Constant Reader Classics Corner

[Sherry]

Let's start discussing this book October 1, 2008.

[Lena]

I somehow managed to read this five months early (just call me calendar challenged)so I'm posting a note here to remind myself to bring up one question I have for when the official discussion starts:

What do people think the title is referring to?

[Ginia]

I had the same question, Lena! It reflects on so many different levels. I'm sorry - I'm not a member of this group, but I just finished reading the book and loved it. I just wanted to pass along that my question, throughout the book, was the same as yours.

[Lena]

I'm curious - what conclusion did you ultimately come to?

[Ginia]

I didn't! I think the author was deliberately vague, to allow the reader to see how much innocence there was (especially compared to today!), and on so many levels. I've never ever been good with the typical English teacher class question of: What did the author REALLY mean??? My brain was apparently created without that deductionary sprocket and I rarely come up with the (English-teacher-approved) correct answer. But I'd like to read it again!

[Christina]

Hope you don't mind my joining early as well...
I assumed that "Age of Innocence" references competing value and claims of experience v. innocence. Ellen is "experienced" (and thus tainted by society's standards) whereas May is innocent (both unaware/inexperienced and the 'victim'). May is described at one point as being impervious to experience - how it would just drop off her - she would never be shaped by it (how horrible).

Like how the final chapter addresses this w/Newland reflecting on the 'changing times' and concluding: "After all, there was good in the old ways" and, admiring the freedom of the 'new ways 'There was good in the new order, too."

[Yulia]

Anyone is welcome to join the discussion, but can everyone please hold off on comments and questions till October 1st, so the discussion isn't . . . bifurcated? :) Thanks!

[Ricki]

Tom read my plea for help which I posted before you were able to re-commit yourself - sorry I forgot to post that you can do it Yulia so it's my fault. He has posted the following under the classics corner post so I'll copy it here - just remember it's Tom's contribution, not mine - I am hardly started on it. I don't want it to be lost so I hope you won't mind if I post his contribution here a couple of days early. Thank you to both of you - it promises to be a good discussion and as usual, I shall join in late!

Tom's contribution - "
I'm reluctant to commit to a duty I probably can't fulfill on a full-time basis, but as I do love this novel, and Wharton in general, I'm happy to help out by tossing out a couple of questions to get things started:

1) one large theme in this novel is the conflict between the security and power of community and the freedom of the individual. What seem to be the values, good and bad, of each side? (ach, this seems like such a "teacher" question, so please feel free to revise it or ignore it as anyone sees fit). A related theme, which seems quite relevant today, is the clash between "outsiders / foreigners" or foreign sensibilities, and "insiders / "pure" Americans. On one hand, many of characters would appear to mimic Old World aristocratic attitudes, yet they fear and attack anyone who challenges their parochial sense of American community and identity. (the opening scene, at the Opera House, to see performance of Gounod's "Faust," captures this clash wonderfully, and sets the tone for the rest of the novel. Might be fun to think about how the Faust story reflects Archer's own situation.

2) Though the character of Ellen Olenska sets much of the plot in motion, why does Wharton use a male narrator, Newland Archer, to tell the story? Perhaps the topic was considered too "radical" in the 20s, and therefore she needed to make it safer by filtering through a male perspective?
A related thread would be the contrasting views of women in American / European society, as seen through May and Ellen; women as "protectors / destroyers" of family.

These are just some suggestions. Please feel free to adapt them to or replace them with whatever interests arise. "

[Tom]

My apologies for jumping the gun, all. I wasn't even aware of this function of setting up sub-spaces for discussion (I'm usually 3 laps behind the curve on this kind of stuff). Please proceed with your established routine, and I'll jump in when I can. Thanks for understanding.

[Ricki]

No apology needed Tom, your contribution is gratefully accepted and valued(that sentence sounds terribly pretentious, it's not meant that way). It's nice to see people ready to discuss a book.

[Yulia]

Thanks to everyone who was eager to get this discussion started. Sorry for the rocky beginning of the discussion, and sincere thanks to Tom for his great questions. I'll return to them after briefly introducing the book.

The Age of Innocence relates Newland Archer's impending marriage to May Welland, in particular, just as May's cousin Countess Ellen Olenska returns from Europe after fleeing a failed marriage to a Polish count. Though chronicling 1870s New York society for the majority of the story, the novel was written in 1920, when Edith Wharton was 48, and was first published in four parts, then as a whole. It ended up winning the Pulitzer Prize, making Wharton the first woman to ever receive the prize, which is amazing to consider.

Someone questioned what the title might mean, but I'd always taken it as an ironic swipe at how society life (and human interaction, more broadly) has never been innocent, only perhaps cared more at one time to seem that way. Do others have a different interpretation of the title? For instance, was May Welland an innocent when she married Newland?

Tom raised the interesting question of why the book was written from a male perspective, which is fascinating and something to consider. How would the book have been different if seen from May's, Ellen's or even the grandmother's perspective? In truth, any character, male or female, would have had a provocative take on these same situations and internal conflicts.

Also, Tom mentions Faust, which is something I'd also given more attention to in my second reading of this novel. (For some time in college, I was rather obsessed with the many versions on the Faust tale.) Who, if anyone, makes a deal with the devil? Newland? May? Ellen? Who is the devil? Society? Family? What do the characters gain and at what cost, if they have made this social contract, which it seems to me they have all implicitly signed? Most intriguing to me is the issue, who is the "victim" in this story? Newland? May? Ellen? No one?

