Summary: A metafictional historical novel about a cast of characters in Victorian England. Charles is a typical Victorian gentlemen engaged to a typical Victorian lady, but then he meets Sarah Woodruff, an enigmatic and tragic woman with a blurry past, and he is drawn to her in ways that he does not understand.

Review: A rich, enchanting work that functions on multiple levels. On one level there is the basic story of Charles and Sarah, their unavoidable passion for each other, and the complications that brings to Charles’ engagement to the traditionally feminine Ernestina. On the other level The French Lieutenant’s Woman is also a reflection on Victorianism and the values of that age, especially Victorianism as it contrasts against modernism. Fowles is particularly concerned with that fine edge, that sense of fin de siecle.

Fowles also writes a lot about the nature of writing itself, and the capacities of fiction. The metafictional aspect of the novel comes from his narrator’s constant interjections about the characters’ motives and decisions. It’s a self-reflexive novel in that it draws attention to the art of writing a novel, as well as the characters’ own life beyond that of the writer’s intentions.

With all that said, The French Lieutenant’s Woman seems like it would run the risk of being dry and boring, pseudo-intellectual with no entertainment. That’s far from true. Fowles writes in a lively manner that kept me interested even when he talked about things that didn’t interest me.

Conclusion: I can see why it’s so popular. One of those novels that’s hard to define because it doesn’t seem like it should be good, but it is. ( )

Sometime in the mid-1970s, when I was home from school (and looking for something new to read), I picked up a paperback in my parents’ library. The red-orange cover, the graphic of a woman lost in thought, the title The French Lieutenant’s Woman, all intriguing. I was riveted. Drawn quickly into the story and the storytelling, engaged on an emotional and psychological level, finding in the words, the story an echo of almost primal origin. A connection that no other novel had ever approximated, even as Fowles, the novelist, kept reminding me this was fiction.Some months, maybe even a year afterwards, my Dad and I went to a bookstore in Coconut Grove, Florida that sold ‘used’ books exclusively. It was the first trip I’d made to a ‘used books’ store, and in it I found a handsome, hardcover copy of The French Lieutenant’s Woman. My memory of the event is not particularly vivid. As with so many experiences, it is lost to the corners of time, a dust mote. But what I do remember is the flood of sensations set in motion as I studied this slightly worn copy of the hardcover edition: the mood of the dust jacket, its enigmatic beauty, so much greater an honor to the qualities of the novel. (If one can attribute causality to a single event, with that purchase, I became a book collector.)After completion of undergraduate studies, I traveled for three months to Europe. It was the autumn of 1979 and this was something of a last fling before I embarked upon the ‘rest of my life.’ During my time in England, I traveled to Lyme Regis, the setting for this novel, spent a largely rain-swept week with my journal and camera. I walked along the Cobb and in Ware Commons. The time alone was peaceful and contemplative. And yet, in keeping with the more muted tones of the novel, the visit was colored by a saddened almost inexplicable sense of loss. I drew down into myself, my journal, conscious and self-conscious, Adam thrust out of the Garden.Of course, through the passage of time (and with the disappearance of untold leisure hours), that sense of 'separation' has stilled to a soft echo. Now, nearing thirty years later, there are all the commitments of work and family, the pursuits, distractions and fulfillments of life. But there remains the ‘memory’ and in the memory the shrine we erect to preserve it. ( )

Not as impressive as it is popular; another psychological game... and some mysteries to solve. Not such a deep analysis of the human nature though. A story to be discussed in school. ( )

Clever book that gives more than one possible future and also steps back to look at the way a story and its characters take on a will of their own. Also lots of information about Victorian life. Worth rereading. ( )

One of Fowles' two best, along with Daniel Martin, although I have a soft spot for A Maggot as Well. You'll enjoy the latter if you like Iain Pears An Instance of the Fingerpost. ( )

This and the original version of The Magus are my two favourite books by Fowles. Really, really well written. ( )

