of evaluation) and at the same time, they throw into relief how the text turns back in and on itself by self-description. It is by means of architecture that the text begins to speak of what basically defines it as a structure, as a fiction, or as a structured fiction. (24) It is, among other things, by way of certain technemes figuring more or less opaque or transparent vision (as in the windows in the faade of a house) that questions of

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subjectivity (individual will) and authority (the consciousness of the artist) are negotiated in Jamess allegory of the house of fiction. Architecture mediates the authorial position. It allows an artists particular consciousness to be evaluated by the reader through the literary work (the literary form)though never straightforwardly, not like doors opening straight upon life, but rather through a typology of windows. James shows an acute awareness of the way a window functions like a medium. The force of the house of fiction allegory is its literalness, which resists any kind of immediate transgression between the inside and the outside. The authorial voice in Jamess narrative fiction is what its architectural form mediates, butand here Jamess allegory almost speaks with the voice of Marshall McLuhanthat authorial voice, the inner consciousness of the artist, is indiscernible from its medium: behind the windows of the literary form are only different types of windows, such as a pair of eyes or field-glasses. As W. J. T. Mitchell has written about the significant invention of windows, Windows are perhaps one of the most important inventions in the history of visual culture, opening architecture to new relations of inner and outer, and remapping the human body by analogy into inner and outer spaces, so that the eyes are the windows of the soul, the ears the porches, and the mouth is adorned with pearly gates. . . . The window is anything but a transparent, self-evident, or unmediated entity. (215) The revising-author reads the face of the author in order to recapture his own consciousness at the moment of inception. The ekphrastic description of narrative discourse as architecture turns the exteriority of the literary form figured in the faade (the face of the house and its windows) into the face of the author. The eyes are the windows of the consciousness; they may even be low-browed; and, in the logic of architecture within the novel, houses take on the visual characteristics of their inhabitants, as for instance Osmonds hilltop villa, to which I shall return, or the general fascination with the faciality of houses, as in Gardencourts magisterial physiognomy (PL 19). The figures for visual perception, the windows as technemes, as signs on the exterior face of the house/author, are the thresholds on which the interior may be evaluated. The face of the author and ekphrastic architecture function as interpretive thresholds to the texts forming the New York Edition. The artist standing behind the windows of Jamess house of fiction with his visual prostheses, eyes and field glasses, is transformed into the house itself through the blurring of conceptual borders between the face and the faade. The front of the house, with its low-browed holes and the metonymic dissemination of features between the face and the house, turns the formal description of narrative techniques into a treatise on the ability of an outside agent (revising author/reader/critic) to reveal and evaluate the consciousness of the artist in the literary work. The conceptual space making up the house of fiction or the literary work of art, then, has become personalizedthe faade/structure is the mask worn by the artist, and the windows are his eyes. This threshold position of the author is accessible to an agent outside the work who, though himself on the threshold, may reveal the hidden (voyeuristic) consciousness of the artist by under-

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standing the typology of the narrative form, by understanding the nature/type of the perception/window chosen by the artist, believing that the character of the mask performs the characteristics of the person behind.5 The authors presence within his work both as a represented figure in the prefaces and as a mode of reading or visualizing subjectivity in the literary work are products of Jamess re-reading and rewriting his past works. Revisiting his own past author-figure on the threshold of the literary work, in the preface, produces a radically new work and evokes a representation of the revising author who will materialize in the frontispiece to the first volume: where it is the original author who is framed by the windows of the house of fiction allegory in the preface it is the revising author who is generated by the aperture of the visual image of another book faadethe frontispiece. Grard Genette has called attention to the way in which books present themselves to their readers through paratexts, such as typography, title pages, prefaces, and (although Genette overlooks these) frontispieces. Such features are significant for a readers reception of the work, Genette would claim, since they function as interpretive thresholds, or a zone indcise entre le dedans et le dehors, between the inside (the text itself) and the outside (readers and institutions) of the text (Seuils 8, Paratexts 2). Especially interesting paratextual traits are those that assign the text to a particular individual designated as its author. According to Roger Chartier, The most spectacular of those traits is the physical representation of the author in his book (52). Chartier claims that the function of the authors portrait in the paratext of a book is to reinforce the notion that the words of the text are the expression of an individual who gives authenticity to the work (50). According to Janine Barchas, The frontispiece portrait, a subgenre of the long-standing tradition of the author portrait, emerges as a feature of English book production in the seventeenth century. Frontispieces commonly offered an engraved likeness of the books author within a masonry frame, frequently accompanied by a Greek or Latin inscription (21). Although a modern author like James chose not to be depicted in the traditional masonry frame, we might find that the presence of architectural features in the rest of the frontispieces, architectural ekphrasis in his novels, and the allegory of the house of fiction in the preface to volume 3 compensate for this lack in the visual presentation of the author. In the preface the author is presented inside his house of fictionas in the traditional emblematic masonry frame. In her fascinating book on the graphic design of eighteenth-century novels, Barchas holds forth James as a late Victorian example who signified the end of frontispiece portraits: Seldom does a first edition of a Henry James novel carry a frontispiece. By the late Victorian period the frontispiece was an anachronism, a signal of style over substance appropriate to an ornamental library in a house full of non-readers. In Portrait the young Isabel Archer in her Albany house library is an example of such a non-reader who judges the books by their frontispieces (33) and who will later fail to recognize, as the reader must, that the imposing front of Osmonds villa is, like a books frontispiece, nothing but an architectural faade: the mask, not the face of the house (Barchas 19). Whereas Jamess postulated author in the house of fiction appears to subvert the surface/depth structure of criticism and evaluationconsciousness found as signified in its medium, not in any unmedi-

