The great themes of Henry James in capsule form

As friend of W.S. wrote in an e-mail that he forwarded to me, Dickens didn't corner the market on great literary names. Henry James for one was no slouch in that department - not sure what she cited (something from the Golden Bowl, that I once found unreadable - but who knows maybe I'll try again), but I'd add: How about Caspar Goodwood, from Portrait? or how about Winterbourne, from Daisy Miller, which I picked up last night. Daisy M. was on the reading list in my freshman British Lit course a million years ago - I think it stands, alongside Turn of the Screw, as James at his most accessible, and probably a better choice for an intro Brit Lit class (do they even teach this anymore? I hate to think - does anyone still read Chaucer? Spenser? Milton?) because it introduces in capsule form many of the great James themes - especially Americans abroad and the clash between the seemingly sophisticated and cultured Old World and the seemingly boorish and ill-mannered New - but the trick is that the Old World is enervated and corrupt. If only the wandering Americans could see that, they'd be far better off. Daisy Miller, first (of 2) parts, takes place during a very short time span when Winterbourne meets Daisy, and her bratty kids brother, Randolph, on a veranda or walkway near a fancy Swiss hotel where they're both staying - Winterbourne offers to take her to visit the Castle at Chillon, she agrees, and they go without an accompaniment: scandalous! The point seems to be that Daisy is a flirtatious, loquacious American without culture - but she's stylish and very pretty. The tragedy of her life - all of us can see it coming - is that she tries to be something she's not. She would be far better off at home in Schenectady or somewhere else in the States, meeting people her age, learning something, doing something to help others or to help her family and friends at the very least - instead of these ridiculous "tours" that Americans with far too much money indulged in a century ago. The more disturbing character, though, is Winterbourne - who the hell is he, what does he do all day, how did he come upon a fortune that allows him to do nothing but travel and visit? What kind of indulgent life is this? James had his face pressed up against the glass - he socialized with many people like Winterbourne - and I suspect he despised them: he was engaged all the time, with his art. But as an author he doesn't really take a stance - just lets Winterbourne play out his role. He eviscerates W. with one sharp sentence, though - something like: His friends thought he was a friendly and amiable sort and his enemies thought - but, of course, he has no enemies. Not an exact quote - but the unspoken thought behind it is that the author is cunningly protecting W. - that we will know far more about him that W. knows about himself. We are his enemies.