Unlike "Maurice," "A Room with a View," and "Passage to India," I found this book a slog. For the first time, I felt Forster's characterization was off. Margaret, in particular, seemed to twist herself in mental knots justifying her relationship with Mr. Wilcox. I just didn't believe it.

I wanted to like it, because I am fascinated by Forster's themes--money, class, bohemianism (social iconoclasm?), sexism--and some of his sentences sing. But too many in this novel sound like extended gargling.

It's rare that I feel this way, but I like the movie better. Anthony Hopkins gives Mr. Wilcox a charm that makes Margaret's attraction understandable, and that didn't come across in the book.