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ated essencethe manner of reading and evaluating a surface for its substance may prove catastrophic as in Isabels failure to read Osmonds exterior. Though only a mask, the pierced and massively cross-barred front of Osmonds villa does offer the attentive reader clues to the temperament of the buildings inhabitant (PL 195, 196); and taken together, the portrait of the young ladys reading habits and Jamess use of architectural metaphors as emblems of narrative authority allow for a more complex relationship within Jamess work between graphic architecture, book design, and its narrative tenant. While for a writer like James a frontispiece portrait must have been an anachronism, it is exactly Jamess complex reconstruction of his own authorship within a representational logic that finds interiors, selves, and authorities to be conditioned through their medium of expression that aesthetically motivated Jamess elaborate collaboration with Coburn on the frontispieces as well as his choice of photography as the supplementary medium in which not only to express himself as an author but to express and question the grand scale of his literary work. David Piper, in his work on poets self-fashioning through portraits and other images, determines the 1890s to be the decade in which the Romantic notion of the immortal fame of the poet was shrinking fast and an interest in ideal or heroic or commemorative images of the poets waned simultaneously (180). This development was partly brought about by the spread of photography. Portraits of authors, celebrities, and regular people became commonplace and endlessly reduplicatedbecame, indeed, also in no small degree mere elements in the media of communication which Marshall McLuhan was later to claim as the message itself. Photography anyway does not accommodate the heroic, the ideal, very easily. If the camera tended to naturalize the heretofore immortal poet, it had, according to Jennifer Green-Lewis, by the nineties become a means of establishing identity as well as verifying authenticity, and thus might be seen as a working symbol of the modernist nostalgia for origins, as well as an embodiment of the fin-d-siecle desire for the real thing (68). Jamess choice of photography as a representational medium that could capture his notions of the self, the work of art, and authorship lurks somewhere between the authentic and the non-heroic. In a 1902 letter to Mrs. Frank Mathews, who had sent him a photograph of himself as a young man, James writes about the photographic encounter with his younger self: The photographer has retouched the impression rather too freely, especially the eyes (if one could but keep their hands off!) but the image has a pleasing ghostliness, as out of the past, and affects me pathetically as if it were of the deadof one who died young and innocent. Well, so he did, and I can speak of him or admire him, poor charming slightly mawkish youth, quite as I would another. I remember (if now all comes back to me) when (and where) I was so taken: at the age of 20, though I look younger, and at a time when I had had an accident (an injury to my back,) and was rather sick and sorry. I look rather as if I wanted propping up. But you have propped me up, now, handsomely for all time, and I feel that I shall go down so to the remotest posterity. (LHJ 406)6

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The technical properties of photographic portraiture, the retouching by anothers hands, and the propping-up of his past self in this verbal photographic memento (in fact an ekphrasis), a reference to devices used by photographers to keep the models still during long exposure times, are here used as signifying the intentions of another imposed on his own image. The photograph, nevertheless, gives the author access to his past. He remembers his back injury called forth by his association to the missing propping prosthesis. Simultaneously, the image produces a recollection of himself as another, himself as dead, and his past irretrievably lost, a pleasing ghostliness inherent in not only this particular photograph but in the medium generally, according to James. Laura Saltz, in her study of Jamess references to photography in his autobiographies, finds that [i]n writing of the subject of the image as if he were dead, James both objectifies and disowns his past self (259). Though James might be found to disown his past self in his writing on photography, James is concerned not only with his own portrait but with a general observation of the possibility of self-observation and a fundamental experience of otherness involved in self-portraiture. The photograph, or more precisely the ekphrastic description of the photograph as self-portrait, offers the possibility of recollection of a former self and renders this self as other, even, seemingly, deceased. In order to fully appreciate the function of photography in the structure of representing authority and identity in Jamess work we have to recognize the contemporary understanding of photography not only as a conveyer of authenticity and indexical realism but also as the wide-spread experience of the ghostly, the super-sensory experience of photography. Here I am not only thinking about the ghostly in the sense of the uncanny and the supernatural, but in the sense of the X-ray, discovered in 1895. According to Allen W. Grove, photographs might have suggested something truthful otherwise hidden from the eye. Instead of merely representing the world transparently, photography in general and X-ray photography in particular penetrated the visible for the Victorian imagination. In