| Title | : | The House of Mirth |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1844082938 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781844082933 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 351 |
| Publication | : | First published October 14, 1905 |
Lily Bart, beautiful, witty and sophisticated, is accepted by 'old money' and courted by the growing tribe of nouveaux riches. But as she nears thirty, her foothold becomes precarious; a poor girl with expensive tastes, she needs a husband to preserve her social standing, and to maintain her in the luxury she has come to expect. Whilst many have sought her, something - fastidiousness or integrity- prevents her from making a 'suitable' match.
The House of Mirth Reviews
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Poor, lovely Lily Bart
Her tragic story
will break your heart
She runs in the best circles
Wears the right clothes
And flirts with rich men
But everyone knows
That she needs to marry
Someone – and fast!
At 29 her looks won’t last
She’s ringing up debts
Borrowing from men
And displeasing their wives
Not to mention her friend
Lawrence Selden, a lawyer (but not very rich)
It’s Gilded Age New York
And life’s a bitch
If you’re not old money
Like the Trenors, Dorsets
And that odd Percy Gryce
The most you can do is play very nice
Like Sam Rosedale, the Brys
The Gormers and such,
Who buy their way in (i.e., never go "dutch”)
Just remember: this clique
Who summer in Newport and vacate in France
Can shut you out of the social dance
Which brings me back to Lily Bart
Who’s clearly not as smart as she seems
Stepping right into a terrible scheme
And refusing to clear her name
Or go along with the game
Even though, in the end, it causes her shame
Does she have a choice?
A tragic flaw?
Or is her inaction the point of it all?
Is her refusal to play her hand
A critique of women’s roles
In a world ruled by Man?
And what of that ending
That seems out of place?
I won't give a spoiler (that’d be a disgrace)
But melodrama and tears crop up near the end
When Lily appears
To want for a friend
Her author, Ms. Wharton, knew this world well
It looked like heaven
But was nasty as hell
It’s a fine portrait of Old New York
But please don’t forget another great work
An even better one, written
Some 16 years hence
Full of wisdom, passion, sensibility and sense
The title? You guessed it: The Age Of Innocence -
There’s actually little mirth in this story. I read this after enjoying the author’s Ethan Frome and realizing again what a good writer Edith Wharton is.
Lily Bart belong to the ‘jet set’ of the early 1900’s. She hangs out in New York mansions, Newport and the Riviera. (As did the author.) Lily was from a wealthy family that spent down its fortune and then her parents died. Now she’s looking for a husband with money. She had some opportunities to marry earlier but she finds she’s waited a bit long – she’s 29 now and has to consider pompous, milksop 40-year old mama’s boys, and even someone who “…might ultimately decide to do her the honor of boring her for life.” Another is a “portentous little ass.”
Without a mother she doesn’t have anyone to play the field for her and line up men behind the scenes. Her income is barely enough to keep up with her clothing budget and card-playing money. She lives with various aunts for periods of time. I’m amazed at how much she and all these these folks talk about their money and money problems in casual conversation.
She’s very prim and proper in her relationships with men but she loses her reputation through no fault of her own. She feels that “…however unfounded the charges against her, she must be to blame for their having been made.” Her aunt dies and her money problems and her reputation problems force her to drop out of high society. She takes a seamstress job and lives in a boarding house, cementing her fate.
There’s excellent writing and witty comments:
As her father aged and was ill, he got to the point where “It seemed to tire him to rest.”
Of one of the matrons: “… she couldn’t bear new people when she hadn’t discovered them herself.”
She “…was accustomed, in the way of happiness, to such scant light as shone through the cracks of other people’s lives.”
“…like many unpunctual persons, Mrs. Gormer disliked to be kept waiting.”
A great story and it kept my attention all the way through. Thanks to Heather, Dan and Joshie for encouraging me to read more of Edith Wharton in their comments on my review of Ethan Frome.
Top photo: New York Fifth Avenue mansions of the early 1900's.
Newport, RI Seaview Terrace mansion.
The author (1862-1937) from edithwharton.org -
On occasions like this, I rue the absence of a 'tragedy' shelf or some variation of the same because mere 'melancholia' seems too modest, too equivocal a word to convey the kind of heartbreak Lily Bart's story inflicted on me.
It is, perhaps, apposite that I came to this with my mind still fresh from Anita Desai's stirring homage to a resolutely single, unsung fictional heroine who holds together a disintegrating family, unacknowledged, misunderstood, left behind and forgotten (
Clear Light of Day). Because Desai's Bim and Wharton's Lily are both flawed figures who manage to stand erect, weathering storms of hostile circumstances that whittle down their will to live and sense of self worth. Even when the vicissitudes of fate leave them psychologically battered and dying inside, they manage to maintain their slippery grip on ideals that cost them dearly. And how many tragedies can we think of, in which the female protagonist's tragic status is not a mere matter of simple victimization at the hands of patriarchal figures of authority but is, instead, locked in a complex configuration of missed chances, reluctance to surrender self-esteem in exchange for societal approval and an unsympathetic social milieu?She was realizing for the first time that a woman's dignity may cost more to keep up than her carriage; and that the maintenance of a moral attribute should be dependent on dollars and cents, made the world appear a more sordid place than she had conceived it.
Lily Barton's ill-fated fall from grace is not just the tragedy of a woman of insufficient means restricted to using her beauty as currency. It is representative of a greater human predicament. Unlike Desai's ornately crafted family drama taking place amidst the squalor of an Old Delhi neighborhood, Lily's tale comes swathed in layers of exquisite riches. The shimmer of expensive china, the buzz of vacuous conversations conducted in affected accents, the ring of self-assured laughter spilling forth from the made up faces of social butterflies and the dispassionate flirtations between social aspirants and calculating husband-hunters provide a glittering backdrop to her spiralling descent into the realms of penury and obscurity. But this outward show of grandeur and exuberance stands in stark contrast to the bleakness of Lily's inner world - the site of a perennial conflict between necessity and moral rectitude - which Wharton limns with stunning precision and empathy. Lily's bitter ending hits home not because she is a woman forced to choose between a marriage of convenience and complete annihilation but because that tragedy is one of her own making, a fatal repercussion of her last defiant refusal to play by the rules of society.If she slipped she recovered her footing, and it was only afterward that she was aware of having recovered it each time on a slightly lower level.
Why Edith Wharton does not share the same pedestal of authorial eminence with figures like Fitzgerald, I don't understand. Both
The Great Gatsby and 'The House of Mirth' indict the soulless heart of a blindly hedonistic social order and yet Wharton seems to be often viewed simply as a woman's writer. As if to write from the female perspective and use female bondings and rivalry as tools of social critique automatically qualify as criteria for exclusion of a work from greater recognition.She had fallen, she had "gone under," and true to the ideal of their race, they were awed only by success-by the gross tangible image of material achievement.
To hell with the canon then. Gatsby's tragedy transpires as a result of his naivete and callow optimism. Lily's ultimate end is an act of conscious self abnegation and implicit resistance to the value judgment systems which govern the world she inhabits. It should be obvious which story's razor-sharpness cut me to the bone. -
What a piece of art
Is our Lily Bart
Surrounded by men who don’t need much urgin’
Yet Lily is a 29 year old virgin
She’s a part of a truly disgusting society – the filthy rich of New York, 1905 - all they do is party till five in the morning and have discreet affairs and play bridge for money and get waited on hand and foot (snap your fingers once for a Faberge egg on toast, twice for a new hat made of ptarmigan feathers) and rush off to Monaco and gamble and party and have affairs and snap their fingers for a new hat made of tigers eyelashes) and oversee charitable foundations to help the limbless and get huffy if the gold plates of leftover anteater brains aren’t cleared away quick enough.
First they all love Lily Bart because she’s tall and lovely and says the right thing to everybody. But clearly she hasn’t said enough of the right things or she’d already have been married to a millionaire. Something holds her back from making such an obvious move & this leaves her in a position where she becomes a convenient woman to take the blame when there is some blame-shifting to be done, so she ends up stumbling around like a wounded okapi and the pack turns on her or really just shoves her to the side and moves on.
Edith skewers the appalling attitudes of the rich:
Judy knew it must be “horrid” for poor Lily to have to stop to consider whether she could afford real lace on her petticoats, and not to have a motor-car and a steam-yacht at her orders; but the daily friction of unpaid bills, the daily nibble of small temptations to expenditures, were trials as far out of her experience as the domestic problems of the charwoman.
Here’s a great comment on one miserable attitude to the rich:
Such flashes of joy as Lily moved in would have blinded Miss Farish, who was accustomed, in the way of happiness, to such scant light as shone through the cracks of other people’s lives.
I know that Edith Wharton came from the top of the top families of Old New York, the ones who can’t remember how they came to be so rich, but reading this you might think she was a Marxist because the only possible reaction to her detailed description of this nasty collection of human parasites is to support violent revolution. Burn down their houses and off to Madame Guillotine for the lot of them! Let the tumbrils roll!
What the bourgeoisie therefore produces, above all, are its own grave-diggers. Its fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable. … Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains! They have a world to win!
No, I don’t think that was our Edie’s intention, but reading the House of Mirth could surely nudge a person towards the overthrow of capitalism.
THE EDITH WHARTON STYLE
It can be convoluted. Okay, it’s ALWAYS convoluted. Also, the meanings of some words have changed. The word “intercourse” for instance.
Hitherto he had found, in her presence and her talk, the aesthetic amusement which a reflective man is apt to seek in desultory intercourse with pretty women.
