Set in the ruthless high society of Gilded Age New York, The House of Mirth traces the tragic downward spiral of Lily Bart, a beautiful but impoverished woman whose moral conscience repeatedly prevents her from securing a wealthy marriage for survival.
My roommate in grad school recommended Edith Wharton to me, so now I’m finally getting around to her work (thanks, JC!). The writing is a bit stiff, but in a specific and luxurious way; it gleams. I disliked Lily Bart and then she broke my heart by the end, tossed about trying to secure a place in the world through a good marriage; but with only a reticent aunt willing to give here a meager allowance, she is forced to rely on her looks and wiles to find a suitor. Suitors do come, but one by one they are pushed away. Too old, not enough money, married already, etc.
Wharton composed the novel in two books, the first takes on the pattern of a circle, where Lily goes from one summer mansion to another to spend weeks relaxing in bucolic settings. Lily is trying to gain a foothold so she can ascend the class strata, but never quite finds it. The second book has her slowly spiralling down the social ladder to a tragic end.
Simple lessons that were not afforded to young women at the turn of the century: don’t gamble at bridge with other people’s money and don’t expect stock tips to always pan out. And many more. The inequalities were, as we know, stark.
Wharton is a bit like Henry James. Like one and you’ll probably like the other. There’s one other Wharton novel(la) I have on my summer list: Ethan Frome.