this sense, the reality effect of the photograph, still in its relative infancy at the turn of the century, seemed to capture even the unseen world of ghosts, to penetrate and objectify the self and the body of the subject.7 According to Grove, The X-ray asks us to view the self as other: it forces us to identify the cold, alien, black-and-white image with our living bodies and in doing so reminds us of our own mortality (162). The connection between mortality and otherness captured in the medium and figure of photography as a trace of the self is also captured in the first part of Jamess autobiography, A Small Boy and Others (1913). Here the ghostliness of photography is again exposed when the author looks at a photograph of an actor from his youth. The photograph does not offer any insight into the personality of the portrayed. The portrait is rather dismal, James writes, showing the histrionic image with the artificial light turned off, the fatigued and disconnected face reduced to its mere self and resembling some closed and darkened inn with the sign still swung but the place blighted for want of custom (55). This image from the past, in Jamess re-seeing it, is extinguishing the lightthe very lifeof its subject. The disconnected face is an empty, darkened shell, a death mask. Reduced to its mere surface, it gives no hint of the inner life of its subject. Jamess experience of re-seeing this photograph

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anticipates Susan Sontags description of the photograph as not only an image (as painting is an image), an interpretation of the real; it is also a trace, something directly stenciled off the real like a footprint or a death mask (154). Photographys indexicality, its authenticity, is to Sontag directly linked to its character of making the absent appear in the photographic material. In this sense, I think, we may also understand the representation of the author in the medium of the house of fiction. The revising author revisits the scene of writing, encounters his own frustration behind the Venetian windows, and transforms this trace of the self, as figured in the window metonymy, to the house of fiction allegory in which the postulated author, the artists consciousness, is but a death maskstenciled off the real. Sontag also alludes to the indexical nature of photography by describing it as another kind of trace, a footprint. In Jamess New York Edition the trace of a former self stenciled off the real in a photograph shares register with the authors act of re-reading, revisiting, and revising his past work and self. James perceived the practice of revision or rewriting as tracing uncontrollable footsteps of his former self (GB 20). Photography and textual revision seem supplemental as visions of the self behind the mask of writing. This photographic signature as a trace of the self is what we also find in Roland Barthess thinking about photography: The photograph represents the very subtle moment when . . . I am neither subject nor object but a subject who feels he is becoming an object: I then experience a micro-version of death (or parenthesis): I am truly becoming a specter (Camera Lucida 14). It is, then, in the very nature of photography and its relation to the experience of the self, according to Barthes and James, to capture the self as a specter. James, the revising and self-portraying author, is truly becoming a specter, haunted by his own ghost, in the frontispiece to his work. Chartier tells us that the practice of posting the presence of the author in the frontispiece installs the identity of the author in his work, produces a sense of authority. And indeed it seems as if photographys materiality and its relation to autobiography signal a potent choice of visual medium for the NYE frontispieces, since photography as autobiography exerts control over the self-image by, as Barthes has it, its adherence to referentiality.8 As we are reminded, this self-construction is at the same time undercut, since it also stands apart from the self and tries to envision and read the self from a temporal, autobiographical distance. This is the problem encountered in the preface following the authorial portrait: the authors problem of seeing the work again over an expanse of time. And it is as such that we can think of both the frontispieces and prefaces of the NYE as autobiographic in Paul de Mans sense. De Man reminds us that autobiographical discourse is essentially a discourse of self-restoration (74). Autobiography is not a genre or a mode, but a figure of reading or of understanding that occurs in all texts. De Man also points to the fact taken up by Millgate, Genette, and Chartier that the works authorized presence, as guaranteed by paratextual features such as the title page and frontispieces, itself is pointing deictically to the presence of an autobiographic self (70). The frontispiece photograph to the first volume of the New York Edition is not a representation of Jamess younger self. It is a portrait of the artist as mature man, the revising author, the author who looks back by way of gazing into the pages of the twenty-four volumes that are to follow. The frontispiece photographs in the NYE,

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as Ira B. Nadel suggests, might be thought of as an act to transport his works from their original date of publication into the present if not the future (95). In fact, the lapse of time represented by the image of the mature author imposed on the younger texts, though in updated version, might be seen to play on the reciprocal construction of authorship by installing the author as a product of the work and, in the same turn, signifying the work as produced by the head and imagination of the author. The simple gesture of positing the revising author in profile turned toward the text of his younger self might, therefore, suggest the complex postulation of authorshipthe authors non-presence in the workwithin the NYE. The portrait of the revising author, the author who looks back by way of gazing into the pages of the volumes of the NYE, refers to a tradition for establishing textual authority in a works paratexts, but it does so through a medium that calls such authorial representation into question without entirely negating it by way of ghostly metaphors. It is obvious how Coburns photograph on one level can be read as a traditional invocation of the authority of the authors position in his work and how it suggests the presence of the author as the creative ground of the NYE, but, if we look at the preface in which James discusses the reasons for choosing photographic frontispieces