Please don’t waterboard this Wharton named Edie
Whose mind being so sharp & whose eyes being so beady
Make it tough for a reader depressingly needy
Whose eyes are so blurry & brain so weedy
We are daunted by sentences subtle and serpentine -
As un-user-friendly as a Trump-supporting porcupine
These days we like novels to be important but easy
And sleazy and cheesy and breezy, not queasy
I will give a couple of examples –
1
Ah, lucky girls who grow up in the shelter of a mother’s love – a mother who knows how to contrive opportunities without conceding favours, how to take advantage of propinquity without allowing appetite to be dulled by habit!
2
Brilliant young ladies, a little blinded by their own effulgence, are apt to forget that the modest satellite drowned in their light is still performing its own revolutions and generating heat at its own rate.
3
Lily walked on unconscious of her surroundings. She was still treading the buoyant ether which emanates from the high moments of life.
4
And here is a description of a young mother returning from work to her baby :
Having passionately celebrated her reunion with her offspring, and excused herself in cryptic language for the lateness of her return, Nettie restored the baby to the crib
This is crazy overwriting and there are 300 pages of it. Can be excruciating at times. Can make you want to overthrow Edith Wharton violently. But on the whole, pretty good stuff. But gloomy. Did I mention that? It’s so gloomy you will need a Leonard Cohen album handy to listen to at the end in order to decompress. (Suggested song : “First we take Manhattan” – obvious!) Ain’t no mirth in the house of mirth.
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Lily Bart, the protagonist of Edith Wharton's stunning first novel, is introduced to the reader as a young woman traveling within high society. While her blood and wealth may place her on the fringe of that society, her "pale" beauty (as it is continuously characterized throughout the novel) elevates her within its ranks. Lily is marriage material. And within Manhattan's high society at the turn of the century, women are meant to marry; and in order to marry women are meant to maintain a reputation of "pale" innocence (indeed, they must).
Lily hesitates to question these two fundamental rules that bind her, save on rare occasion in conversation with Lawrence Selden, the man it seems she would marry if the choice were hers, and who stands far enough outside Lily's circle to critique that circle from an apparent distance. Selden, however, presents Lily with several problems. First, Selden himself is hardly able to separate himself from the rules of Manhattan society, even if he so desired to or so imagined the independence of his perspective. Second, Selden serves as preacher, counselor, and sounding post to Lily with respect to the pitfalls of high society, but while Selden's efforts to take high society off its pedestal strike a chord with Lily, and indeed echo many of her own thoughts, Selden never presents Lily with a viable alternative to the only circle (and the only set of rules) she knows.
The final problem that first emerges from the relationship between Lily Bart and Lawrence Selden is the crux of the novel and the launching point for several shrewd insights Wharton compellingly places within the American cultural dialog, as extant within the novel. Lily couldn't marry Selden if the choice were hers. (And, perhaps ironically, she likely would not, in any case, as Selden lacks the most essential thing men in high society bring to a marriage -- money.)
Like any fully painted character in a great work of fiction, Lily Bart is a woman of substantial intellectual and emotional force. Indeed, given the degree the reader is aware of the goings on inside Lily Bart's head, it can be surprising to step back and remember the novel's narrated in the third person.
Lily, viewed in isolation, is more than situated to grab control of her life if that control were hers to grab. But because she does not live in isolation, control is not hers. Her will is usurped at almost every turn by the societal forces around her; which among other things make her will all but moot. While an argument could be made that Lily has a knack for making choices that reflect upon her poorly, she is defined nonetheless, and far more, by the perceptions of those around her than by any sense of self she seeks to, or by happenstance does, affirmatively present to the world. And in light of the rules that constrain her, her reputation -- never in her hands -- spirals downward as the novel progresses, most often, again, via external rather than internal forces. Absent her reputation intact, that Lily is meant to marry becomes meaningless. Her purpose and place within Manhattan's high society slip from her hands as, trying at least to retain her dignity, she chooses not to act on her own behalf when the opportunities are before her and otherwise, and perhaps always, lacks the choice to act on her own behalf as a byproduct of her social milieu.
The House of Mirth is remarkably tragic. At times, it feels as though too much is going wrong for Lily Bart a little too often. But the totality of the narrative, and Wharton's prose, combat what may be the novel's single shortcoming. Wharton's novel surfaces from many contexts. Two are telling, or at least were to me upon reading The House of Mirth. First, Lily Bart retains her outer beauty throughout the greater part of the novel, despite her internal struggle to maintain a grip in the face of near free fall. Her inner world, as she feels it, and as others perceive it, becomes dark as her "pale" beauty persists. Sadly, her inner life is all but wholly divorced from her outer reality. Thus, in Lily Bart's unfortunate transformation within the novel the saliency of maintaining superficial appearances is brought to the thematic forefront. A theme present in both The House of Mirth and Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray -- cast differently, but not without similarities. Second, The House of Mirth shines a bright light of reality upon Transcendentalism. At minimum, Wharton illustrates that self-determination and self-reliance are one thing when you're living in a cabin in the woods, growing beans, and contemplating existence during solitary sojourns around Walden Pond, but quite another in the company of others -- particularly a circle of others fixated upon a set of mores or, more strictly, rules. Reaching further, perhaps, Wharton exposes a stark line between the wherewithal of men and women in American society to "go Thoreau". In other words, The House of Mirth may temper Transcendentalism by portraying the profound influence of the company one keeps on reaching into oneself and, beneath that, the harsh reality of being a woman within that company.
The House of Mirth is one of the greatest American novels of the 20th century. -
Lily Bart, born poor but from a blue blood family, grew up privileged, well her mother pretended they had wealth, always telling her hard working husband, she will not live like a pig! He succumbs to an early grave, broke, at the turn of the century (20th), that is, the mother spends money, they haven't got, going to Europe, buying expensive clothes, jewelry, furniture, all for the sake of appearances, their friends, in High Society are very well - to- do. Since childhood, Lily is told one thing, never trained for anything else, her object in life, marry a rich man, restore the family honor, love doesn't matter, the only important concern, Gold... When her mother dies too, in poverty, discouraged, Lily is alone at the age of 19. Aunt Peniston, affluent, widowed sister, of Lily's father, surprisingly takes her in, she keeps mostly to herself, aloof, will not help Miss Bart, pay bills, ( Lily has a meager income), and her niece continues in New York society, with her friends, buying extravagant dresses, gambling at cards, bridge, a maid employed, visiting the houses of people, who live lavishly, in their own little world. Mrs.Trenor, her best friend is always inviting her to stay and enjoy the good life, with the snobs, at her mansion. Lily is glad to get out of her Aunt Julia's, boring, dowdy home. Her bills go unpaid, Lily must marry soon, but is too fastidious, for her own good, meeting the very shy millionaire Percy Gryce, dull, tongue tied, his only interest in life , collecting old books! That is when his pulse beats faster... But Lily loves Lawrence Selden, a fascinating man, they have interesting conversations together, she feels good being able to speak honestly, but he is just another struggling lawyer, a working man, who travels in high places and lives in a modest apartment. His cousin Gerty Farish, is one of the few real friends, Lily has, and she also loves Lawrence, helping the poor, becomes her life's work. And Gerty even takes, Miss Bart to see them and she gives some precious money, to their welfare, Lily feels happy, doing so. The skittish, straight- laced Mr. Gryce, gets cold feet, hearing about Miss Bart's gambling debts, what would mother think? Selden is also uncomfortable with Lily's reputation, undeserved, the crowd likes to gossip. She has another even less desirable candidate, Simon Rosedale, on the way to becoming the richest man in town, trying to enter the exclusive group, rather uncouth but is improving. He wants to marry the gorgeous woman, what a prize to show off to his new friends...Lily Bart, doesn't like him and needs to find someone quickly, at 29, her days of floating around the honeycomb are rapidly ending, she has to taste the honey and become the Queen... But Lily is asked to go on a Mediterranean yacht cruise, by Mrs.Dorset, months of pleasure, no worries, everything free, forget all her troubles, what will she do ?
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“The House of Mirth” just might be to “The Age of Innocence” what “Tom Sawyer” is to “Huck Finn”: that is, only but a stepping-stone towards a more profound greatness (although why I used that Twain analogy is a mystery even to me—I find that brand of American Literature a bit overrated). “Age of Innocence” is stupendous—utterly amazing. On the other hand, “The House of Mirth” describes the downward spiral of one, Miss Lily Bart, misunderstood by her social “set,” her particular New York niche. Her story is a tragedy as deep as Jude (the Obscure)’s—her plight is both melancholic & devastating—New York has always been a perfect place in which to achieve some sort of victimhood. Another attribute: the story is severely overwritten. I say attribute because that is precisely Mrs. Wharton’s style: you read beautiful sentences, many, to realize that all she really wanted to portray was a character sitting down on his ass, or she tries to show particular psyches without the more-modern, less-roundabout, most efficient manner of, say, Virginia Woolf (alas, if Mrs. Wharton had continued to write well into the 30's we may have seen a different, more radical literary style).
The novel is trapped between novelty (modernity) & antiquity (a European America). Sure, this is an amazing study of turn-of-the-century American society, invaluable, one which seems as foreign as it seems familiar; I was not as impressed with this one as her Pulitzer darling (man, I DO LOVE "Age of Innocence"!!), where the mood is less frigid & less tragic, but the theme pretty much stays the same: mainly, that society is very unforgiving, that
“half the trouble in life is caused by pretending there isn’t any.” -
"There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." — Oscar Wilde
Published in 1905, The House of Mirth was set in New York in the late 1800s — America's Gilded Age.
