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Published: Nov 2, 2011
Category: Fiction
My favorite novels are set in a world where love is important but money matters. A young man, handsome, talented, caught between ambition and passion. An older man, rich and vulgar, an exploiter of vulnerable women. A young beauty, charming and popular, but without a dowry. The cast is endless, the plot permutations infinite.
I've been thinking --- and writing --- a lot about love and money recently, and that's pushed me to re-read one of my favorite novels, a story that is smart and action-packed and as dramatic as a horror movie that has you screaming, "No! Don't go through that door!"
I mean this story...
Lawrence Selden was infatuated with Lily Bart. He couldn't help it. She was from a good family. She knew everyone. She was painfully beautiful. And special, yes, special: "He had a confused sense that she must have cost a great deal to make, that a great many dull and ugly people must, in some mysterious way, have been sacrificed to produce her."
What's wrong with Lily Bart? Just three things. Her family has lost its money. She's unmarried. And she's 29.
Twenty nine and unmarried --- that's far from a tragedy today, though there's always some fool around to remind a single woman that her biological clock is ticking. But in 1903 to 1905, when Edith Wharton was writing "The House of Mirth," society --- that is, upper-class New York "Society" --- was remarkably judgmental about a woman in such a position. Particularly if she had lost her inheritance, as Lily has. Because, in that circumstance, she was prey to rich, married men who wanted to "help" her in exchange for the kind of thanks that permanently destroy a woman's reputation.
That is the conflict of Wharton's first great novel: a woman fighting to make her way through a Society more infatuated with hypocrisy than humanity. This is high-toned stuff, not raw material for popular fiction. But Wharton saw a way. "A frivolous society can acquire dramatic significance," she explained, "only through what its frivolity destroys."
How modern this all is. Lily's beauty is "an asset." Her character flaws are common ones: "The only problems she could not solve were those with which she was familiar." And Selden --- do we not know at least one decent, intelligent, mild-mannered young man who could brighten the light in a woman's eyes if he weren't working so hard, if he could just stop being so damned decent?
The reason "House of Mirth" is assigned in English class is because it is a brilliantly written dissection of a society we like to think has disappeared. How dreary. And how...wrong. The reason to read it is because only the particulars have changed. The essential questions of the drama are as interesting now as they were compelling then: What will happen to Lily Bart? Will Selden rescue her? Or will rich married men ruin her? And if she is ruined, what will happen to her then? [To buy the paperback from Amazon, click here. For the free Kindle download, click here.]
This novel cries out to be a great movie. An attempt was made a decade ago. It was obvious. Heavy-handed. Dreadful. See for yourself:
The reason that "House of Mirth" sold 140,000 copies in just three months --- equivalent to what a Grisham sells now --- is precisely because it's great visual storytelling. To read it is, in a sense, to see the movie. So don't think you'll pick it up to improve your mind. This is popular fiction at its best: a page-turner so good that, over time, it becomes a classic. This is what the kind of reading I cherish is all about --- pure, nail-biting pleasure.