The Portrait of a Lady, The Master, and Damnation, characterized by intimacy and interiority, are savage in their affect and practically ooze feeling. Moreover, they are narrative triumphs which make for a strange trifecta but somehow, a fitting one.
The Shelley I admire is the the other half of the famous couple: the Shelley who built a monster. I look at each consumerist tragedy as if it were a parts list, rather than an approach to sincerity by way of a font of irony.
As an audience, we simultaneously see a couple completely absorbed in each other’s being, a whirling crowd casting judgment, and a young woman’s heart breaking. We see a coming together, then a ripping apart.