I read this for A Level English in 1990 and still love it. ( )

There's nothing worse than reading a book and then having one of those ambiguous endings that make you think you completely missed the whole point and meaning of it. In a way, I feel like that with this one. I feel stupid, and unliterary. Bleh.

http://ktleyed.blogspot.com/2008/10/f... ( )

1844 The French Lieutenant's Woman, by John Fowles (read 7 Apr 1984) It is a very long time since I have been so impressed by a work of fiction as I have just been by this book. Not that I commend the book: there are aspects of it I deplore. But I found it an experience to read. I remember 15 years ago when it came out and was most noted--I did not think there was any particular point in reading it. The reason I read it now is that it is on Anthony Burgess' list of the 99 best novels published in English between 1939 and 1983. It tells of events in 1867 and 1868 in southern England, when Charles Smithson, engaged to Ernestina Freeman, meets Sarah Woodruff. She throws herself at him, he breaks his engagement, sends a note to Sarah which Sam, Charles' valet, does not deliver, and she leaves. Charles hunts her avidly--and then we have alternative endings. I prefer the one which indicates they got back together. The book is erudite, well-written, but with an attitude that is at odds with my philosophy. But it was compelling reading indeed. ( )

A personal favourite. Haunting, emotional, memorable - i still want to visit Lyme Regis to this day. Heathcliff - disturbing, lovable, confused but brings out the maternal instinct. A classic yet original in many ways. ( )

I couldn’t establish if the author was actually the narrator. There is a point where the narrator describes himself and it matches the picture of the author hence my confusion. The novel is set in 1867 in Lyme Regis. If you are a reader of Victorian literature then you’ll understand the social set ups and class systems but even though I have read novels of this time I still struggled with many aspects and this is down to the narrator.

I had many ‘arguments’ with the narrator whilst I was reading as I didn’t like some of the styles. The reader is presented with a narrator that is telling us a story as he is writing it but when he comes to a certain point where a character might do something he precedes to tell the reader he doesn’t know what will happen as his character hasn’t grown yet, or later on in the novel he’ll say a character has developed and is making their own mind up about something. It was too contrived for me and made it easy to not have to fully develop the plot and characters.

Had I simply been reading a story about the characters of this novel written in the 1960s but set approximately 100 years earlier, it wouldn’t have been anything different so credit to John Fowles for trying to write something more unusual than the norm. I knew nothing of the plot when I read it but I think most people know something of the story and I don’t know if Sarah’s crime was handled in the right way or not. However, I did become caught up in the other character’s thoughts and opinions about Sarah, the French Lieutenant’s Woman as well as her own absorption in her reputation. I think I’ll read something else by him but only because it’s part of a list of books I’m reading through. ( )

The usual metafictional elements and existential philosophy in Fowles' work are toned down in The French Lieutenant's Woman, to which the default critical reaction would probably (and seems to) be that it's more mature and integrated and well-realized and blahblah, as opposed to the vulgar formal experimentalism of his other works. But I dunno, I kind of miss the sensationalism of The Magus or the wormholes of Mantissa. What this book, as kind of a 19th-century dry run for A Maggot, has going for it in my opinion is two things in particular, both in support of the same end - Fowles' amazing powers of simulation, and the very old-fashioned realist way he goes about illuminating his characters' mental states and brain furniture as typical Victorian dudez (although he's postmodern about the upfront way he does it - artificially foregrounding the curtain the traditional novelist hides behind), one; and two and more, the wonderful, fantastic "Wikipedification" of the novel that he achieves, where notes and digressions give facts, supporting evidence, discuss situations in historical context, recall who else lived at site X and when, and generally give all the sort of infosurrounds that we (I) are increasingly going to the internet for as a standard part of reading. It's a paper text with its own (paper) hyperlinks, and that's pretty cool.