Just make sure to preface all spoilers with warnings in capital letters or spaces or whatever mode your prefer (ah, the choices), as some may not have finished the book when reading the discussion. Thanks!

[Whitaker]

Hi, new here, but fascinated by the discussion already.

Actually, I felt that the title "Age of Innocence" could just as easily refer to Newland.

[SPOILER:]
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One example is when Ellen says to him, "You've never been beyond. And I have, and I know what it looks like there." And for all he believes himself to be more worldly and in-the-know than May, it is she who runs circles around him. She (and the family) keep him from finding out about the pressure on Ellen to return to her husband. Later, he has no clue that May knows about his love for Ellen, and is busy conniving to ensure that he will not leave her.
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[END SPOILER:]

I also wonder to what extent Newland may be considered an unreliable narrator? He has a certain view of himself as a man of the world, but is that an accurate view? There are times when he seems a little deluded about his own perspicacity.

[Al]

Steve:

i completely agree with you about one of literature's most romantic lines ever - it literally made my knees buckle :)

I also think the ending may be the best ending to a novel I have ever read.

This was my first time reading Wharton which I now see has been my great loss - I plan to start making up for lost time - what would you all recommend next? I am thinking "the house of mirth"

I saw the Scorsese movie years ago and it did not ruin the book at all for me - although I did picture Daniel Day Lewis, Wionna Ryder and Michelle Pfiffer as all the major characters.

As for the questions raised so far:

I agree with Yulia that the title is meant to be ironic, alluding to the fact that no age has ever been innocent, even though there is a tendency to romanticize the past and think we were all so much more innocent then. this seems particularly apt since she sets the novel in the not too distant past, just around the time she was born.

SPOILER ALERT





I also think the title implies that no one in the book is innocent - despite how they might seem. This really hits home at the end of the book when Dallas asks Newland if Ellen was "his Fanny"

I think Wharton's choice of telling the story via Newland, a man, actually accentuates the fact that the women were the real power brokers in that society - the men are more like pawns in society's chess game. this is clear from the beginning when Newland pushes for the announcement of the engagement at the ball that night - he thought he was being so noble, but it was exactly what the women in May's family expected he would do.

I do think when Ellen talks of "you've never been beyond and I have" she is referring to being a social outcast. Newland would like to think he could be, but I think she knows he ultimately would not have the strength to do it. All of the characters seem to me to be a victim of that society's harsh lens and rules.

[Ruth]

I have been remiss in that I have not done a reread of this book for the current discussion. It's not that I would mind at all, Edith Wharton is the best, but I just haven't found time. I'm enjoying everyone's comments, though.

However, I would second the recommendation of House of Mirth, which is even better than Age of Innocence, and up you to Custom of the Country, which I think is the best of all.

[Lena]

So interesting to hear people's thoughts on the title.

SPOILER:

I agree that the title might well refer to Newland. In the beginning, his conviction that the conventions of his society need to be upheld seems so sweetly naive, as if the "protection" such conventions offer more than compensates for the suffering they cause those fallen members such as Ellen.

But Newland seemed even more naive to me once he began to feel society's restriction on his own behavior and began to think that he should be able to escape. This was what I originally thought the title referred to, the innocence of those who fail to recognize just how much they are controlled by the rigid ideals of the society in which they live.

[Al]

Ruth:

thanks for your suggestions - yours are usually spot-on, so I am pleased to have a couple.

Steve:


SPOILER ALERT







I do think Ellen is referring to being punished by society. The consequences for men having affairs in their society aren't nearly that extreme.

I agree with you that what happenned with the Count is a big mystery. But I am glad for the most part that it is not spelled out. It makes Ellen more intriguing and even vulnerable not knowing.

Lena:

I think your assessment of the title makes a lot of sense too. Archer is far more innocent than he realizes - especially underestimating May.

[Yulia]

Regarding innocence, it was so frustrating to read what Newland wanted in a bride: that "miracle of fire and ice," a woman who was able to attract the interest of other men but also discourages them from seeing her as available. Perhaps a part of me was so incensed because I realize many men still have these impossible ideals about the type of woman who would "deserve" their devotion.

Whitaker, you mention how much Newland thinks of himself (it's a relief to know others questioned his self-image just as much!), but the question I ask myself is, what did Ellen see in him? I understand his attraction to her, but not the other way round. Does anyone have suggestions as to how he was set apart from all the other men, or from anyone for that matter? Was he shown in any way to be a braver, smarter, more empathetic, more romantic figure? Is it Newland's "innocence" and weakness that attracts her? Or is it pure loneliness on her part that would lead her to anyone of proper standing who could appreciate her? I seriously am interested in others' theories on this. What am I missing?

Steve, that is a perfect expression of love. In my own mind, I think of it as falling in love every day--with the same person, but for new reasons.

I always thought of the "beyond" as beyond caring what society thinks is appropriate, and she has lived to see the repercussions of defying their rules, while Newland never has: he is too much a creation of his society to ever step outside his determined path.

Al, I also highly recommend House of Mirth.

SPOILER ALERT
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Al, you mention how the women in the novel were the power brokers, but was Ellen truly in charge of her situation when she was in New york? Despite her insistence on being herself, wasn't she pushed not to divorce her husband due to the consequences it would have on her family? I didn't see it as an act of will on her part to change her mind: I was furious at her family's having crushed her hope for freedom.