and his ghostly experience of seeing himself as the original author, we may find a need to read the photograph as expressing a more subtle relation between the author and his work, the author and his younger self. This last instance of the postulated author in the New York Edition adds another ghostly image to the visual vocabulary of ekphrastic architecture and photography: the silhouette. The profile bust of the author in the frontispiece may share an ancient emblematic relationship with the origin of drawing, of tracing the contours of the silhouette of the disappearing self on the wall. As Wendy Graham has noticed in her study of Jamess attitudes towards illustration, James juxtaposes the textual strategies of the original author and the revising author in the preface to The Golden Bowl, evoking antiquated methods of transcription derived from the visual culture of his youth, through the trope of the silhouette (4). To this antiquated method of visual representation, the mature, revising James compares his modern narrative technique of rendering consciousness in the novel to an image imprinted on a window-like, glass negative: reflected in it as in the clean glass held up (GB 20). The revising author meets his past self (in the context of The Golden Bowl only a very recent past self), or, more precisely, the traces of his past self, figured by way of suggestive imagery derived from the rich visual culture of the nineteenth century. The closer in time the revising author is to the original composition, the more perfectly his body matches the trace: Into his very footprints the responsive, the imaginative steps of the docile reader that I consentingly become for him all comfortably sink; his vision, superimposed on my own as an image in cut paper is applied to a sharp shadow on a wall, matches, at every point, without excess or deficiency (GB 26). Jamess main concern here is to state the comfortable, and matching identity between the original and the revising author, suggesting another invention of the nineteenth century: finger printing. The body of the author, his steps, his profile, match at every point the steps and profile of his past self and through the indexical referent identity is established through docile reading and vision (as both the seen and seeing in the above quotation). The visual strategies are employed in order to

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grasp the revisionary process and its experience of identity despite difference as figured in the semiotic body of the author. We note, as in the house of fiction allegory, that Jamess discursive choice for signifying the relationship between the original and the revised texts, between his present being and his past self, is by way of visual technologies and representations that figure the body and the vision of the author. I wish to stress the analogy between the silhouette and photography in the visual culture of the nineteenth century, instead of focusing on their apparent difference, as Graham does. The silhouette and photography were in different ways part of the same semiotic paradigm, seeking to establish visible verifiable identity, most notably in relation to crime-investigation in the nineteenth century. For the nineteenth-century viewer, both visual strategies maintained an accuracy in depictions of bodies because of the silhouettes indexical process of production and the notion of photography being written by the pencil of nature itself (Gunning 5). In fact, as Tom Gunning clarifies, the silhouettes indexical process of productiondirectly tracing the shadow of its subjectannounced the importance of new visual technologies in sciences of observation, directly anticipating photography. Gunning also finds that the increased popularity of the silhouette as a mode of representation in the nineteenth century seems to arise from the popularity of Lavaters physiognomic method (which was also hinted at in Jamess description of the physiognomy of characters and houses): the silhouette accurately captured the facial profile so important to Lavaters method (5), and made directly accessible the writing of the bodys contours, its characters on the wall or the canvas, available to readers who knew how to read the character of the individual in its surface signs. Jamess brief mentioning of the reflection of consciousness in the clean glass (photography) and the image in cut paper applied to a sharp shadow on a wall (silhouette) hints at the very personal project James found himself engaged in with his revisionary practicecoming to terms with approaching death and his uncertain recollection of his past work. As well as promising the indexical relationship between the representation and its original, silhouette and photography also relate to one another in the desire to keep the past and the departed present. In Jamess mention of the shadow metaphor we might find a reference to the often represented myth of the origin of drawing in the history of art. Victor Stoichita recounts this mythfirst recorded by Pliny the Elder: The daughter of Butades was in love with a young man. When he was going abroad, she drew in outline on the wall the shadow of his face, thrown by a lamp. As Mitchell comments of the same myth, [t]he silhouette drawing expresses the wish to deny death or departure, to hold on to the loved one, to keep him present and permanently alive (66), at the same time as the life of the image may depend on the death of the model, and the legends of stealing the soul of the sitter by trapping his image in a camera or a manual production would be equally relevant here. . . . Drawing, like photography, is seen to originate in the art of fixing the shadow (66).9 Stoichita finds in this myth of representation by shadow writing or skiagraphia, a hidden origin not only of painting but of representation as such, as figured in Platos cave allegory: the shadow became for all time the poor relation of all reflection, the forgotten origin of all representation (25).10 The obsession in aesthetics with mimesis aligned representation instead with the en face mirror-image and not with the profile shadow: [t]he mirror image is en face, the frontal relationship with the mirror is a