Miss Lily Bart was one of the 'in crowd'; high society was what she was born and bred for. She was blessed with remarkable beauty and her prospects of a 'good marriage' seemed to be set in stone. But no one in her well-to-do circle should have counted those unhatched chickens, for Lily had a streak of independence a mile wide — and it went against her baser instincts to accept any of the suitors who had dented her sofa cushions over the years.
But an unfortunate illness left Miss Bart without family or means and placed her at the mercy of an aunt's reluctant offer to take her in. Lily quickly realized her situation was tenuous and, at twenty-nine, had resigned herself to bite the bullet and choose from one of the Dapper Dans, whose numbers were dwindling by the day.
Enter Lawrence Selden, the Rhett Butler of this story, darkly handsome with a twinkle in his eye. Mr. Selden had been upfront with Lily. He had no wish to marry her but found her game-playing with the other fellows all very amusing. She could be herself with him because he wasn't a prospect; so good friends they would be.
The rich and the righteous had set standards for unmarried young women. Even a toe over the line of what was considered proper would get one tossed out of society on one's ear, and there were those who would have loved nothing more than to witness the downfall of charming Miss Bart.
Will Lily succeed in walking the line?
As one of the most beautiful snowfalls I've ever seen softly coated Kansas in white, I read the final pages of this captivating novel. This did not have the same humor I experienced with my previous read of her work, but the characters leapt flamboyantly from each page. The tale was touching and sometimes harsh, with writing that was dependably on-point.
I shed a few tears before all was said and done and the brilliant, unexpected ending put this squarely in the five-star category.
The House of Mirth will be a hard one to beat this year.
If you are a fan of the television show The Gilded Age, this book is for you.
A few of the quotes that I highlighted:
"She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate."
"Miss Corby's role was jocularity: she always entered the conversation with a handspring."
"It was one of those still November days when the air is haunted with the light of summer…" -
I have read almost all of Edith Wharton's writing. I have the highest regard for her work. She was overshadowed by Fitzgerald and Hemingway in her day but even so she won the Pulitzer prize in 1921 for her novel The Age of Innocence. The House of Mirth was one of her early novels and my favorite, although I like all of her novels.
Lily Bart, the protagonist in The House of Mirth, is such a captivating and tragic figure that she has stayed in my mind for years. Of course, creating great characters was one of Wharton's wonderful gifts.
For those readers that have not discovered Edith Wharton, give her a try. The House of Mirth would be perfect to start with. -
Edith Wharton sets the New York social stage of the early twentieth century for a succession of short scenes that glitter with glossy superficiality. Lightning, backdrops and lush costumes are put on display to create a natural effect in this tableaux vivant of a novel, where Lily Bart stands out as the most stunning living painting ever. She is the leading actress of this theatrical narrative, a delicate flower bred for exhibition and ornament whose beauty shines with the precise effortless grace and charm that will enable her to achieve her goals.
Being an orphaned, single woman of twenty-nine with frugal tastes Lily knows that in the gilded cage in which she blossoms and withers the only path to success is to become a saleable commodity that some wealthy gentleman will buy into marriage.
It’s easy to find fault in Lily’s dignified composure.
Wharton treats her tragic heroine harshly. She is vain, snobbish, selfish and as shallow as the stage of artificiality where she acts. She covets money and social position above gentleness and compassion, her ruthless anti-sentimentalism is reflected in the hard glaze of her chiselled, porcelain mask of complacency that in turn conceals her contempt for the parasitic life in which she has imprisoned herself.
But how much does the financial imperatives of this society in which wealth and not morality determines status influence in the making of stereotyped females grown up for mere decoration?
“She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.”(p.8)”
I keep asking myself. Is Lily a helpless victim or a hypocrite culprit? Guilty of presumptuousness or driven by desperation? The boundaries dividing the discrepant selves that coexist in Lily are as blurry as the thin line that separates fact from magic illusion.
I keep asking myself. Who am I to judge Lily when I feel my life to be an ongoing sequence of scenarios where I play the roles my varied audience expects from me?
She is as trapped as I am. Lily’s broken wings don’t allow her to escape from the social jungle that made her what she is, yet she craves for “freedom” and “happiness” while she keeps missing golden opportunities that present themselves in the form of eligible bachelors and running under obligations of generous cheques that are spent mindlessly on the card table. And below the glittering surface of Lily’s existence, a terrible sense of waste festers into growing despair.
She loves, but denies herself.
She smiles, but bleeds inwardly.
She wants to be saved, but sticks stubbornly to her idea of success.
Mr. Selden offers Lily a place in his “republic" where “freedom and success” are both possible:
“ ‘Freedom? Freedom from worries?’
‘From everything – from money, from poverty, from easy and anxiety, from all material accidents. To keep a kind of republic of spirit – that’s what I call success.' ” (p.78)
But Lily has no spiritual or actual home of her own, like Woolf urged women to some years later, and she clings feebly to the surface of her existence where she is swirled around by the turbulences of the social corset that asphyxiates her.
Loneliness, poverty and isolation are the true protagonists of Lily’s desired House where there is no Mirth. Lily’s frivolity is in fact a result of a deluded childishness that splits her troubled being in two halves, the false one in perpetual display on the perfidious stage of society and the real one that radiates with emotional expressiveness in the last chapters of the novel when the mask of appearances is finally dropped and the bright, tragic realism filters through the cracks of Wharton’s cardboard language.
I don’t judge. I sympathize. I grieve.
But I can’t help but wonder how much of Lily’s story reflects Wharton’s professional career and the inherent conflict between her eagerness for popularity and the necessity to exorcize her own frustrations as a female writer in a sparkling scenario as facetious as her characters. Hence my four stars saving the lacking one to pay homage to the fallen star in this House, which is ironically full of Mourning. -
She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.
I was not fully prepared for
The House of Mirth.
There I was, reading along pleasantly, mentally comparing this book to
Jane Austen, finding it quite charming, amusing, satirical, even, when the really dark depressing side of this novel hit me full force.
I suppose, in hindsight, I should have known. I have read Wharton's
The Age of Innocence and
Ethan Frome, after all, and neither were cheery tales. This one was just so unassuming at first, though. Yes, Lily was in a bit of a predicament, but she was a charming, much-loved member of upper class society... how bad could things really get?
Well. Lurking beneath the surface of this novel are themes I found really quite upsetting. Lily is a stunningly beautiful socialite, but she is also flawed, messy, frivolous. She wants to marry a rich husband, and skirts close to doing so several times, except she also doesn't on some level. She also wants to be free from the necessity, to not have to marry a wealthy man, to be able to marry for love, or else not marry at all.
It's a story about class, materialism and social expectations, especially what they meant for women in the late 19th/early 20th centuries. The more Lily deliberates, plays the game, and loses, the more time runs away from her. I really felt for her and experienced frustration alongside her as she is forced to play a role again and again just to get along.
I'm a person who usually prefers a gritty tale about working class people, alcoholism, poverty and the like. More
Dickens or
Dostoevsky than this. Yet, if anyone can make upper class society feel like an oppressive, suffocating gilded cage, then it's Wharton.
This must be the bleakest novel I've read by her so far. -
Reading Edith Wharton's second novel The House of Mirth was like being kidnapped by Barbary pirates and held for ransom for ten fortnights; not a comfort, but an adventure. Published in 1905, this tale of Miss Lily Bart -- a young woman held prisoner by New York high society for her grace and beauty until her dependence on wealthy patrons makes her vulnerable to their whims -- carried me off against my will and held me with jeweled prose, breathless detail to character and droll wit. Wharton's milieu was alien to me and her writing often so intricate that I wanted to run home to John Steinbeck, but now that the experience is over, find myself changed by it.
Book I begins in a nation with places to go and people to see, or Grand Central Station to be exact. Bachelor attorney Lawrence Selden returns to New York from the country and spots twenty-nine year old socialite Lily Bart at the station, waiting alone. Thrilled to find herself unattended no more, Lily makes the impulsive decision to join Selden for tea in his apartment on Madison Avenue. Lily is orphaned and lives with her wealthy aunt Mrs. Peniston. Though she is expected to inherit a great deal of money from her aunt, Lily is not paid an allowance, which places her at the service of whichever patron of high society offers to sponsor her.
While marriage would present her with financial security, Lily bonds with Selden over a shared antipathy toward a life of routine. She finds ways to sabotage her social encounters with eligible bachelors. Unlike Selden, Lily has no vocation which to support her independent whims. Exiting Selden's building, Lily has a chance encounter with Simon Rosedale, a social climber who makes it his business to know everything about everyone. Lily is repulsed by the man and thinks up a quick lie to explain her presence in the neighborhood alone, but immediately regrets her decision to rebuff Rosedale's offer to accompany her to her train.
Why must a girl pay so dearly for her least escape from routine? Why could one never do a natural thing without having to screen it behind a structure of artifice? She had yielded to a passing impulse in going to Lawrence Selden's rooms, and it was so seldom that she could allow herself the luxury of an impulse! This one, at any rate, was going to cost her rather more than she could afford. She was vexed to see that, in spite of so many years of vigilance, she had blundered twice within five minutes. That stupid story about her dressmaker was bad enough--it would have been so simple to tell Rosedale that she had been taking tea with Selden! The mere statement of the fact would have rendered it innocuous.
