Connect what? Why the gulls and the stars and the the wych-elm and the tender cruelties of love itself with the garage, the motors, the nervous stupidity of Dolly and the middle-aged materialism of Henry Wilcox. "Only to connect!" says Margaret Wilcox, looking deep through the prosaic kindliness and competence of her band. But Forster stands four square to the "winds and odors of life," presenting a rich complex of characters and reactions from which to evolve the more delicate nuances of his theme. Many adventurers into cryptic borderlands have seemed to detach themselves from other phases of thought and feeling as if unable to bear the touch of a too crass reality. And the main reason, one decides, is that the author of Howards End has realized the importance of relating even the most tentative conclusion about life as firmly as possible to the whole of life. Few modern fictionists have revealed so robust a sense of the elusive and intangible as one finds in this novel of E.
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