[Tom]

Although she appears early on, at least in Newland's eyes, as a paradigm of innocent purity, I think May is in fact the least innocent of characters, in terms of understanding how to play the game well enough to preserve her marriage. Wharton shows this nicely through the image of May as Diana, the ancient goddess of the hunt, in the scene where she is praticing archery. Though she's dressed in all white, as I recall, like a virginal goddess, she knows full well how to protect her domain. I don't mean this as a criticism, for one could argue that preserving her family is a good thing, that it maintains social stability in this community, even though that community has its share of hypocrites and snobs. That's part of what intrigues me about this novel -- Wharton declines to tip her hand obviously as to where her sympathies reside. Yulia asks which characters, if any, are victims? I would argue that that they are all victims, to varying degrees, but pay different prices. Should we view May as a victim of a society that has trained her to play the role of an "innocent" submissive woman, who can preserve her world only through machinations? To what degree does she act out of genuine love for Newland or out of tribal instinct to preserve the codes of her group? Though I suspect it's more the latter than the former, I've never been quite convinced that Wharton intends us to view that as only the perpetuation of stifling social codes.

[Whitaker]

Steve, my reaction on reading that line was that it alluded to an affair with Riviere. However, the comments here are making me rethink that. We never really know whether she had an affair or not, but we definitely know that she has been an outsider -- both in Europe where she never really accepted their conventions of the day, and in New York. Newland (and isn't that name wonderfully evocative of innocence? New Land), for all that he thinks of himself as a rebel, never really quite frees himself of society's conventions.

Yulia, I felt that Ellen loved Newland because, like her and unlike the rest of New York society, he was interested in things outside the confines of his parochial world.

[SPOILER ALERT:]
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In their confrontation towards the end of Part 1, she says, "I felt that there was no one as kind as you .. The very good people didn't convince me; I felt they'd never been tempted. But you knew; you understood; you had felt the world outside tugging at one with all its golden hands -- and yet you hated the things it asks of one; you hated happiness bought by disloyalty and cruelty and indifference."
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[END SPOILER ALERT:]


One thing that really puzzled me about the book was the ending. Did anyone else have this reaction?

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Its ambivalence, Newland's satisfaction with his life as it turned out, seemed out of place especially after the rather savage depiction of how he is routed by New York society and by May. At one point, I can't remember where, he thinks of the horror of becoming like all the married couples that he has met. In the end, isn't that his fate?

I'm fascinated by how Ellen is described in almost religious terms at the end. Newland sees her in his mind as being bathed in a golden light. He thinks of her as the chapel at which he has prayed all those years. And his walking away, he in the dark, she up in the light:

"He sat for a long time on the bench in the thickening dusk, his eyes never turning from the balcony. At length a light shone through the windows, and a moment later a man-servant came out on the balcony, drew up the awnings, and closed the shutters."

It's kind of like the end of Faust where Marguerite is taken up into heaven, leaving Faust to his fate with the devil. Are we meant to see Newland as Faust?

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[END SPOILER ALERT:]

[Janet]

I agree with many of the other comments regarding innocence, particularly as regards to Archer. But I also think it refers to the insular upper-crust of New York society of the time. All the characters gave the impression that if they conformed to stringent societal rules, somehow, their self-important little world would be protected from “trends” (as Mrs. Archer would put it) that would change their safe existence. After all, isn’t that still true for most people even today? We say we want change, but when it happens, through rose colored glasses we remember how good things were in the old days: the way things used to be done.

…..Spoiler Alert….


As to the ending, in my youth I likely would not have understood it. But from time to time I have revisited a former school, the church I grew up in, and homes I once lived in. For many people our memories of how things were in reality or our imaginations, become disenchanted when faced with actual decay or modernization. Haven't you ever been shocked and disappointed to encounter someone you haven't seen in years? Previously in your mind they had remained young; then you see them aged and frail. I think this is why Archer chooses not to see Ellen. He prefers to cling to innocence and remember the relationship he imagined he had.
…..End Spoiler Alert….


Also, I think the novel encourages the reader to evaluate their choices in life. Do you conform to social norms and follow the predicted path or step out of your box, throwing caution to the wind? I think the novel does an excellent job of pointing out there is no ideal. Either choice has its benefits, yet equally there are sacrifices to be made on either path. What counts in the end is to come to terms with the result of those choices with acceptance, and hopefully satisfaction.

[Ricki]

I'm about 2/3 of the way through this and have found it hard going and fairly dated so I was curious about the author. There are some really good links about her life (and I'm assuming you all know far more about her than I do but just in case...).
a chronology - http://www.wsu.edu/~campbelld/wharton...

amd several bits of biography -
http://www.answers.com/edith%20wharton

I was fascinated in the last one by the excerpt from the Columbia encyclopedia and wondered how much the book reflects her life and marriage along with it's seeming emptiness.

On the other hand the innocence of the characters appears to me to be almost a sense of naivete rather than innocence on some levels - the lack of awareness of the privileged influence that their position in society brings them - if that makes sense- and I wondered also whether Wharton realised that about herself (and in this I have no information having read only Ethan Frome and nothing about her) Obviously this also has its downside - the structure of society was obviously not just restrictive but constrictive for those who would have benefitted from the freedom to blossom and in some ways it would take an incredibly strong person to break free from it. Perhaps the book shows that none of the main characters had that strength. Except, come to think of it, possibly May.