Lily arrives at Bellomont, where Mrs. Judy Trenor has invited Lily to spend a weekend among high society over bridge games that drag into the night. Mrs. Trenor offers to help the girl secure an engagement to Percy Bryce, a bachelor whom Lily is bored by the moment she catches him in her web. She finds herself elated by the arrival of Selden and incurs the wrath of Bertha Dorset, a married woman who has designs on the bachelor. Over a long Sunday walk and respite in a meadow, Selden expresses his willingness to marry Lily, while offering his distaste for her crass materialism. Bertha Dorset sinks Lily's chances with her backup Percy Bryce by spreading rumors of a gambling problem.
Dispatched to pick up Mrs. Trenor's husband from the train station, Lily finds herself obsessed upon by Gus Trenor, who offers to invest money for Lily in the stock market at no risk. Trenor earns Lily ten thousand dollars, which she discovers was actually a gift from the married man. Lily spends Trenor's money and ignores his overtures for greater intimacy. Lily's carefree ways make enemies with her own sex as well. Her cousin Grace Stepney retaliates against Lily for being excluded from their aunt's dinner party list by whispering to Mrs. Peniston that the heir to her fortune has been gambling, living extravagantly and carrying on as the kept woman of Gus Trenor.
Lily finds new benefactors in Mr. and Mrs. Wellington Bry, nouveau riche socialites who sponsor an exhibit of fashionable young women modeling historic dress. Lily's costume wags tongues, including Selden's. He reveals his feelings for Lily but is rebuffed for his unwillingness to offer anything but love. Lily is lured to the Trenors' apartment, where Gus Trenor corners Lily and demands that she reciprocate his financial generosity with affection. Seeking to settle her debts and recapture her independence, Lily struggles with opaque feelings for Selden against cash on the table: a marriage proposal from Simon Rosedale.
Even through the dark tumult of her thoughts, the clink of Mr. Rosedale's millions had a faintly seductive note. Oh, for enough of them to cancel her one miserable debt! But the man behind them grew increasingly repugnant in the light of Selden's expected coming. The contrast was too grotesque; she could scarcely suppress the smile it provoked. She decided that directness would be best.
Lily's plans to snare a husband hit a snag with she learns through the society pages that Selden has sailed overseas on business. Book II picks up in Monte Carlo three months later, where Lily has joined the Dorsets for a cruise of the Mediterranean. Invited by Judy Dorset to distract her husband George while Mrs. Dorset dallies with a would-be poet named Ned Silverton, Lily again crosses Judy Dorset by refusing to cover for Judy's hanky panky with Ned. George Dorset has reached the end of his tether with his wife and summons an American attorney in Nice to explore options for a divorce. This reunites Lily with Selden just as Judy Dorset sets out to destroy Lily once and for all.
Though unexpressed in her novel, Wikipedia told me that Wharton's title is taken from the Old Testament and the Book of Ecclesiastes. “The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.” Wharton's ability to craft jeweled sentences and draw scenes like a cartographer designing a treasure map is peerless. In particular, her chapters are adorned with gorgeous first sentences.
Book I--Chapter I: Selden paused in surprise. In the afternoon rush of the Grand Central Station his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Bart.
Book I--Chapter III: Bridge at Bellomont usually lasted till the small hours; and when Lily went to bed that night she had played too long for her own good.
Book I--Chapter XV: When Lily woke she had the bed to herself, and the winter light was in the room.
At other times, the turn of the century prose was so beautiful that it lured me into maze and the longer it went on, lost me.
A chill of fear passed over Miss Bart: a sense of remembered treachery that was like the gleam of a knife in the dusk, But compassion, in a moment, got the better of her instinctive recoil. What was this outpouring of senseless bitterness but the tracked creature's attempt to cloud the medium through which it was fleeing? It was on Lily's lips to exclaim: "You poor soul, don't double and turn--come straight back to me, and we'll find a way out!" But the words died under the impenetrable insolence of Bertha's smile. Lily sat silent, taking the brunt of it quietly, letting it spend itself on her to the last drop of its accumulated falseness; then, without a word, she rose and went down to her cabin.
Wait, what? Throughout The House of Mirth I found my eyes glancing over paragraphs like this and having to circle back to them again, like Craftsman homes on a dark, unfamiliar lane without the benefit of well lit street numbers. I was often as lost. Wharton also tells the reader what her characters are thinking and why they're thinking what they're thinking. Social mechanization doesn't reveal itself very well in action or dialogue, only inner monologue. That's why it's a mechanization! Without careful attention though, the progression of the story is often obscured in a fog of politics and social manners.
In spite of its obtuseness, The House of Mirth builds in power by illustrating the corner a single woman like Miss Lily Bart paints herself into, ill-equipped to earn her keep as anything more than an ornament to high society. The straits that the main character finds herself in during a market readjustment to her worth is as harrowing as that encountered by the Joads in The Grapes of Wrath. In addition to Wharton's opulent wordcraft, which at its best is like death by chocolate, her climax is quietly powerful and has haunted me since I reached the finish line of this magnum opus. -
“Her whole being dilated in an atmosphere of luxury. It was the background she required, the only climate she could breathe in.”
Veblen in his 'Theory of Leisure Class' (written six years before this book) argues that one of the way leisure class show their wealth is by maintaining people who will sit idly for them. The chief example is of wives, where richest men do not want their wives to be doing paid jobs - do and own charities - yes, art exhibitions -yes, partying - yes, just not doing any sort of job. The tendency becomes less visible as we go down the ladder of social class, In India, one can still observe the trend. If they are rich enough, many men would rather have housewives and many women would prefer to be housewives. And if they are wealthier still, they would have servants so that their wives won't have to work. Among such people, a woman earning her living is scorned at and is liable to be cast away by society. Besides wives, the super rich might also maintain a class of 'friends' to keep company.
Lily Bart is such a 'friend' and has been raised to be such a wife of a rich man. The only thing she knows well and is good at is 'manners' of leisure class - and these manners won't earn her any money. Higher standards of living are addictive and she is addicted, but she doesn't have any wealth of her own. And since she can't earn, marrying a rich man is her only option - which seems difficult as she is aging (it is a society where an unmarried women nearing thirties is likely to attract suspicions and prejudice attached to the phrase 'old maiden', another thing still visible in India) and, moreover, she also wants to marry for love. To her misfortune, she happened to be a character in Wharton's realistic novel, instead of being a character in one of Austen's happily-ever-after tales.
“She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.”
One must bow low in respect to Wharton's craft. I mean there are lots of writers who have better stories or things to tell and writers who have awesome literary techniques at their disposal but, very few can beat her,IMO, when it comes to perfection of telling a realistic story in traditional manner (you know no stream-of-consciousness, no magical realism, no Gothic castles etc) And her cynicism (cynics are always sexy), and the way she brings out the helplessness of her character whether it is Lily Bart, Newland Archer or Ethan Frome. She also kept a dog in her lap when she wrote, if her new Goodreads avatar is to be believed. -
***La lectura de este mes del club pickwick me la he devorado en la mitad del tiempo que me había programado, ¡No pude evitarlo! Aún así seguiremos comentando durante todo el mes cumpliendo las fechas por aquí, no me matéis:
Club Pickwick
La historia de Lily Bart me atrapó de principio a fin. Es la historia de una mujer que se acerca peligrosamente a los 30 años sin haberse casado . Una mujer sin apenas recursos, con una renta mínima pero criada en la alta sociedad por lo que debe cumplir con todos sus requisitos. Dada su educación y la infancia que llevó, el máximo objetivo de Lily (como el de tantas mujeres de la época) es casarse con un hombre rico. Lily, dada su belleza y encanto, ha tenido multitud de oportunidades, pero al final, en el último momento siempre termina perdiendo la ocasión. Nuestra protagonista quiere ser rica, por supuesto, pero ¿A costa de perder su libertad e independencia?
El libro es una crítica brutal a la sociedad hipócrita de la época , a las dificultades de las mujeres para salir adelante sin poder desempeñar ninguna función más allá de ser esposa y madre. Es un libro que te atrapa desde el principio y te rompe el corazón en mil pedazos.
A mi me ha parecido una maravilla , sin duda de mis preferidos de Wharton, que ya desplegaba aquí, en segunda novela, su increíble habilidad para cada detalle social y del carácter e intención de sus personajes. -
Mrs. Lloyd by Sir Joshua Reynolds (1775)
In our imperfectly organized society there is no provision as yet for the young woman who claims the privileges of marriage without assuming its obligations.
Oh, how I delighted in this book. How I bathed in the world Edith Wharton created, this world belonging to beautiful Lily Bart, as she navigates through the temptations and perils of society of the early twentieth century. I was charmed, transported and moved as she tries desperately to cling to the luxurious life she desires. The fascinating part is that she is never quite willing to do what it takes to get it - settle in a marriage of convenience.
Lily Bart is a beauty with ambitions to live in luxury and care. She abhors "dinginess" and knows exactly the game to play in order to succeed in the cutthroat world of high New York society. She is charming, elegant and poised. She wants a wealthy life more than anything, appearing quite shallow at times. But when it comes to it, this woman at thirty continually throws away opportunities to land in a life of ease, unable to sell herself short just for money. She has moments of clarity when she sees the wealthy people around her for what they are:
How different (her friends) had seemed to her a few hours ago! Then they had symbolized what she was gaining, now they stood for what she was giving up. That very afternoon they had seemed full of brilliant qualities; now she saw that they were merely dull in a loud way. Under the glitter of their opportunities she saw the poverty of their achievement.
