In A Room with a View, E.M. Forster's hatred of the bourgeois is sort of silly and charming. No one's life is ruined except perhaps Cecil's, but he'll be all right in the end.
This cannot be said of poor Leonard Bast, in Howards End. The Schlegels manage, with no hint of remorse, to kill him. He literally dies. Because they, in their hateful, inconsiderate way, make him irrevocably dissatisfied with his life. Indeed, they give him such an over-weening pride that he refuses help when they finally realize that they might have some responsibility for his tragic penury. And this is all their fault.
And for some reason this is approved? Because "only connect" is a sufficient creed? Even if it kills people?
Art is all very well. But isn't it supposed to take you out of the Slough of Despond?