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relationship with the same, just as the relationship with the profile was a relationship with the other (41). The silhouette evoked by James in this crucial preface dealing with visual and verbal representational strategies and with the theory and practice of revision figures the centrality of the concept of otherness in all aspects of Jamess representational work.11 Henry James, in all likelihood, does not intentionally employ the metaphor of the shadow in order to portray his understanding of aesthetic representation, neither does he directly invoke the myth of the origin of drawing in the silhouette drawing of a departing love. Still, the question of representation surfaces in the preface to The Golden Bowl in relation to textual revisions, visual illustration, and the verbal representation of consciousness in the novel. The definition James considers in relation to photographys special capability in capturing a generalized image, a type, from the character of the novel is in tune with the silhouettes generalizing representation of character that since the Renaissance has been considered to be the first task of the portrait painterto capture the general person before considering the particular in order to achieve likeness (Stoichita 101). Accordingly, by invoking the silhouette as an image for identity between the revising author and his past self and by actually capturing the profile nature of the silhouette in the choice of the frontispiece to Roderick Hudson for his performance of authorship, James is engaging the fundamental otherness inherent in representation and quite possibly capturing an image that most concisely illuminated the experience of revision as both a celebration of renewed vision and loss of self.12 The silhouette and photography are visual technologies in the preface to The Golden Bowl that capture the desire and the impossibility of capturing the past self and its identity to the present. Linda Haverty Rugg claims that the materiality of photographs are both windows and barriers, and as such they share properties with autobiography, which itself is an exertion of control over self-image at the same time as it also stands apart from the self, tries to envision and read the self from a vantage distanced by the passage of time (5). The postulated author in the fragments of the NYE, accordingly, represents, from different directions, the self both as placed within a Cartesian camera obscura, the house of fiction, from which he can survey the projected human scene as perfectly self-contained and detached and as the self written by the aid of a camera lucida, where the subject and its representation, the substance and the surface, blur in the gaze of the artist. The revising authors presence in the literary work is, like Nehamass postulated author, conditioned by a certain non-presence. He is an active, represented agent within the work. He signs the work and in some ways embodies it (the texts have aged just as he has). At the same time, the revising author has to withdraw into the footsteps or the silhouette of his former self in order for the work to be intact and authentic. Both revision as rewriting, practiced by James in the construction of the NYE, and the recollection of his own identity through his former writing self are conditioned by the decay of both original texts and original self. James figures this condition of his authorship in the architectural ekphrasis and the silhouette figure of the prefaces and in his use of photographic frontispiece illustration to capture his non-heroic authority. But this decay is what makes the work of the Edition possible, as the disappearance of the lover of Butadess daughter makes the silhouette and, in turn, the drawing, the visual representation, possible.

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The New York Edition is not a work of art visualized as a restored Victorian mansion, as in the house of fiction allegory, but is comparable to the aesthetics of the ruin, one of the most popular paper monuments in nineteenth-century literature. The conception of the NYE in architectural terms of the ruin and the monument owes a great deal to Jamess often-quoted reference to Shelleys Ozymandias in a letter from 1915 (see, for instance, Horne [Revision 19] and Culver).13 Stuart Culver offers a different view on Jamess self-conscious monumental aspirations, claiming, in fact, that Jamess conception of its design did not disregard failure or the ruinous as parts of its aesthetic ideal: the novelists artistic representation of his corpus, like the art of Shelleys sculptor, did more to call his authority, popularity, and influence into question than it did to confirm or celebrate his place in the American cultural pantheon (40). As this article has shown, the corpus of the authors NYE is, in accordance with Culvers view, postulating authorial positions that constantly find themselves supplemented in different verbal and visual layers of the work. As such, the postulated author questions the singular authorial control proposed on the surface level of the authorial portrait through Jamess generation of different modes of reading. In this sense, the New York Edition is monumental since it is a testament to a modern conception of authorship and subjectivity as non-heroic, mediated, and performed within a literary medium, the collected edition, which more than any other possesses all the traditional emblems of monumental literary authority. According to Philip Hamon, we should think of the ruin as a monument in which the interior is exposed to the exterior and the eye can penetrate through cracks in the wall (8). The house of fiction, the supreme fiction of the NYE as a work of art, has this characteristic of the ruin, although in temporal terms: its after reveals its before. The ruin exhibits its initial mental representation and therefore recovers the absolute origins (arch) of the building that corresponds to its ideal representation (Hamon 60). The nineteenth-century fascination with the ruin, according to Hamon, would seem to mirror a fascination with the Crystal Palaces of the world expositions and modern architecture in steel and glass. The ruin or modern architectural designs allow the gaze from the outside to penetrate the faade not only to gain access to the inside but in order to unveil the structures interior designan aesthetic of the ruin in which the decayed faade reveals the monumentality of its interior design. As such we can think of the architectural technemes featured in the paratextual frames of the NYE and Jamess deconstruction of a mode of reading that would allow for any unmediated access to his past work, to his past self. The NYE is, finally, a work postulating an author equal to this ideal representation of the origin of the work represented in its aged, ruined body and thus confirms Simmels sense of the aesthetics of the monumental ruin as the combination of the disharmonic becoming of the self against itself with the satisfaction of form, the firm limitedness, of the work of art.