[Whitaker]

[SPOILERS:]
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I think what I found puzzling about the ending was the change in Edith Wharton's attitude. Up till then, it was a fairly resounding critique of old New York society. Then, it seems to change. I was wondering if I was missing something there, because the change to the more positive view didn't seem to jibe with the rest of the novel.

As for Newland's decision not to see Ellen, on a personal level, I did rather empathise with that. Although it's interesting how people can differ on that. After I finished the book, I asked a couple of friends what they would do if they were in Newland's position, and they both responded that they would go up. When I raised the point about becoming disappointed, they both said, "So what? Disappointment's part of life. Just deal with it and move on." I guess they aren't the terribly romantic sort. :-)

[Yulia]

Tom- You're so right in noting the significance of May as Diana. Finally I understand why my edition chose to portray that moment of May at the archery competition, stretching her bow, as their cover image. I love the notion of May's acting out of "tribal instinct" to protect her engagement.

Does May love Newland? I'm not sure I'd use that word. She may be fond of him, respect him, and think him compatible with her ideals of a successful husband, but marriage was such a tactical move, as it still is for many people, even in this country.

Janet, it's impossible for me to read your question about our readiness for change without interpreting it on a national scale and thinking of how America has lost its standing in the world, how the stock market has crashed, how people are losing their savings and homes, and how we have a huge deficit. Or if I step aside from politics and look at mere social matters, I consider how women and minorities and those with disabilities are regarded so, yes, I can say i want change, I embrace it, I believe we need it, and I'm doing everything I can to change others' outdated expectations. But as a biracial female with a disability, I'm more prone to such daring perhaps than someone who identifies more with the status quo. (Pardon me, I just watched the VP debate and am in an urgent state of mind.)

SPOILER
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Whitaker, I must say, you can be a true romantic and choose not to remain deluded about a false idol. If someone who considers themselves a romantic doesn't want reality, my first thought would be, they're afraid of *connecting* authentically: they're afraid of exploring who and what it is they in fact say they love. Archer lived in his fantasy world, but to me he's just a coward, afraid to take a chance, afraid of testing his hopes, afraid of truly living.

Sorry I'm so adamant about this. The first time I read this book, I was so overcome by the tragedy of their not being able to make it work, but now, I think that no woman could have been more fit for Newland than May. They are both perfectly conventional creations of society. They were meant to be together. I now see him as a rather pathetic being, worthy of neither happiness nor fulfillment. There is a price to pay for acceptance, and he got his due. In the end, he is the tragedy: his character, his narcissism, his pride.

End of rant.

[Janet]

Whitaker,
Your profile doesn't indicate your age, but I'm guessing you're younger than my 50 plus years. I think Wharton’s attribution to a more positive if somewhat reluctant acceptance of society by Archer is totally realistic. In every age, youth tend to be rebellious (at least in their mind); finding fault in the norms of the “establishment”. Most people as they age tend to mellow from experience. Many of the rebellious hippies of the 1960s and early 70s are today's CEOs, soccer grand moms, or office managers. I think as you examine any time period you find similar transformations or perhaps you might view it as resignations to conformity. As time passes, some may wistfully wonder what might have happened with different choices. Yet most tend to push the past into the back of their minds while they are busy living their day to day lives. If somehow the past intrudes on the present, rationalizations can force it to retreat. Rightly or wrongly, this is the reaction of the predominance of each generation. Society does change though; too slow for youth and too quickly for the old.

[Yulia]

Janet, that was wonderfully put, though I don't believe I personally am a rebel: I simply live honestly to my values. Am I being cruel, as Steve suggests? I question his notion of cruelty. Aren't classics meant to elicit strong reactions? I wouldn't still be reading as much as I do if I didn't react so strongly to books. My energy and desire to articulate my views may waver due to my energy, but I can only hope I'll know until I die what I believe.

This weekend, my father smirked as he said, "Frank's an idealist." He didn't mean it as a compliment: he believes Frank (who is 42) is naive and is making me so in turn, by inspiring me to live up to my principles. What could I say? My biggest act of rebellion in my almost 27 years of living seems to be my caring about the country. Pardon the detour.

[Janet]

Yulia,
Regarding social change: it is easy to look around and see how far we have to go. Sometimes, we are reluctant to look back and see how far we have come. In the course of human history, the rights we as women enjoy are a relatively recent thing. As a child, I remember there were separate water fountains for black and white. Interracial marriages were not only uniformly condemned, but were also illegal in many places. As a high school student, the only person I remember seeing with a disability was one young woman who was blind. There was no law providing for free appropriate public education for individuals with disabilities.

I am not a member of a racial minority. However, as a woman I can proudly boast my voice as a board member on our local Arc (and on other organizations where I previously lived) is respected. My son with autism has a job and is not locked away and forgotten in some institution as he might have been were he born in the years when I was a child. With the advent of television, and even more dramatically with computers and the Internet, the speed of change in our society is light-years faster than that of Newland Archer's time.

[Yulia]

Janet,
I am sincerely mindful of and appreciate what progress has been made socially and medically over the past century. If it weren't for that progress, I would have succumbed already to depression or been immobilized by MS. But it seems too many in our country are complacent with or even begrudging of that change, and that frightens me.

