Miss Grief - Constance Fenimore Woolson
Wow! Amazing to read. Why isn't Woolson more known today? This book is a collection of her short stories.
Woolson is one generation older than Wharton. I can't say that Wharton had read Woolson, but it seems likely. Woolson died before Wharton had published in significance.
A great amount that compares between these two, certainly in the writing; but also in life. Both were friends with Henry James, both lived and wrote many of their works around Europe, Woolson also has many regional works around the U.S., and both were New Englanders. Interesting to read speculation on Woolson's influence on Henry James work.
(I am also a fan of Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, comparable with these two as well.)
Short quote (spoiler safe) to give you a flavor:
On each side and in front, as far as the eye could reach, stretched the low green land which was yet no land, intersected by hundreds of channels, narrow and broad, whose waters were green as their shores. In and out, now running into each other for a moment, now setting off each for himself again, these many channels flowed along with a rippling current; zigzag as they were, they never seemed to loiter, but, as if knowing just where they were going and what they had to do, they found time to take their own pleasant roundabout way, visiting the secluded house-holds of their friends the flags, who, poor souls, must always stay at home. These currents were as clear as crystal, and green as the water-grasses that fringed their miniature shores. The bristling reeds, like companies of free-lances, rode boldly out here and there into the deeps, trying to conquer more territory for the grasses, but the currents were hard to conquer; they dismounted the free-lances, and flowed over their submerged heads; they beat them down with assaulting ripples; they broke their backs so effectually that the bravest had no spirit left, but trailed along, limp and bedraggled.
A description of St. Clair Flats, a place sadly lost in time. Woolson's describes beautifully natural places in America now forgotten. Her descriptions of people are equally clear and heart felt, if not also somewhat snarky at times. It reads more modern to me than expected for something from near 140 years ago.
I am looking forward to reading Woolson's novels, of which there are five published:
Anne (1882)
For the Major (1883)
East Angels (1886)
Jupiter Lights (1889)
Horace Chase (1894)