How I reveled, telling myself "Wharton is like the American Jane Austen! She is the champion of women and matchmaking!"
I was so wrong.
It has been far too long since I read
The Age of Innocence, so I forgot that the brilliant Edith Wharton's works are written with the heavier hand of reality. And this is what separates her from Jane Austen. Wharton's stories do not tie up nicely with a bow, with everyone getting their just deserts.
What Wharton does show us is the true plight of her flawed heroine: the tragedy of the trappings of wealth. She also depicts a woman's (limited) choices at this time in history, still heavily reliant on men and oh-so-delicate social footing amongst the who's who.
She also calls forth immense beauty, in particular the unforgettable scene of Lily as tableau vivant, a living version of the Reynolds painting (featured above), inspiring a moment of passion so delicious, stirring her reader's hunger for more of the same with every page. But can life truly imitate art? I think it is the other way around.
In the long moment before the curtain fell, he had time to feel the whole tragedy of her life. It was as though her beauty, thus detached from all that cheapened and vulgarized it, had held out suppliant hands to him from the world in which he and she had once met for a moment, and where he felt an overmastering longing to be with her again.
I was wrong about Wharton, but I'm so glad to be wrong in this case. This book is stunning, a true masterpiece. -
I really loved this - it was engaging and beautifully written, and the main character is fascinating. I absolutely recommend this - I think it'll stay with me for a long time.
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"What is truth? Where a woman is concerned, it's the story that's easiest to believe."
What is truth? Truth is that Lily Bart is Madame Bovary dying without even having engaged in the love affairs - dying a virgin in reality, a promiscuous siren in the world of evil gossip.
If you want to suffer the pain of sexual injustice and social brutality, read this book and die with Lily, step by step. There were moments when I wanted to step into the story and shake the disgusting predators - that is how angry it made me to think of the entitlement with which they thought they could buy access to a body - or ruin the person if access was denied.
There was this moment when I thought I had to kill Bertha Dorset for being an absolute monster Lady Macbeth, but then I thought that she too is a victim of a sexual code that means she has to lash out or suffer Lily's fate herself. Not a gentlewoman, for sure, but a predator facing a bigger hunter. The falcon in front of the falconer...
Lily had the misfortune of thinking she could play the game without a falconer by her side. No woman, and especially no beautiful woman, can fight the gossip of a society that is happy to ignore compassion and decency to support the privileged double standard that allows rich men to rule by decree.
This was a very, very exhausting read, considering I took it randomly from my bookshelf to fill a few minutes of commuter time. But, oh, so good! Whenever we think we can rest on our laurels and pat ourselves on the back and say that the world is better nowadays, we have to read books like these and compare them with the headlines in the gossip papers to remember that the Trenors and Dorsets and Rosedales etc are still out there, buying their prey with glamour. These days, however, the predators occasionally end up in jail.
Cheers to that...
Halfway through, I am in agony!
This story rings so acutely true it hurts my ears. When women are raised to be marriageable (today we would use a more vulgar expression but at least it wouldn't be a lifetime sentence) objects on a market of disgraceful lust - mostly for power - then the likes of Lily Bart are sacrificed on the bonfire of the vanities without even considering whether these girls are actually human beings. Legal prostitution sanctioned by family and society, that is what it boils down to. The biggest threat to the market: free love, as it destroys the prices... Ugly as can be!
On my way to catch a train to town, I realised that I had misplaced the book I was officially "currently reading".
But you can't commute without a book, and I was about to miss the train, so I jumped up and down impatiently in front of one of my bookshelves in the hallway, trying to make an instant decision what to grab and read on the go - feeling it is quite similar to the "coffee-on-the-go" issue, which burns your fingers and ruins your shirt on the way to the ever-annoying train - and in the end, it was colour -coding that made the decision for me.
Bright red it shines and doesn't repel me by any prejudiced foreknowledge either - nothing poisonous in my mind telling me that The House of Mirth won't be good for my reading equilibrium.
That was yesterday.
Today I consider myself best friends with Lily Bart, and I would love to go and tell her where to stuff her wish for luxuries and society. EMBRACE DINGINESS, LILY! It is the only way to live life fully.
But I fear she won't. We will see. I will live with her for another 283 pages, and she might just listen to me after all.
And I caught the train too! (But by the time I was getting to my destination, I was already immersed in Lily and her world, and only just got off it!) -
The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth
—Ecclesiastes 7:4
There’s an article on the internet somewhere describing The House of Mirth as a cursed choose-your-own-adventure. It’s an apt comparison.
There’s no single crucial incident, no defining moment that seals our heroine’s fate: there are a dozen. A rabbit warren of sliding doors, one juncture leading to the next, leading to the next, and on and on. From the opening scene where she accepts an invitation to tea, to her final act—every time Lily Bart is presented with options, she seems fated to choose the worst of them. Her life reduces by increments, and as she becomes ever more desperate to find a way out of the maze, each turn only leads further in... until finally, she is trapped forever at its centre.
But is Lily really making bad choices? She’s a smart woman, sensible to propriety, why do things go so wrong for her? Is the problem with her values or her judgment? Is she just unlucky? Or playing a rigged game? How much agency does she really have, anyway?
It’s tempting to think of the alternate universes in which different choices would have led to her happiness… but maybe not. Maybe this is one of those choose-your-own-adventures with only one ending, where every iteration’s winding path leads to the same tragic outcome.
All the men and women she knew were like atoms whirling away from each other in some wild centrifugal dance
The House of Mirth is a deeply pessimistic story—it’s basically Pretty Woman in reverse—but it is still incredibly enjoyable to read thanks to Wharton’s elegant, refined prose and her ethnographic attention to detail in depicting New York’s fashionable upper crust of ~1905 (including a taste for electric cars!) But most of all, thanks to the psychological depth and complexity of Lily Bart and her epic fall from grace. -
“She had no tolerance for scenes which were not of her own making.”
Edith Wharton had a particular way of writing which was a bit difficult to tune into at first but once I got the hang of it, it was real beautiful.
Which was why I am saddened to give this such low rating. Just saddened.
From the very start I really liked Lily Bart... until the second half of the book, then, I couldn't stop myself getting annoyed with her everytime: her indecision, her actions and mostly just.... HER.
Rating: ★★½
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The House of Mirth is a tragic tale of the life of Miss Lily Bart, a beautiful young girl who is raised to aspire into wealth and luxury. Being raised as an ornament to catch the eye of a rich man, she is not skilled in anything except in the art of being beautiful and agreeable. But the mean and selfish New York elite is too much for her. They do not hesitate to use her in their wile schemes, and eventually, to cast her off.
The story brings out an unpleasant side of the upper-class New York society with its false friendships, betrayals, jealousies, scandals, and ugly gossip. Being herself a member of this society, the author paints a true picture of this nasty side of the New York upper society hidden in layers of glamour.
Lily Bart is a complex character. It wasn't easy to connect with her. I truly couldn't for most part of the story. She is vain, proud, and self-centered of a girl who has too much faith in her self-importance. It wasn't easy to like her. True, she was indeed a victim of society, but for the most part, it was self-brought. Her imprudent actions and her love for material fineness take her on a destructive and degrading path. Towards the end of the story, however, a different personality of Lily Bart emerges. Inside the vain self-centered girl lives a young woman who sees the shallowness in her actions and the superficiality of the life to which she aspires, even though she cannot find the strength to free her from the desire for such living. She is also a principled woman who does not demean herself by avenging the injustice that was done to her by resorting to dishonorable conduct. This new side of Lily brought me a little closer to her and I felt her tragedy profoundly.
The author has centered her story on Lily, and the rest of the characters play only secondary roles in highlighting the tragic story of Lily Bart. Out of these characters, Lawrence Selden takes prominence. He truly loves Lily but loathes the life to which she aspires, and out of his love for her, tries hard to make her see reason (though in vain). Other than Lily, Lawrence Selden is the only likable character, most of the others being too shallow for any consideration. He represents ethics and morality. But was he too severe? Or, was he a coward? These questions do not find a definite answer in the story.
It must be said that Wharton's asset is her writing. The beauty of her prose is captivating. Nevertheless, the story is a little overwritten. That and the fact the story was wholly centered on the single character of Lily, her actions and her thoughts, made the reading a bit tedious. I wish Wharton had made more use of the other characters in the story to give it a little more colour and vibrancy.
Overall, it was a good read. Henry James has once said to Edith Wharton that she writes best when she writes within her element. I fully agree with him. -
The House of Mirth is the third Wharton novel I've finished so far, and while reading it, I was able to figure out why I love her books so much. Edith Wharton is witty, and her writing is beautiful, but more importantly, she is honest and realistic. She portrays rich, spoiled society exactly as it is - full of people who hide their own misery behind lavish homes and strict manners - and condemns it, but even as her characters realize how toxic this environment is, they are still driven by an insatiable need to belong to and be accepted by society. Basically what I'm saying is that Edith Wharton understood human nature better than almost any author I've ever read, and if she were alive today Mean Girls would totally be her favorite movie.
The House of Mirth follows Lily Bart, a young woman who grew up wealthy but lost everything when she was a teenager, and has been clawing and fighting to keep her place in society ever since. Lily Bart is clever and charming, but after spending years living independently, she finds herself approaching spinsterhood with dwindling prospects. The book follows her increasingly-desperate attempts to secure her future while retaining her independence and her place in society. If you've read even one other Wharton novel, you know that these desires are not compatible for women in this world.