[Yulia]

Lena, for some reason I missed your earlier post (message 17) on your reading of Newland's innocence. I think it's spot on. I couldn't agree more.

[Whitaker]

Janet, Yulia, I think you are both absolutely spot on. I think that's what makes The Age of Innocence such a great novel for me: its complexity, richness and ambiguity. Just like life. :-D

Interestingly, Edith Wharton shows the same development that Janet speaks of. I was googling her and read that some 10 years after writing The Age of Innocence, she wrote a memoir, A Backward Glance, where she said:

"When I was young it used to seem to me that the group in which I grew up was like an empty vessel into which no new wine would ever again be poured. Now I see that one of its uses lay in preserving a few drops of an old vintage too rare to be savoured by a youthful palate; and I should like to atone for my unappreciativeness by trying to revive that faint fragrance."

[Gail]

I've enjoyed reading all the comments here on one of my favorite novels.

Newland seems a rather pathetic thing, not able to act on his impulses; indeed, subordinating his wants to the wants of others. I agree that he is probably the most innocent character in that he is long unaware of the machinations going on around him to keep him from (gasp!) running off with Ellen, even before his marriage. One thing I haven't seen discussed much is Ellen's motivation. She loves Newland, but doesn't want to take him to "beyond", probably, as someone said, because she knows he won't hold up well there. On the other hand, we must, I think, consider the idea that marriage, the protection and upbringing of children, and even the forms of society aren't necessarily things that should be overthrown too easily.

What struck me most, other than the outstanding writing, was the remark by Newland's son. Here's the old boy, going over his memories, presuming that he's done fairly well in covering his tracks, when all along everyone knew what was happening, or trying to happen, and doing their best to prevent it.

As for May: well. Not an innocent, surely. Quite aware and capable of mountains of manipulation to get her way. Not evil, maybe, but more than willing to strike a deal with the devil to stay in her comfort area. In love with Newland? Probably as much as she was capable of being in love with anyone. He was her beau ideal, I think.

I loved the whole Faust connection, which I completely missed the first time I read this. It makes the novel a much richer experience, I think.

I thought men had quite a bit of control here; after all, they control the purse-strings, and thus can call the tune.

[Jim]

Our patron saint Dorothy Parker wrote: "Whenever you say Edith Wharton, you have to say Henry James right after. If you don't, you'll have bad luck all day."

With that in mind, I cannot read this book without thinking of that other notable member of the Archer family Isabel in Portrait of a Lady. Countess Olenska's story is what would have happened to Isabel if she had left Gilbert Osmond. Of course, thinking of James, I am also reminded of how much more nuance he would have gotten out of the situation than Wharton did.

As for books talking to books, the ending sentence of Age of Innocence, "Newland Archer got up slowly and walked back alone to his hotel", does put me in mind of A Farewell to Arms, "After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain." At least Newland was able to stay dry.

[Tom]

Ah, interesting connection to Hemingway, Jim, one I'd never picked up on. Both works are, on one level, about states and consequences of "aloneness." The tone seems different, though, in each work. I would argue that in some ways Newland's emotional solitude is more tragic (or perhaps poignant is the better word, since his family life without Ellen is hardly devoid of love and meaning) because he chooses it, whereas Frederick Henry's aloneness seems more the inevitable fate of life in an indifferent universe. Hemingway sets this up with the famous scene of FH watching ants destroyed on burning log (if I recall the scene accurately); we're all just ants burning on a log. Such a bleak, almost nihilistic, vision is why I have a hard time stomaching Hemingway in my middle age. It's not that I prefer, god help me, "happy endings" as I age, but such relentless emptiness strikes me as aesthetically limited. I mean, how does one respond to such a vision, in the end -- with a despondent shrug? A slit throat? Not much ambiguity in that ending, eh? And that's why I prefer Wharton to Hemingway. She does not simply plant a banner in the ground and announce, 'In the name of King Certainty, I proclaim thee the New World of X." Rather, she explores, prods, nudges the nuance and ambiguity of life. Perhaps it's more a matter of "maturing" tastes in Literature. I worshipped Hemingway when I was younger, and you couldn't have paid me to read Wharton or James. And now I find Wharton endlessly rewarding upon successive readings, whereas Hemingway, at least in Farewell to Arms, strikes me as overly deterministic and just plain tiresome in his bleakness. (now his short stories are a different matter; take a story like "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" for a more subtle take on aloneness.) Anyway, thanks for pointing out the connection. It has helped me clarify some thoughts for myself.

[Yulia]

Tom, I'm curious what you think of Coetzee's bleakness. I couldn't handle it when I first tried Disgrace in college, but it so appealed to me after I graduated. But now that I've read three of his books, I can't find the patience to read another word of his, for the time being at least. His tone is like a hand in a cast, clanking at the piano.

Steve, regarding your statement about the wealthy not doing nihilism well, I'm led to think of the range of pop and literary novels confronting the attitude of New York upper class post-9/11 (from DeLillo and Wasserstein to Bushnell, now). But as none of these books have inspired me to read them, I can't say how well any of these authors have pulled off their goal of capturing a new world in which money and social status don't ensure security. Perhaps because, in the end, the world hasn't changed so much after all, even after this most recent Wall Street tumble, as time may tell.