And then he doesn't really know how to end it and treats us to some structural hay-making therefrom, which is okay, but also it's like, he really doesn't know how to end it, and the final fudge and paean to freedom are sort of a less clean-lined version of the end of The Magus. But if you had to learn about the Victorian Era and were only allowed to read one book on it ever . . . for its facts and psychology, this wouldn't be the worst option. ( )

The Victorian age was rarely kind to strong-willed, self-possessed women. Many who displayed these traits and refused to submit to the standards of the day, were often thought ‘mad’; to the Victorians, it would be the only explanation for such outrageous behavior.

This struggle was clearly reflected in the character of Sarah Woodruff:

"…it was an unforgettable face, and a tragic face. Its sorrow welled out of it as purely, naturally and unstoppably as water out of a woodland spring. There was no artifice there, no hypocrisy, no hysteria, no mask; and above all, no sign of madness. The madness was in…the lack of reason for such sorrow; as if the spring was natural in itself, but unnatural in welling from a desert."

As she, and we the reader, come to discover - some struggles teach us things about ourselves we could not have learned otherwise:

"I do not wish to marry because…of my past, which habituated me to loneliness. I had always thought I hated it. I now live in a world where loneliness is most easy to avoid. And now I have found that I treasure it. I do not want to share my life. I wish to be what I am, not what a husband, however kind, however indulgent, must expect me to become in marriage."

If it were not for the use and tone of her language, this explanation could be given by any woman today. But in Victorian times, this was, to many, 'madness'. It must also be noted that men also had their cross to bear in terms of their behavior, and what was expected of them in regards to women and marriage. This story is not only about the relationship of a man and a woman - but of the struggle each have in attempting to gain their freedom from the demands of society. Again, a sentiment shared today by many who want to live as they wish, not as they are expected to do.

I wish I could say that this is a great book and that I would recommend to others. But I cannot. There have been very few books which I have ever failed to, or struggled through, in order to finish – unfortunately, this book was one of them. I tried. I really tried.

One problem I had, was that scattered among the beautiful phrases and passages, were words little used, or so archaic, I was continually referring to my Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language. Now as you may note from my tone, I feel quite confident in my understanding, and use, of vocabulary. However, I found it very inconvenient being forced to refer back to a dictionary the size of most household pets. Let’s just say that it is not conducive to doing any kind of light bedroom reading - unless of course, you live in one of those scary areas of town and need to keep protection close at hand. Trust me, tossing this dictionary at an intruder is the equivalent of using a bowling ball except with very sharp corners – that is if you can lift the darned thing.

All kidding aside, I liked the story’s premise, and for the most part, the author's telling of it. For me, the main issue were the passages between the action. I see them as buffers which help transition the reader from one scene to the other; ones which move you along through the book and set the tone so that you float comfortably through the narrative. I cannot say exactly why, but I never felt comfortable reading this novel. It just didn’t flow smoothly enough for my liking. As I stated earlier, I found myself struggling (or flipping ahead) to get through the book.

For this reason, I am giving this book 2 stars, as I never felt like putting it back on the shelf and leaving it there; I always went back, hoping it would get better.

Would I read it again, perhaps to give it another chance? I doubt it.
Will I ever read Fowles again? Yes and in fact, I have.

You see, I may give up on a book, but not the writer. I believe everyone deserves to be evaluated for more than just one aspect of themselves, or their work. Don't you? ( )

I just finished "The French Lieutenant's Woman." It's not a page turner, but John Fowles weaves his words in a most interesting way. Into a rather traditional romance, he adds historical excerpts, philosophy, science, and even himself in a few places. His approach results in a stronger story and a richer message about the potential triumph of individual choice over cultural constraints. I struggle to recall how this came to be on my "to read" list. Is it - written in 1969 - already a classic? I'm sure it appeared as a possible choice in high school lit, but it now seems very modern against even Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Of course, no self-respecting teenage boy would select such a title over Beowulf or Heart of Darkness, but it's a worthy consideration because it addresses the confusion of self in relationships, and the clash between duty and choice. ( )

An excellent book, with a great opening. The book is also an education in Victorian social history. I also loved Harold Pinter's screen play for the film.

