The Education of Henry Adams (1907)

Pity poor Henry Adams, grandson of John Quincy Adams and great-grandson of John Adams. Trapped in 19th-century egalitarian society, burdened by his ancestry, pursuing an immoderately modest career as a historian and teacher. His autobiography (far more heavy than mere memoir) is considered one of the greatest in American literature. Yet it never mentions that he was married (let alone the tragedy of it)—I spent a lot of the book idly wondering if he were gay. Though it tells many details of his life it is more on the order of a think piece on history and historical patterns. His ideas about the Virgin Mary representing the primary motivating force of the 12th century (yes, the 12th, it's all explained), and the electric dynamo that of the 20th century, get a lot of gloomy oxygen here. He worries a lot about science, fully aware of Darwin and evolution. The reason I say we should pity him is in how he was just a little early for the things that would really get to him. If the trend in human affairs is alarmingly away from order and toward chaos, then relativity and especially quantum mechanics would have unnerved him badly. Though he considered himself a failure as historian and teacher, no one else did, and his sweeping historical perspective is often impressive. His approach is allusive and indirect—he expects you to know as much as him, though likely very few do, then or now. And not me—sometimes, especially toward the end when he tries to pull together all the pieces into a unified field theory of history, I glazed over, I must admit. Adams is at once deeply American and yet deeply elitist. His one reference to Mark Twain is mocking, he admires Henry James but brother William James more, and his best friends were even more accomplished than he was. He was in London as a young man for the duration of the Civil War, working with his father who was the ambassador to Britain. That's probably the best part in terms of history, event, and detail, with a wonderful view of Britain and the European powers during the time. But this morning I keep coming back to the fact that I had to go to Wikipedia to find out not only that he was married, but that his wife was mentally ill and killed herself. Talk about compartmentalization. That's some strange stuff to leave out of an autobiography. It certainly fits with the constant of Adams's doleful tone, etched with small sparks of venom. I don't come away from it feeling I know that much about Henry Adams except as something like the brooding spirit of American history. It's a stiff jolt of American character, not always recognizably human, perhaps the intent.

In case the library is closed due to pandemic. (Library of America)