SPOILER WARNING (AND NOT JUST FOR THIS BOOK)
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Whitaker, you found the perfect quote to explain the great difference in tone between The House of Mirth (1905) and The Age of Innocence. I can appreciate the sentiment in the quote, as I can now find moments to be fond of buried within painful stretches of time in my past (though I still have much reconsidering to do, certainly). But I wonder if Wharton wasn't overcompensating for her past harshness with an unreliably optimistic view of the future. I couldn't help thinking that attitudes hadn't changed so much as there was one basic difference with her heroins: Lily lacked a benevolent elder relative, whereas Ellen had her grandmother to come to the rescue, like a deus ex machina. Don't we still live in a world where, for some (though certainly fewer), divorce remains an unthinkable admission of failure, putting a taint on an entire family tree? I have family members who still live in this restricted world, at least.

Jim, I'm overwhelmed by the webs of association. I'd been thinking of Portrait of a Lady in the back of my mind last week, but couldn't articulate why, besides critics' always mentioning James when Wharton is the subject. I was even thinking of suggesting the James book as a follow-up to someone who asked for a follow-up to this, without understanding why they seemed so linked. But Jim put it so precisely: that Wharton shows us through Ellen what would have happened to Isabel (really no comparison as an archer with May) had Isabel ever left Osmond. Thanks so much for guiding our mark, Jim.

I can't agree, however, that Henry James is the master that others so readily accept him to be (in my mind, he inspired far greater writers than he was himself). In Portrait of a Lady, he was horribly clumsy in introducing Isabel's suitors: really, he was clumsy in introducing every character excluding Madame Merle and Osmond. And even with Mme. Merle there were horrible pages of continuous explication posed as dialogue. I was capable of forcing my way through this mess only because the scholar introducing my edition cited this clumsiness. Whether he would have handled Ellen's situation more subtly, as Jim suggests, is certainly not a given for me, therefore. Perhaps eventually, after bludgeoning us with his introducing her as an independent woman.

And while James suffers from leaden beginnings, Hemingway falters in his heavy-handed close to Farewell to Arms. I couldn't help but disagree with a teacher who regarded the ending as the perfect metaphor for the costs of war. It was a simple but inaccurate equation at best. But then, I had problems with that book from beginning to end, as I failed to be convinced by the protagonist's actual desire for his leading lady, a problem just as evident in The Sun Also Rises. Hmm, that's a pool of worms.

[Jim]

What I like about James is the way he gets across the smallest details of a situation as in the famous fireside scene of Portrait. Writing about Isabel's disenchantment with Osmond, James says:

'She flattered herself that she had kept her failing faith to
herself, however,--that no one suspected it but Osmond. Oh, he
knew it, and there were times when she thought he enjoyed it. It
had come gradually--it was not till the first year of their life
together, so admirably intimate at first, had closed that she had
taken the alarm. Then the shadows had begun to gather; it was as
if Osmond deliberately, almost malignantly, had put the lights
out one by one. The dusk at first was vague and thin, and she
could still see her way in it. But it steadily deepened, and if
now and again it had occasionally lifted there were certain
corners of her prospect that were impenetrably black."

When Newland falls out of love with May, Wharton writes:

"As she sat thus, the lamplight full on her clear brow, he said to himself with a secret dismay that he would always know the thoughts behind it, that never, in all the years to come, would she surprise him by an unexpected mood, by a new idea, a weakness, a cruelty or an emotion. She had spent her poetry and romance on their short courting: the function was exhausted because the need was past. Now she was simply ripening into a copy of her mother, and mysteriously, by the very process, trying to turn him into a Mr. Welland."

It's not that Wharton does a bad job; she just doesn't delve as completely into the situation as James.

I have to admit that I space my Henry James readings out because he can twist things to the point that I am completely lost. Still I find myself repeatedly wishing he had written whatever book I am reading instead of the actual author so that I would understand the situation in full detail.

As for Hemingway, I have gone through stages. When I was in college, I was completely taken with him, the courage in the face of a world where nothing had any meaning. Later I became disenchanted with all the posturing, walking to the hotel in the rain, making the earth move, etc. Right now I am approaching a third phase where I feel inclined to forgive the posturing and am beginning to look for what's left. If you can forgive James for his endless sentences, you can forgive almost anything.

[Gail]

Some really great, thought-provoking comments today!

Jim, in #36, thank you for pointing the comparison with Isabel in "Portrait". I wouldn't have seen the connection on my own, and it adds a depth to the novel. However, I have to disagree with you about the quote on Newland's falling out of love with May. (#40). I thought one of the major points of the novel was that, in fact, Newland completely underestimated May and did not know what she was thinking or doing until much later in the novel (re: May's telling Ellen about the pregnany before she tells Newland.) I thought the quote a really masterful use of irony on Wharton's part.

Yulia, superb metaphor in your message #39. Also, I appreciate, although I don't completely agree with, your analysis of James and Hemingway. You always provide much food for thought.

[Jim]

Gail, I suppose that the point of my comparison was that James gives a lot more complexity to Isabel's thoughts about her husband than Wharton gives to Newland's thoughts about his wife. Needless to say, the two situations are different and things changed for Newland later.

In general, Wharton looks at the society of the 1870s with a more satiric eye than James does. This is good in some ways and not in others.