A very emotional novel. Simultaneously I wanted Charles to have a successful life, either with Ernestina or with Sarah, and wanted him to fall flat on his face for being the ignoramus he was. The early descriptions of Sarah’s downfall at the hands of a cruel and deceitful Frenchman are well drawn, but somehow they ring false. Sarah is not as complimentary of her ex-lover as she might have been when describing her ensnarement and seduction. She keeps him below her, describing a rather uneducated man who was transparently false and manipulative. How on earth could a woman who was described as having the ability to at a glance discern the true character of anyone she meets fall for this character? Sarah explains when she tells Charles that she cannot reasonably hope to marry an equal, so therefore she must marry shame. How altruistic. Sarah’s daily life with the cruel, hypocritical and bigoted harpy Mrs. Poulteney makes us sympathetic all over again though and we think that indeed Sarah must be a bit mentally unstable after all.

At first I wanted to believe Sarah was a wronged woman just trying to survive in the ghastly restrictive Victorian world. I wanted to believe that Charles loved her. Then when he’s presented with logical reasons to the contrary, I wanted him to take Dr. Grogan’s advice and quit her; the scheming wench. He should have let the conventions of the day protect him. In one ‘ending’ he does this and he and Ernestina marry and have a relatively successful (if not quite happy) life together. One breathes a sigh of relief at the bullet dodge. But then there is a lot more novel to get through and we’re immediately told that this might not be really what happens. I found Sam’s betrayal of Charles to be quite cruel despite Charles kind of deserving it.

The scene where Charles leaves Ernestina is the most gut-wrenching of them all. She is palpably in pain and believes that Charles could have made her a better person and in return she would give him the ultimate bridal gift; faith in himself. That nearly made me cry because she totally nailed it. Charles lacks self-esteem in all but the most superficial way. He is a man of his time; liberally educated, an amateur scientist, a doubter of religious dogma, a gentleman of sufficiently independent means and will almost surely inherit an estate from a bachelor uncle. He knows that Ernestina is beneath him socially, but thinks that marriage is something he should do and she will do as well as any; at least she has wealth as a bonus.

His perceived moral and social expectations drive most of his behavior. He wants to be normal, respected and liked. It’s only when he allows himself to become emotional about Sarah, do we see him act outside his catechism. Though even then he views himself as munificent savior as Sarah herself assigns him this role. He feels gallant and romantic envisioning her rescue and elevation to his social rank. In the final ending, she eschews this even after her deliberate turning of the knife in his wound. She maintains that she will never marry and prefers to live with their child as a purported widow, drawing on the kindness of her new benefactor. She denies she ever intended to be cruel and destroy his life, but she is unconvincing. Charles leaves this final vignette as a broken and defeated man. It’s not as satisfying as I thought it would be. I still harbor sympathy for fallible, old Charles and his delusions.

Because this is the longest ending, I think it’s the one Fowles most wanted the reader to accept. Some people were annoyed with this device and the other where Fowles editorializes the story along the way, commenting on differences between his modern era of 1969 and that of the story; 1867. I found it very interesting and diverting. Why should every storyteller tell his story in exactly the same way? The enigmatic quality to the solution adds to its overall worth and if it was done in a more straightforward way would surely leave a less seismic impression. ( )

Although this novel is set in 1867, the reader is not allowed to forget that it is written by a twentieth century man with a twentieth century man's perspective and the gift of hindsight. This makes for an intriguing reading experience. Whilst the Victorian atmosphere is beautifully created, Fowles jolts us out of the story from time to time ("Those gaslit hours that had to be filled, and without benefit of cinema or television!"). He even devotes a whole chapter to an examination of his fictional technique, the nature of fiction itself (it is made up, yet must seem both real and plausible, even though the fictional world is "other than the world that is"). He gives the reader to believe that the author is being led by his characters, who take on a life of their own.