As always, Wharton's depiction of the tiny battles that occur every day in polite society is fascinating - it's amazing to watch Lily navigate her life with careful planning and strategy, so simple conversations become as complicated and dangerous as naval battles. She has to be constantly on the alert, hyper-aware that she's always one mistake away from total failure and ruin. Only two things frustrated me about this book - one wasn't Wharton's fault, but the second one totally was.
It's not Wharton's fault, I realize, that Lily Bart can't get a Hollywood happy ending and marry Lawrence Selden, who is so obviously perfect for her that it was all I could do not to scream at the pages "kiss her kiss her KISS HER" every time they had a scene together. The couple is headed for a typically Wharton-style ending, but at least that means we get lots of great scenes where the characters are just drowning in sexual tension, and it's like crack to me. Edith Wharton could write a straight-up sex scene, and it still wouldn't be as hot as two characters taking a walk together while resisting the urge to make out.
Like I said, the ending is very, very Wharton, and unfortunately it's also very clearly telegraphed. But somehow the fact that I could see the ending a mile away made the book even more tragic and dramatic. But seriously, Seldon - nut up and marry her, for Christ's sake.
Lily Bart is the quintessential Wharton heroine. She is independent, headstrong, whip-smart, and charismatic. Another author would have allowed her heroine to strike out on her own, say to hell with these rich snobs and let Lily go off on adventures to Africa or something, but Wharton knows better. The world of the wealthy, spoiled New Yorker is the only one Lily has ever known, and like Newland Archer and Annabel St. George before her, she will sacrifice her own happiness in exchange for social acceptance and security. This is what drives Wharton's protagonists: a deep need to belong, and a fear of the unknown. They can never win, but it's fascinating to watch them try. -
Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth made me think about a lot of 'stuff'—so if you're one of those self-righteous hall monitor types who scolds reviewers on Goodreads for not being relevant enough, then be on your way. There's nothing for you to see here except for some navel-gazing. Proceed at your own peril.
The House of Mirth centers on a privileged white female named Lily Bart who's navigating the precarious social landscape of New York City and its environs at the tail-end of the nineteenth century. Although Lily is a woman—and this qualifies her for special consideration as a class of the variously marginalized of the period (i.e., she wasn't a wealthy white male)—I have a feeling (and it's only a feeling) that many modern readers will be put off by being placed in the position of sympathizing with this poor little rich girl. The liberal intelligentsia—of which I'd like to consider myself a constituent, however damning that admission might be—has become so preposterously righteous and (yes, at times) patronizing that it has somehow become unseemly to offer anything but snarky derision to the 'plight' of the white, wealthy, and otherwise advantaged.
You may think you see where this is going, but it's not that bad. Really. It's not as if I'm some white upper-middle class male who is 'standing up' for my own kind against the perceived persecution of political correctness. Quite the contrary, it's understandable (and perhaps morally healthy) for well-off white people to feel some guilt because of our surfeits—and not only material surfeits—in light of the history that has preceded us and the injustices which continue today. I'm not one of those nutjobs who offers up #alllivesmatter in response to #blacklivesmatters—because only a dunce would fail to understand the importance of white lives is already the underlying premise and vouchsafing principle of our society.
I'm getting away from myself a little here. As regards Lily Bart—our unfortunate protagonist in The House of Mirth—I can imagine countless readers' sighs greeting her predicaments—e.g., how to keep up appearances; how to marry well; how to insinuate herself, profitably, into the lives of the highest echelon of fashionable society... In other words, not only do Lily's problems scarcely deserve the name by modern standards, but the particulars are also pretty well estranged from our experience of the world today.
Lily Bart hasn't been prepared or instructed in any other course except to marry well. If that isn't clear enough, I'll be more blunt: in order to preserve her standard of living, she can only hope to marry a wealthy, socially well-positioned man, irrespective of romantic feelings or even basic affection. Her parents and her aunt hadn't conceived of any other alternatives for her, and if they had been more generous with possibilities, let's remember that nineteenth century society was not any more accommodating with other opportunities for women. It's hard to manage sometimes, but as readers we have to guard against imposing our values on persons of another era. While we often idealize self-sufficiency and self-determination as the greatest of social values, we must also remember that the prevailing attitudes and social infrastructure didn't always make these ideals attainable.
Toward the beginning of The House of Mirth, I was bothered a little by the novel's starchiness and wondered what Wharton wanted me to make of Lily (as if the author's intentions necessarily have anything to do with a reader's reactions). She seemed spoiled and flighty and less snobby than most of her social peers perhaps, but still jarringly snobby at times. But as the novel progressed, I realized that Wharton was showing me the differences (and strain) between Lily's outward social behavior and her ideas and values. Despite the fact that she knew what was required of her, it wasn't really what she wanted. It reminds me of my job, in a way. I've worked in this office for more years than I'd care to admit to because it's what I know how to do and someone will pay me a reasonable amount to do it... but does it reflect my taste or values? Only to extent that I'm lazy and unmotivated and willing to 'settle' for the things that are easily put in my way. Of course, I'm in a much different position from Lily Bart. If I wanted to, if I were motivated, I could leave this job and adapt myself to some other, more preferable life. I'm not sure the Lily Bart of this rarefied social milieu had so many options, and if she did, it would have required much more bravery to have pursued them.
What I'm getting at is that even though Lily's position is peculiar to most readers today, it's still forcefully human and relatable. I think the last fifty pages of this book were some of the saddest and most affecting I've ever encountered in a novel. Once we get past all the particular trappings of Lily's life, her story speaks of something universal and essential to being human. None of us are gods who create our fates entirely from scratch. Conservative types love to beatify the poor immigrant who worked hard against all adversity to become a success in the New World, but it's not as easy as that. Who taught the immigrant the value of work hard? Who instilled him with his values and ambitions? Didn't luck or happenstance help him along the way? Did his race or gender open any doors for him that would have been closed to others? The self-made man is a myth—because we only bother to notice the parts of the story that reinforce the message that we've decided on ahead of time.
Likewise, Lily Bart's failings weren't only her own; they were society's at the time too. Lily Barts don't materialize into the world, pre-formed, with limitless agency to optimize themselves. Society hems them in in certain ways, not only materially, but ideologically. That's why The House of Mirth is a tragedy that admits itself to all readers who can see beyond the instance and recognize the shadow of limitation that darkens everyone's life to some extent. -
This book has inspired my next tattoo. That is some fine literature. (And I am sure that if Edith Wharton were alive today, she would appreciate the tribute.)
I have this theory that the mark of great literature is that no matter how many times you read it, you can always plausibly hope, as a reader, that things might turn out differently in the end. Not that the actual ending is wrong; it's just that the character of Lily Bart is so alive for me, I seriously believe she might make a different choice and pull things out in the end.
Also, it has a really good moral, which is: make your own damn money. Um, not that I am judging Lily Bart or anything. Different times and all!
Note to self: Should not review great works of literature after so much beer. -
What a beautiful and tragic novel this is! As frustrating as Lily Bart could be — she kept making small errors that damaged her reputation — I also pitied her for how she was mistreated by society. Lily was unable to marry the man she loved because he wasn't rich enough, but she also couldn't tolerate the dull, wealthy men who were interested in her. Lily wanted to do the right thing, but somehow things kept going wrong for her until she ended up broke, sick and without hope.
I decided to reread this novel after seeing a thought-provoking article on The Awl called "Men Like Him," about how damaging the Lawrence Seldens of the worlds can be. "The House of Mirth" is definitely a novel that shows how destructive and cruel the patriarchy has been for women. To quote from The Awl, "Lawrence Selden ... kills Lily Bart as surely as if he held a gun to her head."
Between "House of Mirth" and "The Age of Innocence," Edith Wharton is one of my favorite American writers, and I'm looking forward to reading the rest of her works. Highly recommended.
Favorite Quotes
"She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate."
"Half the trouble in life is caused by pretending there isn't any."
"I have tried hard — but life is difficult, and I am a very useless person. I can hardly be said to have an independent existence. I was just a screw or a cog in the great machine called life, and when I dropped out of it I found I was no use anywhere else. What can one do when one finds out that one only fits into one hole? One must go back to it or be thrown out into the rubbish heap - and you don't know what it's like in the rubbish heap!"
"Why do we call all our generous ideas illusions, and the mean ones truths?"
"One of the surprises of her unoccupied state was the discovery that time, when it is left to itself and no definite demands are made on it, cannot be trusted to move at any recognized pace." -
Aquí la videoreseña:
https://youtu.be/rfCaN-cKRHc
4,5 estrellas.
En esta novela Edith Wharton realiza figuradamente, usando siempre un lenguaje muy educado, el acto de pillar un bate de béisbol y meterle una paliza a los miembros de las clases altas de Nueva York durante la llamada "Edad dorada". Pero paliza, paliza. De mandarlos a todos a la UVI. Supongo que nadie podía hacerlo mejor que ella, que sabía de lo que hablaba.
