A review by barawe
The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

1.0

MC: starts with hysterical screeching about her inability to find a man who would be her sugar daddy so she could continue to be bridge playing waste of oxygen with debts as a byproduct. Everyone else is just as useless, only doesn't have so many lines to develop their uselessness to the full extend 'cause: ThE SoCiETy BaD. (insert citation to every book about high society ever) Then gets slapped with the good ol'demonetisation, only said previously named byproduct is left. Also some dude. But like, not rich enough so whatevs. Woe is me ensues for the next xyz pages.
Me, living through the 2020s, reading this: Ama gonna forget you quicker than the Beirut authorities certain warehouses filled with 500 metric tons of fertilizers.

and no. I don't care the slightest bit if there was a critique of the author's times and women's role, satire or irony.