The story itself is not a million miles away from the 'sensation' novels of Wilkie Collins and Mary Elizabeth Braddon. At the centre of the novel is Sarah Woodruff, an ex-governess, ruined by her relationship (assumed to be sexual) with a now-departed French sailor for whom she appears to pine, earning her the nicknames - depending on the speaker- of Tragedy, or the French Lieutenant's Whore.

Sarah remains a mysterious, vaguely annoying character. At times she seems self-contained, admirable, refusing to conform to behaviour expected by her society. At other times she seems merely self-pitying and self-destructive.

Her destiny becomes entangled with that of Charles Smithson, who is also in emotional rebellion against the values of a rigid Victorian society. Yet there is an unattractive priggishness in him, a sense that he truly can't escape from what society has made of him - a man who believes that women are essentially inferior creatures, who are either respectable or fallen. Although engaged to the shallow, virginal Ernestina Freeman (another symbol of the times) he is attracted to Sarah, whose self-containment and strangeness throws Ernestina's shallow vulgarity into even greater relief.

Fowles posits a number of different endings for the story. In fiction, as in life, we are offered choices, and must decide which one to take. In one ending, Sarah and Charles are reconciled. In another, they meet, but there is only bitterness between them. Earlier on, Fowles suggests that in one ending Charles marries Ernestina - although he suggests that the marriage would not be a particularly happy one. The ending that you choose to accept as the most plausible one will depend, perhaps, on whether you view the story through 20th century or 19th century eyes. Fowles allows us to do both. [August 2006] ( )

I really enjoyed this book. Great writing style, interesting plotline and good characters. Interesting on an intellectual level and a great story into the bargain. ( )

I liked the movie better than the book. I had to look up a word or so on every page & it really slowed me down at the time. ( )

I suppose this is both a satire, and a look at an early time period, and the effect that has on someone wanted to be different in such a rigidly repressive and classist society as late 19th century pommieland.

Not interesting enough at times, though with the flipflopping. ( )

This has a story within a story, which is always one of my favorite elements. Incredibly rich and flavorful. ( )

I loved this book -- exquisite writing; profound insights on the nature of man; spirituality; romantic love; time -- not to mention an engaging Victorian love triangle with the unforgettable and controversial Sarah Woodruff. So is she a sick drama queen or a liberated woman ahead of her time? In Charles I felt we got a peek into the real mind of characters we've known from 19th century English lit. So this is what Mr's. Willoughby and Darcy truly thought about and did in their spare time! Breaking down Victorian customs and morality and seeing them reflected in modern man was brilliant.

I cannot say enough about this novel. It is original, beautiful, engaging with so many passages that manage to articulate things about life that I have only tossed around in my subconscious. Fans of George Eliot, Jane Austen, A.S. Byatt's Possession would love this novel. It is not often that a novel that is NOT in 'mystery/thriller' genre has me on the edge of my seat - breathless, yet reflecting deeply about life. ( )

Fowles, John. The French Lieutenant's Woman. Back Bay Books, Boston, 1969. I bought this book at the state IE tournament at the University of Puget Sound. I put it in my bag and promptly forgot about it. I'm sure glad I found it and read it! This is a compelling book on three levels. First, and most basic, Fowles has created great characters and a compelling story. Second, he weaves in fascinating commentary on life in the Victorian era; it's a great work of historical fiction. And finally, the experimentation with storytelling is mind-blowing, right up there with some of the best of Tim O'Brien ("How to tell a true war story"). The alternate endings, the explicit interjection of the author into the story; all of these work to make the deeper meaning of the book that much more captivating. This book will definitely be worth re-reading in the future. ( )

This book is so well-written that during one romantic passage, I nearly jumped off my chair. Magnificent. ( )

Still wonderful all these years later. I originally read this when it was published and have reread it to teach postmodernism. I now understand the style better but it's a great take on the Victorian novel. ( )