NOTES This article is a revised and expanded version of a paper delivered at the International Henry James Conference, Tracing Henry James, the Henry James Society, Venice, 1215 July 2005. I wish to acknowledge the advice and assistance of David McWhirter, Philip Horne, Charles Lock, Dominic Rainsford, and Peter Simonsen, who have all been very generous with their time and effort helping me to revise my thoughts and sketches. 1 Two such early biographical works that have had an impact on the reception of Jamess work habits on the NYE (apart from Edels seminal article, The Architecture of Henry Jamess New York Edition) are Bosanquets Henry James at Work and Hydes Henry James at Home.

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See Hornes argument about the lack of confidence in the NYEs monumental success on Jamess part, expressed in the famous Ozymandias reference (Revision 19), and Jamess self-confidence in his revisions (63). 3 The rise of de luxe editions may be seen as a late market response to the cultural decline of the publishing market in the last decades of the nineteenth century; according to Anesko, principal figures of the American literary world, including James, decried the recent evidence of literatures commercialization (80). If the NYE and other collected editions at the turn of the century attempted to counter this vulgarization of the market, it was only short-lived, since, as Millgate claims, the years since the Second World War have seen few, if any, editions of living novelists comparable in either scope or format to Jamess New York Edition (196). 4 Griffin explores, interestingly, the allegorical significance of Jamess own home, Lamb House, in Jamess essay Winchelsea, Rye and Denis Duval: The center of this homely landscape is the house that visibly embodies Jamess identity as a writer. Ones physical home is, as William James explains, an essential part of the self. . . . For Ruskin, houses should have such differences as might suit and express each mans character and occupation, and partly his history. Ruskin suggests that, in order for houses to fully accomplish their historical purpose, it would be well that blank stones should be left in places, to be inscribed with a summary of his [the inhabitants] life and of its experience, raising thus the habitation to a kind of monument. (159)
5 The allegory of the house of fiction has been praised by Edel for its suggestive formalism and its promise of critical insight. In Edels early essay on Jamess architectonic building of his house of fiction, The Architecture of Henry Jamess New York Edition, the mastery of Jamess vision is revealed in his grandiose scheme founded on Balzacs work. Edel claims that Jamess work has the order and strong structure that its author intended. In Edels edition of Jamess literary criticism, The House of Fiction: Essays on the Novel by Henry James, Jamess critical ambition seems to Edel to stress the ability of the reader to reveal the author hidden in the text. The allegory is to Edel one that reaches further than a mere allegory about the function of multiple narrative viewpoints. It is an allegory that refers to the mirror dance, as Edel has it, of the two consciousnessesthe critics and the authors, the readers and Jamess (17). It is exactly this mirror dance between James as critic of his own work and his younger self that the NYE postulates. 6 See Saltz for an excellent discussion of Jamess anxiety about photographic portraits of himself and their place in his autobiographies. 7 The uncanny possibilities of photographic representations as experienced by some Victorians and early Moderns also allowed for the belief in spirit photography and photographs of fairies. The latter most famously defended by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in his book The Coming of Fairies (1921). Grove recounts the Victorian scientific and popular obsession with spirit photography and its relation to fashionable spiritualism. Roellingers article on Jamess reliance on the reports and investigations of the Society for Psychical Research in The Turn of the Screw should also be recalled in this context. 8 Roland Barthess phrase in the original French edition, La chambre claire: note sur la photographie is le rfrent adhre 18). 9 A well-known literary example of this paradox that the life of the image may depend on the death of the model, close to Jamess work, would be Edgar Allan Poes The Oval Portrait (1850), in which a painter, in the dark shadowy tower of a gothic castle, has his young wife sitting for her portrait. The painter is depicted as drawing the very tints of his portrait from the real cheeks of his modeland the artistic process of the portrait coming to life (This is indeed Life itself! [253]) results in the slow and final death of the artists model/wife. 10 Lock refers to our paradoxical blindness to shadows in a tradition of representation that originates in skiaphilia: Shadows have the interest of the ubiquitous: instructed to look, one sees them everywhere. The strange thing is that our blindness to shadows has coexisted within a philosophical tradition whose point of departure and reflection is Platos cave, ourselves watching shadows, ourselves even the shadows that we watch (15). 11 In 1906 Coburn and James met twice to do Jamess portrait (Bogardus 10). The second meeting on June 12 in Rye resulted in at least three profiles from which James chose the smallest for the NYE frontispiece. James wrote to Coburn: We seem to have produced between us some very queer results, but the three profiles are interesting and the smallest (which is quite beautiful, I think) is the best for my purpose and will do very well indeed (qtd. in Bogardus 10). James directed Coburn to crop the picture above the hand so as, presumably, to get closer to a classical bust in profile. Interestingly, Buitenhuis reproduced a similar looking portrait of James by Coburn, though en face, as an illustration within his book The Grasping Imagination. This photograph is to be found in the Coburn Collection in the George Eastman House archive as one of the items in a bound collection of the photographs Coburn took for the NYEthe volume appears to be a gift from James to Coburn dated 1909, according to the inscription (Buitenhuis xi). This particular photograph is also from 1906 and might be the result of their first unsuc-