[Gail]

Yes, I see your point, Steve. James disects that society, but he does it quite seriously, not to say ponderously. I've enjoyed some James works: Portrait of a Lady, The Bostonians, The Amabassadors, and my absolute favorite, The Golden Bowl. Unfortunately for my own massive ego, I have to admit that I probably wouldn't have begun to understand "Bowl" if I hadn't previously viewed the marvelous old Masterpiece Theatre Production, which brought that novel beautifully to life. With that as a booster seat of sorts, I was able to enjoy feasting on James's huge offering.

As an aside, there's a marvelous quote about James by V.Woolf floating around the internet somewhere. I had it and lost it, and have spent some time bitterely regretting that I hadn't bookmarked it. It describes James's little self-introductory speech to Woolf and is a brief marvel of parody.

[Jim]

Favorite lines:

"Often already, during the fortnight that he had passed under her roof, when she enquired how he meant to spend his afternoon, he had answered paradoxically: 'Oh, I think for a change I'll just save it instead of spending it.' "

" 'Newland never seems to look ahead,' Mrs Welland once ventured to complain to her daughter; and May answered serenely: 'No; but you see it doesn't matter, because when there's nothing particular to do he reads a book.' "

SPOILER

Anti-romantic thought: Wasn't this romance going nowhere from the start? Was someone as conventional as Newland ever going to throw everything away for a woman? Was someone as idealistic as Ellen ever going to be a home wrecker? May didn't break this romance up; she just gave them an excuse to do what they wanted all along.

[Dottie]

I'm reading along-- well, scanning through is more appropriate terminology -- and enjoying the discussion here but am making slow progress in rereading this book. I'll get there but not likely have much to add. I am particularly finding the ideas of the connections interesting especially the Faust thoughts.

A fleeting idea as to the title was that it refers to the time before a person becomes aware of the hold which the communal patterns influence one's own life and choices -- the time when a person still believes they can break from familial or community conventions and live life without harking back to their own upbringing or past events. Newland had obviously already stepped outside those lines a bit with his involvement, however brief it may have been, with the widowed Mrs. R. and which I took to be the background for his later remark to being beyond all that. I agree though as to the difference in defining being beyond which Ellen made/makes to him or attempts to make. Don't know if he truly understood her differentiations.

At any rate -- thank you all for the thoughtful remarks here.

[Tom]

Yulia, re #39, off the top of my head, I'd have to say that I don't see Coetzee as overly bleak (based on reading of Disgrace and Slow Man),certainly not to extent of Hemingway, but I need to take another look at ending of Disgrace to say why. I do remember, however, upon finishing it, of having had a startling look at a man who was just beginning to understand his own arrogance and self-absorption for the first time, and realizing that one can't evade terrible choices and still live a responsible life, responsible to something other than the self. As for Slow Man, I was intrigued, nay, moved by this hapless man, emotionally unequipped to face loss, making a fool of himself, realizing he was, but unable to stop, in part because he's trying to convince himself that his motives are genuine, if misplaced. Sure he's an ass, but a very vulnerable ass trying to come to terms with his own vulnerability in all sorts of inappropriate ways. I found that very human, not bleak.

I would add, though, that based on Slow Man and many reviews of other C. novels, I get the impression that he may be similar to Don DeLillo, whose novels tend to push idea over character, which can leave one (or me, anyway)feeling stimulated and cold simultaneously. (see Mao II)

That's never a problem in Wharton, whose social commentary is always vividly dramatized through character, not some preconceived agenda.

[Yulia]

Off the topic again, regarding James, I find excessive detail to be distracting and misleading in regards to the insight actually provided by an author. Sometimes, giving too much waters down the effect. A recently-praised short story writer whom I find infuriatingly and painstakingly empty is Nam Le, who offers everything and nothing, the everything serving as a mere distraction for the nothing of it all.

I happen to like the passage you quoted from Portrait, but I also remember liking it when I read it a few years ago, which makes me believe it was an exceptional passage, not a representative one. You may be able to pick any page at random and find a jewel from James, but I don't have that experience. Reading his works, I often feel like I'm searching through sand for the post of an earring: neither worthwhile nor revelatory. James may offer more precision than other authors, but what I care for is consistent, well-selected impact. So for now, Wharton strikes the perfect balance of detail and suggestion, though I will try The Golden Bowl one day.

Tom, I'd definitely recommend Waiting for the Barbarians as Coetzee's masterpiece. I do see you point in the humanity of his characters, but their lack of affect can be very frustrating at times.

SPOILER

In message 44, Jim, you've expressed just how I feel about this book now in my second reading. No, the romance never had a chance of working out, which is why May was perfect for Newland, in getting Ellen out of the country and leaving Newland with few options to screw up his well-ordered life. Success never was possible, not because of May, but because of who Ellen and Newland are.

[Jim]

Much as I would like to recommend The Golden Bowl, Yulia, I don't think it will change your opinion about Henry James:

"There was something in Adam Verver's eyes that both admitted the morning and the evening in unusual quantities and gave the modest area the outward extension of a view that was 'big' even when restricted to the stars. Deeply and changeably blue, though not romantically large, they were yet youthfully, almost strangely beautiful, with their ambiguity of your scarce knowing if they most carried their possessor's vision out or most opened themselves to your own."

And then there are the obscure, confusing sections.

