Dissatisfaction with Where Angels Fear to Tread

I hate to give a book an unsatisfactory rating, but after reading Where Angels Fear to Tread I have concluded that it is not the best of E.M. Forster's works.

As I was reading the first half of the novel, I did not know what to make of the main character, Lilia. She seemed foolish and flightly, impulsive and ignorant. I was not quite able to sympathize with her, because I felt she had brought her unhappy marriage upon herself. I was not angry with her character either; honestly, I didn't really understand why she was a main character at all. Interestingly enough, she died in childbirth before I could really form any solid opinions. This event puzzled me more exceedingly, however; what was Forster's motive behind the new main character, Philip Herriton? Philip was indifferent to the world, it seemed. He didn't take chances, and he always expected to fail because he never tried. Forster suggests that he did this to avoid pain and disappointment, but these conclusions were told to the reader by the character himself; there was little room to infer for oneself. I did like Philip much more than Lilia, because he was a relatable character and I had the pleasure of watching him change and develop throughout the novel.

Still, Philip did not really engage my attention until I read of his interest in Caroline Abbott, whom I believed had great potential as a character. I witnessed Philip's subtle observations of Caroline's character, and hoped that the novel would redeem itself by seeing them married. Perhaps Caroline would change Philip, I thought. Maybe he would become a more likeable, passionate character instead of the uninterested, apathetic man he was so far.

I read of these people's troubles, their thoughts, and their hopes (or at least Philips'). I laughed at the absurdity of Philip's ridiculous, unreasonable sister, Harriet. I hoped that the few touching moments between Philip and Caroline would amount to something, and found myself beginning to expect a happy, tolerable ending.

BAM! Forster surprised me, which is not uncommon of him. I read plenty of surprises in one of his other novels, A Room With A View, and I really enjoyed them. This surprise, however, had not the same effect. Instead of love between the admirable Caroline and the impressively changed Philip, as I had hoped (and expected), I read the last two pages and found that Caroline was in love with somebody else.

The reasons Forster gave for this unlikely attraction are unclear to me. As I am a girl, I know how often we can fall for someone based on appearances, assertions, or other equally silly "reasons." But this was absolutely irksome. Forster had taken the pains of making Philip a character worthy of Caroline, and then decided his reader must be content with the fact that he (Philip) was still not passionate enough to attract her.

Although I think E.M. Forster an excellent writer, his first novel did not satisfy me. I didn't follow many of his conclusions, and those that I understood were explicit rather than implicit. I think Forster could have justified his reasons for the ending, but only if he had explained his motives more completely and provided more background information. My copy is only 117 pages, and I think a good story could have been made if the quantity and (sadly) quality was increased.

So, for those who have read the book: what do you think? Did you feel as if Forster explained himself fully? Of the two novels, (A Room With A View and Where Angels Fear to Tread) which did you like better?

For those who haven't read the book: Why do you think authors fail to explain their motives to the readers? Is it easier to "tell" the reader something than to "show" it to them? Can books still be successes if they rely more on telling than showing?

Frankenstein's Theme of the Consequences of Carelessness and Cruelty

Mary Shelley's Frankenstein overflows with profound themes that force the reader to second-guess the compassion often attributed to humanity. Indeed, one of the major themes of the novel is the inevitable, often terrible, consequence of carelessness and cruelty.

"Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me." Doctor Frankenstein, about whom the book mostly revolves, believed these thoughts as a young scientist, dreaming of discovering the means of giving inanimate matter life. No thoughts of the doctor's are spent upon the effects of his future success; he sees no possibility of danger or error. The reader wonders: does the doctor ever consider, while he is making the monster, to make it beautiful instead of ugly? Is he so blinded by the prospect of fame that he fails to notice the need for improvement upon a "sight tremendous and abhorred?"
Merriam Webster defines carelessness as "a free from care; untroubled; indifferent; unconcerned; not taking care." It is quite a pity that the doctor was so utterly unconcerned with consequences that he neglected to construct a creature that would be accepted by the human race. Because as much as we would all love to deny it, humanity is generally incredibly vain. Reading Frankenstein has compelled me to believe that vanity is one of humanity's greatest flaws. Hardly do moderately ugly things (or persons) become accepted; imagine how awful it was for the monster to be considered the most detestable, grotesque creature ever shunned by humanity. His heartbreak must have been unbearable. If Dr. Frankenstein had thought beyond his ambitions of fame and recognition to provide for the life he was creating, the novel's central conflict, that of the monster's unparalleled loneliness because of his appearance, would not have existed.
Cruelty follows the creation of the monster almost immediately, and many may assert that the act of creation was cruel as well., since the monster was created without regard to its future happiness. From the monster's narrative, we learn many of the details of his early life. He learns to adore the DeLacey family; yes, the doctor (and the reader) realizes, this creature has the capacity to love. Yet he is met with extreme cruelty, even from these supposed "best" of people. They enter the house and find him gruesome and threatening, rejecting him violently. Here Shelley makes us wonder whether the monster's later vicious crimes (the murders of William, Clerval, and Elizabeth and the framing of Justine) are somewhat understandable. Murder is never the right option, but after the DeLaceys cast him off as detestable scum, one can only imagine that he will be angry. His anger is justified to many readers, although his outlet for this anger (murder) is not.

So my question to the reader (of Frankenstein and of this humble blog post) is this: are these crimes equally terrible? Carelessness created a monster who was hated by those he loved, as well as his creator. Cruelty fueled the monster's anger towards humanity, and perhaps played a part in his impulsive birth.
What do you think? Comments are welcome!

Potential Summer Blog/ My First Post!

I was geniunely disappointed when I discovered the lack of summer AP English homework. I had looked forward to writing essays, answering questions, and analyzing literature in preparation for the class next year. The homework, however, is limited to reading two books, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Into the Wild. No summaries, notes, or essays are required. In the wake of this blow, I thought I'd look into creating some type of weekly online blog (hopefully on Facebook, which most of my friends and family use) so that I could practice my writing over the summer. I'm still debating this, as I have a long list of books that I plan on reading, and I want to start studying for the SAT this summer. I also quite enjoy sleeping :-) Since I'm new to "blogging," the question remains in my mind: what exactly is the purpose of a blog?

In pursuit of the answer, I looked up "blog" in the dictionary, and my results are as follows:
n. A weblog.intr.v. blogged, blog·ging, blogs
To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a weblog.[(we)blog.]blog·ger n.

Perhaps it is unusual for a blogger to ask questions of her readers, but in the spirit of individuality I will anyways. Should I start a weekly summer blog?