In which Young Henry confronts the traumas of his past — the trauma of being, of falling in love with another man, of childhood, of feeling inadequate next to his brother, of the eternal search for the distinguished Thing which has no name — and, having been divested of the need for clear answers, learns to accept the vicissitudes and forks of love in all their hazy glory — just in time to write those storied late masterpieces, THE SACRED FOUNT (the breakthrough), and then AMBASSADORS, WINGS OF THE DOVE, and THE GOLDEN BOWL.

Late Henry James: "The port from which I set out was, I think, that of *the essential loneliness of my life* — and it seems to be the port also, in sooth, to which my courser again finally directs itself! this loneliness (since I mention it) — what is it still but the deepest thing about one? Deeper, about *me*, at any rate, than anything else; deeper than my 'genius,' deeper than my 'discipline,' deeper than my pride, deeper, above all, than the deep counterminings of art."

Edel: "Of all writers, Henry James was the novelist perhaps most in tune with what people said behind the masks they put on. The aggressive emotion that masquerades as a cutting witticism; the euphoria that disguises depression; the sudden slip of the tongue that reveals the opposite of what is intended — James had learned long ago to read 'psychological signs ... What's ignoble is the detective and the keyhole.' But in THE SACRED FOUNT, there seems to be a distinct uneasiness: 'Have I been right? How can I be sure?' A little voice whispers that omniscient novelists can be wrong as well as right."