[Wilhelmina]

I agree, Yulia and Jim, that the romance between Ellen and Newland was doomed from the start. His world was defined by family duties and patterns, and he would have been a lost man without them. Earlier posters have mentioned Newland's naivete - both Ellen and May are far more perceptive and insightful about their world than he. I actually think that this may have been one of the attractions of Newland for Ellen. She came back to America from a far more jaundiced life abroad and Newland's uprightness and dutifulness must have been appealing, as well as his longing to experience a world which she had found seriously lacking. As for May, she was able to maintain the facade of innocence throughout her life, even though she understood exactly how the world around her worked, and therefore she made a very good marriage partner for Newland.

[Sherry]

One of the things I found extremely sad was that May could have been Newland's "Ellen" if she had only allowed it. She obviously had more going for her than her youth and beauty and "innocence." Newland could have connected with her on the same level he connected with Countess Olenska. She did not want to be that emotional adventurer, however. Her embrace of "form" and status quo was what she had been brought up to believe in, but I think she and Newland could have had a more rewarding personal relationship if she had broken out of those molds. Of course, then there wouldn't have been a book.

I was heartened by Newland's son's attitude, though. His Fanny seemed to be just what he wanted. Evolution takes time.

[Melissa]

What a great discussion everyone, thank you. Though I did manage to read the book "on schedule," I haven't had time to do much more than check in here occasionally and so have little to add except --

1) I enjoyed the gentle comedy offered by the van der Luydens and their simple but momentous appearances throughout the story.

2) To use Sherry's word, I found the on/off connection of Newland and Ellen sad and even painful in its futility. As a middle-aged romantic, I could completely understand N's decision at the end to leave without going inside to see her and put his delusions at risk.

[Yulia]

Sherry, your latest post makes me think of what May and Newland would have done in the 70s, go to a key party like the couple in The Ice Storm and lived to regret it forever, or perhaps in today's world, been inspired by an episode of Oprah to go to a sexual retreat where they learn to listen to each other's bodies and make love. The possibilities are endless, but in each case, I can't see May becoming an Ellen for Newland because she has been so well-shaped by her upbringing and she really has no curiosity for another lifestyle. If she had, it may have been possible with a great deal of will power, but I don't believe she wanted anything besides what she had.

Most likely, in the modern world, Newland would keep a mistress yet refuse to leave his wife, like so many men. Would he be the type to actually divorce his wife and marry his mistress? Not as long as his kids were young, but perhaps after they left: he would do it for himself, not for his mistress.

I know people who have divorced due to an affair and married their lovers, but I still can't think of a novel or short story which ends like this. I thought of this after reading one story after another in which the mistress must remain in the shadows or is simply abandoned for someone less "needy." Are fairly happy resolutions not allowed in literature? Is happiness consigned to pop lit? Marry Me by Updike doesn't count, as its ending is too ambiguous and, for me, a cheap one.

Regarding Newland's son, yes, he is on the right path. I'm envious that he has a parent who can be happy for him.

Philip, you're leading me to think I was too harsh on Newland by calling him a coward. As a still relatively-young romantic, I may choose to question past dreams and see people for who they really are, but maybe in a few decades, I no longer will. Maybe my dreams will be all I have left. A saddening thought, but possible for anyone.

[Yulia]

Sorry, I disqualified that story. Keep thinking, though! I need your help, and no, I don't count Chekhov's "Lady with a Lapdog," either, as I found the ending completely unconvincing.

[Wilhelmina]

Perhaps I am one of those "social conservative" types who are often mentioned in election years, but I fail to see why it would be better for Newland to run off with Ellen, throwing both families into chaos. It seems to me that he and May had a pretty good life - maybe not the Grand Passion, but who says that Grand Passions last? Certainly Newland's son married Fanny, and I hope that they lived Happily Ever After, but the world had changed so much by that time that it is impossible to compare the two choices.

As for May becoming an "Ellen", it would never have worked because of Newland's assumptions about her. In the beginning of the book, Newland pictured himself leading May into the larger world in baby steps. Anything that she became, he would have taken credit for. May didn't want to be Ellen; she knew what she wanted and fiercely defended her chosen place in the world. I found May to be stronger than Ellen.

Yulia, in the short story we read a few months ago, Pie Dance, the husband married the mistress, but kept sneaking back home to wife number 1. Not what you were looking for either, I guess. I know, I am really not a romantic.

[Tom]

Regarding James's dense style, it's interesting to note that late in his career, when he was having trouble with his eyes, James began dictating his novels (as did Frances Parkman, the famous historian), which may account for some of those convoluted sentences. You get the feeling that he almost loses his way through some lines before finding a way to finish them. The Ambassadors, from the late period, is the only one I've read, and though I enjoyed it greatly, there were many times I had to reread sentences a few times just to figure out exactly what he was saying. I found that sometimes it helps just to run with the flow and tone of the prose and not get too bogged down in parsing every clause and phrase. I've been laughed at and pitied by friends for starting with The Ambassadors, and told that in comparison, Portrait of a Lady will read like a breeze. So I got that to look forward to.

By contrast, I find Wharton's earlier novels, such as House of Mirth, a bit knottier stylistically than Age of Innocence, which was written some 15-20 years later, I believe.

[Yulia]

Now that's a question worth debating, Mina: who stronger? May or Ellen?

By the way, sneaking behind your new partner's back to see your wife does disqualify "the Pie Dance," in my estimation. I never did read the story, however, so you may disagree.