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cessful session in May 1906 at the Reform Club in London (Bogardus 10). It might also be conjectured, based on their likeness, that the en face photograph was part of the series taken at Lamb House in Rye in June, from which James selected the three profiles, the ones most suitable for his purpose. Placed next to each other, the two photographs have a striking resemblance to a police mug shot. It adds an interesting twist to the conception of the monumentalism of the photograph as proposed by Bogardus (185), if one imagines James posing for a fake mug shot in front of Coburns camera. James as master of all he surveyed (185) in Bogarduss reading of the bust has in the mug shot become the busted, the ruined and subjected object of the others gaze. 12 In Memories of the Blind, Jacques Derrida reads J. B. Suves painting Butades or the Origin of Drawing as suggesting the otherness inherent in self-portraiture. The shadows link to self-portraiture is evident, since the act of drawing on the shadow makes the disappearance of the self itself visible. Henry Jamess shadow-writing (revision) is, in my mind, closely related to this kind of recollection. Derrida finds that drawing on the silhouette of the other is at the heart of self-portraiture, as a kind of skiagraphia or shadow writing. Drawing and writing are closely related to blindness and opacity and not to the transparent light-writing of photographia. According to Derrida, the self-portrait is also like a ruin: The ruin does not supervene like an accident upon a monument that was intact only yesterday, Derrida writes, In the beginning there is ruin. Ruin is that which happens to the image from the moment of the first gaze. Ruin is the self-portrait, this face looked at in the face as the memory of itself, what remains or returns as a specter from the first moment one first looks at oneself and a figuration is eclipsed. The figure, the face, then sees its visibility being eaten away; it loses its integrity without disintegrating (68). 13 In this letter James refers to the ruined monument of Shelleys poem as an image representing the failure and poor reception of his New York Edition. Jamess biographers and critics have subsequently adopted the monumental imagery: Edels evaluation of the NYE in terms of its well-designed architecture exploits the same monumental rhetoric that Parker would later question. From Parkers point of view, Jamess monument causes his past achievements to collapse (114) as a consequence of his radically rewritten works. Both confirm, from different positions, Jamess ideal understanding of his NYE as a restored paper monument. WORKS BY HENRY JAMES GBThe Golden Bowl. New York: Penguin, 2001. PLThe Portrait of a Lady. New York: Norton, 1995. A Small Boy and Others. London: Gibson, 2001. LHJThe Letters of Henry James. Ed. Percy Lubbock. Vol. 1. New York: Scribners, 1920. OTHER WORKS Anesko, Michael. Friction with the Market: Henry James and the Profession of Authorship. New York: Oxford UP, 1986. Barchas, Janine. Graphic Design, Print Culture, and the Eighteenth-Century Novel. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2003. Barthes, Roland. Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography. Trans. Richard Howard. New York: Hill and Wang, 1981. . La chambre claire: note sur la photographie. Paris: Gallimard, 1980. Bogardus, Ralph F. Pictures and Texts: Henry James, A. L. Coburn, and New Ways of Seeing in Literary Culture. Ann Arbor: UMI, 1984. Bosanquet, Theodora. Henry James at Work. London: Hogarth, 1924. Buitenhuis, Peter. The Grasping Imagination: The American Writings of Henry James. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1970. Chartier, Roger. The Order of Books. Trans. Lydia G. Cochrane. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1994. Culver, Stuart. Ozymandias and the Mastery of Ruin: The Design of the New York Edition. Henry Jamess New York Edition: The Construction of Authorship. Ed. David McWhirter. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1995. 3957. de Man, Paul. The Rhetoric of Romanticism. New York: Columbia UP, 1984. Derrida, Jacques. Memoirs of the Blind: The Self-Portrait and Other Ruins. Trans. Pascale-Anne Brault and Michael Naas. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1993. Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan. The Coming of the Fairies. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1922. Edel, Leon. The Architecture of Henry Jamess New York Edition. New England Quarterly 24 (1951): 16978. , ed. The House of Fiction: Essays on the Novel by Henry James. London: Rupert Hart-Davis, 1957. Frank, Ellen Eve. Literary Architecture: Essays toward a Tradition: Pater, Hopkins, Proust, James. Berkeley: U of California P, 1979.

