You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.92 AVERAGE
3.92 AVERAGE
Oh, you are so slow, House of Mirth. It's been awhile since I read a classic. Should not have started back with this one.
I found this book to be a little slow in parts. No great story, just an aging young woman in a time when youth and money and reputation matter. Cautionary tale to be responsible!
What a marvellous and tragic reading. The descriptions, the sharp insight of the narrator (and the author) and the painstaking helplessness of the characters, enclosed in their own world of wealth. It’s a jewel. Even better than the Custom of the Country, and that was a MAJOR read.
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 Lilyshy away from at least 4 potential husbands, a few socialite patrons and even an opportunity for blackmail 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.
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
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.
Lots of detail in this raw account of high society and relationships.
I am thrilled to have finally discovered Wharton, no idea what took me so long. This account of social snobbery in early 20th century New York was at times surprising and frustrating. I will always regret the ending but in retrospect it seemed inevitable. The author knew her characters too well.
I both loved and hated this book, but mostly I loved it. At the end of the first half of the book, it felt like the story was over, and I can remember wondering where the story would go from there. Every time it felt like, oh, right, I should have seen this coming, then something else would happen. Even so, I could see many of the scenes and plot points coming from a mile away, including the ending, but that didn't stop me from getting caught up in the emotions of the book, because I felt that the main character, Lily, was just discovering these things, and I couldn't help but experience them along with her. I wanted to jump into the book and tell her, "Do this" and "Don't do that." There are few books that cause me to feel that way. By the end of the book, I felt like I'd been through it all with her, and that's at least part of what makes a good book for me, and few books take me there nowadays. I feel like I'm a spectator, like watching a TV show rather than living in side the book. This is a living-inside-the-book book.
A friend of mine described this book as being like the main character is doing one of those "Choose your own Adventure" stories and at every crossroads she makes the wrong choice. That's the best sum-up of House of Mirth Ever.
Poor Lily Bart is cursed with just too little moral backbone to keep out of trouble, but too much to get herself out of trouble once she's there. She's been brought up to believe she must marry a rich husband, but doesn't really want to do it, and she lacks the money to cushion her if she fails. Plus she's not as smart as she thinks she is, and doesn't know the world as much as she thinks she does. She's also surrounded by pretty awful people, not least of which is her less than useless true love.
It's a harrowing experience, but definitely an engrossing read! And Wharon is on fire in this book in her snarky and insightful commentary on the values and personalities of these people. She has to be to make it so very clear just what mistakes Lily is making and how badly they'll come back at her. In a way it makes you long for the Real Housewives franchise since those people, even when wealthy, at least are able to say what they mean and call others out on what they think they're doing.
In the end, if nothing else, she gains self-awareness and the ability to know what she really wants to do.
Poor Lily Bart is cursed with just too little moral backbone to keep out of trouble, but too much to get herself out of trouble once she's there. She's been brought up to believe she must marry a rich husband, but doesn't really want to do it, and she lacks the money to cushion her if she fails. Plus she's not as smart as she thinks she is, and doesn't know the world as much as she thinks she does. She's also surrounded by pretty awful people, not least of which is her less than useless true love.
It's a harrowing experience, but definitely an engrossing read! And Wharon is on fire in this book in her snarky and insightful commentary on the values and personalities of these people. She has to be to make it so very clear just what mistakes Lily is making and how badly they'll come back at her. In a way it makes you long for the Real Housewives franchise since those people, even when wealthy, at least are able to say what they mean and call others out on what they think they're doing.
In the end, if nothing else, she gains self-awareness and the ability to know what she really wants to do.
It took some time for me to get into this novel--a decided difference from when I read The Age of Innocence, which I do think is the best Wharton I've read. (I just remembered how much I hated reading Ethan Frome in high school...) However, Mirth's great protagonist Lily is so well-developed in her intellect about the society she plays in and the mistakes she knows she's making within that society. She's actually a very good person, but hardly any of the other characters recognize that in her. By the end of the book, I was sad for her trajectory, and quite angry at Selden--who, from the beginning, I thought would be a better man. He's just like the rest of them in my esteem. So often I cheered for Lily and her sometimes stubborn decisions, but in the end, it's just depressing. I enjoyed Wharton's writing, though.