Edith Wharton es como Jane Austen, pero en americana y en más detallista y directa en su crítica. Es normal, 100 años (mínimo) las separan, y el realismo y el naturalismo habían influenciado la Literatura. Además, Edith Wharton escribe para (o es consciente de que puede ser leída por) un grupo más amplio de personas que Jane Austen, quien no esperaba que nadie fuera de su misma clase social leyera su obra, y por lo tanto hay mucho que no explica, porque quien la leía en la época ya sabía de lo que hablaba. Edith Wharton no. Edith Wharton te lo explica todo. TODO. Y en esa detallísima descripción de la clase alta, de lo que visten, lo que comen, dónde viven y, sobre todo, cómo actúan, es donde se desarrolla la historia de Lily Bart, una mujer que tal vez no sea la persona más inteligente del mundo siempre, pero que no es tonta, es perfectamente autoconsciente de su situación, quiere lo que quiere... pero le falta maldad. Lily Bart tiene demasiados escrúpulos para el mundo en el que se mueve. La verdad es que lo pasé mal al leer sus desventuras, porque Lily Bart me cae bien. Creo que es porque Edith Wharton explica muy bien dos conceptos que a día de hoy están muy presentes: el concepto de "pobreza relativa" y la depresión; la depresión causada por la ansiedad por no saber si vas a llegar a fin de mes. Me ha parecido fascinante cómo Edith Wharton aborda y describe estos dos temas.
En definitiva, un clásico que me ha encantado y que me alegro de haber leído. Y ojalá a Bertha Dorset mal dolor de tripa le entre, que cuanto más se mueva más le duela y si para reviente. -
This book reminded me of when I used to tutor a particular 15-year-old boy. I'd arrive and he'd be snacking and watching this dreadful MTV reality show called “My Super Sweet Sixteen”. I used to spend a lot of time over there, so I caught enough bits and pieces of it to feel thoroughly revolted.
Those of you in the USA have probably seen it – it follows over-privileged kids as they organize and throw their lavish 16th birthday parties. But what I find scary about it aren't the 6-figure cars these kids get, but the sense of entitlement floating in the air. These children think that if they want something they will automatically get it – what's more, they think if they want something bad enough, that means they deserve it.
I remember standing there one day, waiting for my pupil to rinse his glass, and being overcome by a crushing feeling of pity. Because I really wanted to slap the kid on the TV, but at the same time I knew, with an overwhelming certainty, that this girl was never going to be truly happy, ever. Even if their parents could keep this up, this sort of entitled, shallow upbringing can only lead to frustration, one way or the other. What a waste of a perfectly good life.
I thought a lot about this moment while reading The House of Mirth. I felt sorry for Lily Bart, while hating her at the same time. I wanted to slap her, while knowing it wasn't her fault that she was the way she was. I wanted her to make up her mind, and at the same time dreaded every one of the options she had.
For make no mistakes – she does have options. A few of us at Bookish were discussing whether this was feminist literature or not. If feminist literature aims to portray women's lack of possibilities as constraining the female character, then this is not your average feminist book (I know, I know, but bear with me for a minute). Lily Bart does in fact have a few options to choose from, even though they would all entail some measure of dependence from other people. But none of these ever crystallize into anything tangible, because she won't make up her mind.
Wharton tries to imply that she's secretly an idealist, and she may be subconsciously sabotaging her own attempts at marrying money. But in fact, for most of the book she doesn't openly defy the system – mostly, she's just angry that she can't find a rich man to support her (she wants one, so she should have one, right?). Her moral scruples only show up when she's already put herself in a compromising position and she needs to save what little self-respect she has left. She is not an idealist, not in practice – she wants to work within the system.
Yet the very system of which she is a result has no place for her. She's a highly specialized product, an ornamental object, the Gilded Age in its most extreme expression - and as such, she's so profoundly dysfunctional she can't bring herself to make a choice for her future, because none of her options are even remotely acceptable. This world is so messed up, its own product can't function within it.
Watching Lily can get annoying after a while (“will you make up your mind already? I have stuff to do, you know?!”). But it also brings me back to my thoughts that day, watching “My Super Sweet Sixteen”. I vaguely thought that this world was f'd up if it was capable of creating such a monstrous thing as that over-entitled 16-year-old. This kid was the product of an environment that was condemning her, by effect of her upbringing, to be chronically dissatisfied for the rest of her life.
The world that Ms. Wharton portrays in her book is just as monstrous. And if it did this to people, and those people were mostly women, then by the FSM, this book serves its purpose, and it definitely is a feminist book. -
I know many authors who can write beautiful scenes beautifully,but there are few who can also write sad scenes as beautifully as Wharton.Yes,she is a real pro at love tragedies.When reading,sometimes I cynically wonder if each description and character gangs together to dig nasty holes here and there,even though the heroine tries every possible effort to get herself out of them.The story line is simple and easily predictable,which leaves it to your imagination why each character thinks and acts in this way or that.
This is the beauty of this gem and her outstanding writing makes it possible. -
9/10
"I have tried hard -- but life is difficult, and I am a very useless person. I can hardly be said to have an independent existence. I was just a screw or a cog in the great machine I called life, and when I dropped out of it I found I was of no use anywhere else. What can one do when one finds that one only fits into one hole? One must get back to it or be thrown out into the rubbish heap -- and you don't know what it's like in the rubbish heap!"
There is a displacement in the space-time continuum, Mr. Spock.
If it were not for the slightly more formal language, I might be forgiven for thinking I was still in the midst of (re)reading
Convenience Store Woman -- a contemporary satire on alienation. The characters therein also announce themselves as "just a screw or a cog in the great machine"; each one finds him/herself able to fit into "only one hole". Each one, too, is "useless anywhere else". Miss Furukura, for one, is "useless" everywhere except in her convenience store. She tries for a time to escape her "one hole" existence, but, like Lily, she finds herself in the rubbish heap -- and so she scurries back to the safety of a limited existence -- but one which nonetheless provides purpose to her life.
Lily Bart finds she is "useless" everywhere except in the whirling circle of high society. Without its trappings, her life is meaningless. But sadly for Lily, she cannot find her way back into her own brand of convenience store because the gatekeepers won't have it. At some point, if one has a brain, or a heart, one transgresses all the rules of a particular society, and re-entry is denied.
This is a heartbreaking tale of those damned to live the high life in the Gilded (C)Age; and more specifically, about women's precarious footing within that cage.
... she was perhaps less to blame than she believed. Inherited tendencies had combined with early training to make her the highly specialized product she was: an organism as helpless out of its narrow range as the sea-anemone torn from the rock. She had been fashioned to adorn and delight; to what other end does nature round the rose-leaf and paint the hummingbird's breast? And was it her fault that the purely decorative mission is less easily and harmoniously fulfilled among social beings than in the world of nature? That it is apt to be hampered by material necessities or complicated by moral scruples?
With faint echoes of Tess of d'Urberville in my mind, one wonders if Lily too is not more sinned against than sinning -- for what could she have done, given the strictures imposed upon her; given the life she had been shaped for, by the earliest forces of her mother inculcating in her her duty to rebel against "dinginess".
Ruling the turbulent element called home was the vigorous and determined figure of a mother still young enough to dance her ball-dresses to rags, while the hazy outline of a neutral-tinted father filled an intermediate space between the butler and the man who came to wind the clocks. ... Lily was naturally proud of her mother's aptitude in this line: she had been brought up in the faith that, whatever it cost, one must have a good cook, and be what Mrs. Bart called "decently dressed." Mrs. Bart's worst reproach to her husband was to ask him if he expected her to "live like a pig".; and his replying in the negative was always regarded as a justification for cabling to Paris for an extra dress or two, and telephoning to the jeweller that he might, after all, send home the turquoise bracelet which Mrs. Bart had looked at that morning.
Having raised the little girl to not live "like a pig", why is one surprised when she adopts the very lifestyle into which she was indoctrinated?
We speak much, in our society, of the deleterious after-effects of child abuse. We acknowledge the reality of PTSD after prolonged abuse, poverty, neglect. And yet, we smirk behind our hankies when it is suggested that someone like Lily was also abused. It's not abuse, then, if one stuffs the child's mouth with money rather than dirt?
To indoctrinate, to brainwash, to instill day after day, into a young girl that she must never stoop to live like a "dingy" "pig" ... and then to blame her when she rises up to live above the pigs! How could she fight against the very air that she breathed?
This is an insidious piece of writing which presents itself as an innocent little book of manners; perhaps a simple morality tale, but in the end is aiming at upsetting the societal apple cart.
Wharton's luscious language is applied to this tale much in the same way one would apply a rich lather of sweet icing to a cake or exuberant amounts of make-up. In truth, it reminds me of the over-garnished, over-made-up precious little girls that are decorated by their mothers to appear in beauty pageants: there is too much of it, and at some level, it feels wrong. At the same time as this occurs, one has the sense of not being able to pull away because the spectacle is riveting.
Wharton's tale would not have worked so perfectly had her language, her style, been simpler and more direct. The dress fits the occasion, one could say. How could we feel the florid exuberance of Lily's life and the ultimate depression and lethargy into which she falls to her ruin if Wharton had not provided the means to juxtapose so vividly? It cannot be otherwise. -
I have taken much longer than usual to finish this novel. I blame it on two reasons. First, the subject matter of vacuous and decadent high society life in 20th century America is not of particular interest to me, and second, the writing is verbose and convoluted to the point of vapid. I had read The Age of Innocence by the same author, and had enjoyed that novel much more.
The story is slow-paced but effectively constructed, reaching the climax in the last fifth of the novel. It tells how one glamorous socialite Lily Bart endeavors to climb the New York social ladder at the turn of the last century, but meanwhile falls for an intelligent lawyer who can see right through her and tells her that is not the life she really wants. Then she finds herself trapped at every turn between her innate morality and the sweet illusion of being accepted into the upper-class milieu. After a couple of botched attempts to win over marriage prospects, she begins to question her own motive, but is too proud to accept help from the man she loves. Eventually, a few incidents lead her to realize the corruption and callousness of high society. Sadly, regret comes too late as she is betrayed time and again, and she begins to descend into penury.