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Genette, Grard. Seuils. Paris: Edition de Seuil, 1987. . Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Trans. Jane E. Lewin. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1997. Griffin, Susan M. The Historical Eye: The Texture of the Visual in Late James. Boston: Northeastern UP, 1991. Gunning, Tom. In Your Face: Physiognomy, Photography, and the Gnostic Mission of Early Film. Modernism/Modernity 4.1 (1997): 129. Graham, Wendy. Pictures for Texts. Henry James Review 24 (2003): 126. Green-Lewis, Jennifer. Framing the Victorians: Photography and the Culture of Realism. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1996. Grove, Allen W. Rntgens Ghosts: Photography, X-Rays, and the Victorian Imagination. Literature and Medicine 16 (1997): 14173. Hamon, Philip. Expositions: Literature and Architecture in Nineteenth-Century France. Trans. Katia Sainson-Frank and Lisa Maguire. Berkeley: U of California P, 1992. Heffernan, James A. W. Museum of Words: The Poetry of Ekphrasis from Homer to Ashbery. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1993. Horne, Philip. Henry James and Revision: The New York Edition. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990. . Henry James and the Cultural Frame of the New York Edition. The Culture of Collected Editions. Ed. Andrew Nash. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. 95107. Hyde, H. Montgomery. Henry James at Home. London: Methuen, 1969. Lock, Charles. A Returning of Shadows. Literary Research/Recherche Littraire 29 (SpringSummer 1998): 1526. McWhirter, David. Introduction. Henry Jamess New York Edition: The Construction of Authorship. Ed. David McWhirter. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1995. 119. Millgate, Michael. Testamentary Acts: Browning, Tennyson, James, Hardy. Oxford: Clarendon, 1992. Mitchell, W. J. T. What do Pictures Want? The Lives and Loves of Images. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2005. Nadel, Ira B. Visual Culture: The Photo Frontispieces to the New York Edition. Henry Jamess New York Edition: The Construction of Authorship. Ed. David McWhirter. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1995. 90108. Nash, Andrew, ed. The Culture of Collected Editions. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. Nehamas, Alexander. What an Author Is. Journal of Philosophy 83 (1986): 68591. . Writer, Text, Work, Author. Literature and the Question of Philosophy. Ed. Anthony Cascardi. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1987. 26791. Parker, Hershel. Flawed Texts and Verbal Icons: Literary Authority in American Fiction. Chicago: Northwestern UP, 1984. Piper, David. The Image of the Poet: British Poets and their Portraits. Oxford: Clarendon, 1982. Poe, Edgar Allen. The Fall of the House of Usher and Other Writings. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986. Roellinger, Francis X. Psychical Research and The Turn of the Screw. American Literature 20 (January 1949): 40112. Rowe, John Carlos. Foreword. Henry Jamess New York Edition: The Construction of Authorship. Ed. David McWhirter. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1995. xxxiiixxvi. Rugg, Linda Haverty. Picturing Ourselves: Photography and Autobiography. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1997. Salmon, Richard. Henry James and the Culture of Publicity. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1997. Saltz, Laura. Henry Jamess Overexposures. Henry James Review 25 (2004): 25466. Simmel, Georg. Georg Simmel, 18581918: A Collection of Essays, with Translations and a Bibliography. Ed. Kurt H. Wolff. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 1959. Sontag, Susan. On Photography. New York: Penguin, 1977. Stoichita, Victor I. A Short History of the Shadow. London: Reaktion, 1997. Yacobi, Tamar. Pictorial Models and Narrative Ekphrasis. Poetics Today 16 (1995): 599649.