v
Introduction
by Stuart Hutchison
(missing author)
by Stuart Hutchison
(missing author)
0
terms
3
notes
vii
[...] The very materiality of old New York is resistant to change, and it is indeed recorded by Wharton in impressive detail, prompting the reviewer William Lyon Phelps to declare, 'I do not remember when I have read a work of fiction that gives the reader so vivid an idea of the furnishing and illuminating of rooms in fashionable houses.' Turning to the blighted fate of those who inhabit these rooms, he continues:
The absolute imprisonment in which her characters stagnate, their artificial and false standards, the desperate monotony of trivial routine, the slow petrifaction of generous ardours, the paralysis of emotion, the accumulation of ice around the heart, the total loss of life in an upholstered existence -- are depicted with a high excellence that never falters ... The love scenes between [Archer] and Ellen are wonderful in their terrible inarticulate passion ... So little is said, so little is done, yet one feels the infinite passion in the finite hearts that burn.
[...] The very materiality of old New York is resistant to change, and it is indeed recorded by Wharton in impressive detail, prompting the reviewer William Lyon Phelps to declare, 'I do not remember when I have read a work of fiction that gives the reader so vivid an idea of the furnishing and illuminating of rooms in fashionable houses.' Turning to the blighted fate of those who inhabit these rooms, he continues:
The absolute imprisonment in which her characters stagnate, their artificial and false standards, the desperate monotony of trivial routine, the slow petrifaction of generous ardours, the paralysis of emotion, the accumulation of ice around the heart, the total loss of life in an upholstered existence -- are depicted with a high excellence that never falters ... The love scenes between [Archer] and Ellen are wonderful in their terrible inarticulate passion ... So little is said, so little is done, yet one feels the infinite passion in the finite hearts that burn.
viii
[...] He concludes with a an incisive recognition of her dilemma which is realised in her presentation of Archer: 'Mrs Wharton's triumph is that she has described these rites and surfaces and burdens as familiarly as if she loved them and as lucidly as if she hated them.'
In other words, whatever Wharton's satire of old New York, whatever the results of her autopsy over its corpse, she has no other world to turn to, and this is why Archer must concede and marry May. [...]
quoting Carl Van Doren
i like the idea of thinking something through with equal parts love and hate
[...] He concludes with a an incisive recognition of her dilemma which is realised in her presentation of Archer: 'Mrs Wharton's triumph is that she has described these rites and surfaces and burdens as familiarly as if she loved them and as lucidly as if she hated them.'
In other words, whatever Wharton's satire of old New York, whatever the results of her autopsy over its corpse, she has no other world to turn to, and this is why Archer must concede and marry May. [...]
quoting Carl Van Doren
i like the idea of thinking something through with equal parts love and hate
x
In the words of Katherine Mansfield's review, the characters in The Age of Innocence 'are human beings arranged for exhibition purposes'. Initially Mansfield commends Wharton's equilibrium of irony and romance: '... to keep these two balanced by all manner of delicate adjustments is so much a matter for her skillful hand that it seems more like play than work'. Soon, however, her impatience with the novel erupts:
But what about us? What about her readers? Does Mrs Wharton expect us to grow warm in a gallery where the temperature is so sparklingly cool? We are looking at portraits -- are we not? These are human being arranged for exhibition purposes, framed, glazed and hung in the perfect light.
Is it -- in this world -- vulgar to ask for more? To ask that the feeling shall be greater than the cause that excites it, to beg to be allowed to share the moment of exposition (is that not the very moment that all writing leads to?) to entreat a little wildness, a dark place or two in the soul?
In the words of Katherine Mansfield's review, the characters in The Age of Innocence 'are human beings arranged for exhibition purposes'. Initially Mansfield commends Wharton's equilibrium of irony and romance: '... to keep these two balanced by all manner of delicate adjustments is so much a matter for her skillful hand that it seems more like play than work'. Soon, however, her impatience with the novel erupts:
But what about us? What about her readers? Does Mrs Wharton expect us to grow warm in a gallery where the temperature is so sparklingly cool? We are looking at portraits -- are we not? These are human being arranged for exhibition purposes, framed, glazed and hung in the perfect light.
Is it -- in this world -- vulgar to ask for more? To ask that the feeling shall be greater than the cause that excites it, to beg to be allowed to share the moment of exposition (is that not the very moment that all writing leads to?) to entreat a little wildness, a dark place or two in the soul?