I have to give the author credit for presenting the privileged class of her times in an honest and scathing manner. But I don’t feel an affinity to the protagonist, or to any of the other characters. I feel that Lily Bart was always free to make her own choices.
I’m giving this novel 3.4 stars, rounded down. -
Tengo un tío que ha hecho del vivir por encima de sus posibilidades un arte. Si se le pregunta qué es lo que más le gustaría hacer responde, tan en serio como en broma, que quisiera vivir como vive, pero pudiendo. Este objetivo, esta vez totalmente en serio, es el que domina la vida de Lily Bart.
Lily es una joven atractiva y mundana, la soltera más cotizada de la alta sociedad neoyorquina de finales del siglo XIX. Tiene todo lo que puede desear —belleza, pedigrí, clase, buen gusto. Todo, menos dinero. No es que una señorita de buena familia tuviera muchas alternativas en esa época, pero cuando una no dispone de fortuna propia, su única opción es vivir de sus familiares hasta que consiga cazar un marido rico. Y Lily, que lo bien sabe, está a punto de conseguirlo.
“It wasn’t meant to be disagreeable,” he returned amicably. “Isn’t marriage your vocation? Isn’t it what you’re all brought up for?” She sighed. “I suppose so. What else is there?” “Exactly. And so why not take the plunge and have it over?”
Lo primero que llama la atención acerca de Lily es su atractivo. Por ejemplo, sabemos que
Anna Karénina es hermosa porque
Tolstói nos lo dice una y otra vez y claro, no vamos a dudar de su palabra. Pero en el caso de Lily no hace falta que Warthon insista, es evidente; el aura de su encanto, incluso de su magnetismo sexual, irradia de cada página. Atractiva, elegante, divertida y poseedora de cualquier otra virtud digna de encomio en una señorita de alcurnia —junto con un profundo conocimiento de las reglas del juego—, Lily navega con seguridad las aguas de la alta sociedad a la caza de un rico heredero a la deriva. Pero esos mares son peligrosos y de la misma manera que los encantos de Lily son un cebo para incautos pretendientes, también atraen a un buen número de tiburones.
Everything about her was at once vigorous and exquisite, at once strong and fine. He had a confused sense that she must have cost a great deal to make, that a great many dull and ugly people must, in some mysterious way, have been sacrificed to produce her.
Las muchas virtudes de la señorita Bart le garantizan una posición interina en la escena social. Pasa su tiempo como invitada de lujo, de mansión en mansión; una especie de objeto decorativo exclusivo para animar fiestas y banquetes desde los que acecha, con ayuda de sus anfitrionas, la presa perfecta. Esas mismas cualidades hacen que Lily se gane también la simpatía del lector, y esto es importante, porque mientras Anna Karénina o
Emma Bovary tiraron su vida por la borda en aras de un ideal romántico, Lily lo va a hacer en busca de lujo e influencia.
Lily understood that beauty is only the raw material of conquest, and that to convert it into success other arts are required.
El mundo ha cambiado mucho en los más de cien años transcurridos desde la publicación de The House of Mirth, pero la fuerza de la historia sigue intacta. Una fuerza que, sin perder su carga trágica, puede interpretarse de muchas formas: desde el peligro de intentar sacar beneficio del atractivo físico a la crueldad hacia las mujeres de una sociedad patriarcal; pasando por la lucha por la libertad en un mundo dominado por el dinero y la denuncia de las terribles diferencias de clase en la sociedad capitalista. Temas todos ellos tan actuales en el siglo XXI como en el XIX.
Por su ambientación The House of Mirth puede parecer un típico texto de finales del XIX, pero, aunque fuera publicada solo en 1905, es una novela muy moderna, tanto en su estilo como en los temas que trata. Es cierto que para texto con una carga sexual implícita tan evidente la aproximación de Warthon a los aspectos más físicos de las relaciones humanas es un poco timorata, pero la novela es, digamos, psicológicamente moderna.
Coches o teléfonos son todavía objetos exóticos (y no demasiado prácticos cuando han de competir con carruajes o postales) y acontecimientos como la liberación de la mujer o la guerra mundial son aún impensables. Sin embargo, algunas cosas han comenzado a cambiar. Por ejemplo, una cierta clase media empieza a aparecer y los ricos, para mantener sus privilegios, tienen que trabajar —en Wall Street, eso sí.
Y aunque el sexo siga siendo un tabú, las relaciones entre hombres y mujeres, al menos en la sofisticada alta sociedad que Warthon retrata —y que ella misma conoció tan bien—, están empezando a transformarse. Algunas mujeres han comenzado a divorciarse de sus maridos (un paso que antes solo los varones osaban dar) y otras, con la más absoluta impunidad, les son infieles más o menos abiertamente. Las hay incluso que, a un alto precio social, deciden ser vivir solas, trabajar y no depender de un hombre.
Aun así, la doble moral es evidente. Una mujer casada, si su esposo lo acepta o decide ignorarlo, puede hacer lo que desee —algo que puede ser hasta bien considerado en los círculos más frívolos. Pero la virginidad sigue siendo una mercancía tan valiosa como peligrosa y pobre de la joven soltera que no se conduzca con la más absoluta decencia.
“You asked me just now for the truth—well, the truth about any girl is that once she’s talked about she’s done for; and the more she explains her case the worse it looks.”
También ha cambiado la estructura social. Los ricos, aunque tengan que “trabajar” en lugar de vivir de las rentas, siguen disfrutando de todos los privilegios y los pobres sobreviven como pueden, solo accediendo a unas condiciones mínimamente dignas a través de la caridad. Pero una cierta parte de la alta burguesía que ha hecho fortuna con los negocios empieza a amenazar la posición del “dinero viejo” y los apellidos, y comienza a aparecer una incipiente clase media, más o menos educada, que entre otras cosas servirá pronto de plataforma para la emancipación de la mujer.
El velo que separa el exclusivo mundo al que Lily se aferra de la masa humana que debe ser explotada para sustentarlo es apenas levantado con la excusa de algún que otro teatral acto de filantropía, puesto en escena por las damas de buena familia, no sin una cierta repugnancia hacia los receptores de su munificencia, con el único objetivo de sentirse bien ellas mismas y, quizá, aparentar en sociedad una generosidad de la que carecen. Incluso para las mejor intencionadas, como Lily, no deja de ser un pasatiempo.
Con el tiempo, Lily terminará por descubrir que en ese mundo terrible y sórdido del que siempre ha huido habitan personas que, sin disfrutar de ninguno de los privilegios y comodidades a los que ella está acostumbrada, viven vidas más plenas que la suya y la de muchos de pueblan su ambiente.
Pero, con todos sus defectos, ese el círculo en el que Lily ha elegido vivir y poco importa el coste para ella, y mucho menos para los desafortunados que deben sufrir para que otros disfruten. Incluso aun siendo cada vez más consciente del triste vacío de la vida que persigue y la injusticia del sistema que la sustenta, su grima, su odio e incluso su terror por cualquier cosa que suene a miseria (léase simplemente ausencia de lujo) es mucho más fuerte que su razón.
No; she was not made for mean and shabby surroundings, for the squalid compromises of poverty. Her whole being dilated in an atmosphere of luxury; it was the background she required, the only climate she could breathe in. But the luxury of others was not what she wanted.
Nada puede desviar a Lily de su único objetivo en la vida: mantener su nivel social casándose con un hombre rico. Nada externo, porque, elegante y atractiva como es, lo único que puede apartarla de su destino es ella misma.
No es la frivolidad de su entorno lo que va a destruir a Lily, sino su propia incapacidad para realmente aceptar esa frivolidad. En cada ocasión en que su ansiado objetivo está a su alcance, cuando casi puede tocarlo con los dedos, Lily hace algo estúpido para arruinar la oportunidad. ¿O es que, en realidad, aunque no quiera confesárselo ni a sí misma, está enamorada de Lawrence, tan diferente del resto de los hombres que frecuenta? Además, se le está acabando el tiempo. Y en una sociedad tan estrecha de miras, su fracaso en asegurarse un futuro a través del matrimonio será juzgado como una amenaza por parte de las mujeres y como una presa fácil por parte de los hombres con menos escrúpulos.
She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.
La desenfadada Lily del principio de The House of Mirth va a pasar de deshojar margaritas para elegir marido a temer por su futuro y su posición en una sociedad que finalmente no tendrá más remedio que cuestionar. Su confianza y aplomo cederán bajo el implacable peso de la ley del qué dirán, dando paso a la angustia y la incertidumbre. La ironía, que empezando por el título tan bien maneja Warthon, se transformará en tristeza.
She blushed a little under his gaze. “You think me horribly sordid, don’t you? But perhaps it’s rather that I never had any choice. There was no one, I mean, to tell me about the republic of the spirit.” “There never is—it’s a country one has to find the way to one’s self.” “But I should never have found my way there if you hadn’t told me.” “Ah, there are sign-posts—but one has to know how to read them.”
Sí, los signos estuvieron ahí todo el tiempo y quizá no fuera tan complicado leerlos. Es fácil ser consciente de cuanto de injusto o miserable nos rodea, pero es terriblemente difícil romper con ello, no digamos encontrar un lugar mejor. Como Lawrence le dice a Lily, la única forma de llegar a ese lugar mejor y más feliz es encontrar el camino uno mismo. Tras toda una vida de entrenamiento para gustar a otros, con el único objetivo de encontrar un marido, Lily tiene ahora que encontrarse a sí misma.
