The Age of Innocence: The Original 1920 Unabridged And Complete Edition (Edith Wharton Classics)

By Edith Wharton

The Age of Innocence is a 1920 novel by American author Edith Wharton. It was her eighth novel, and was initially serialized in 1920 in four parts, in the magazine Pictorial Review. Later that year, it was released as a book by D. Appleton & Company.

It won the 1921 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, making Wharton the first woman to win the prize. Though the committee had initially agreed to give the award to Sinclair Lewis for Main Street, the judges, in rejecting his book on political grounds, "established Wharton as the American 'First Lady of Letters'".

The story is set in the 1870s, in upper-class, "Gilded Age" New York City. Wharton wrote the book in her 50s, after she was already established as a major author in high demand by publishers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Publishers
• Release date: Dec 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781915932600

Edith Wharton

EDITH WHARTON (1862 - 1937) was a unique and prolific voice in the American literary canon. With her distinct sense of humor and knowledge of New York’s upper-class society, Wharton was best known for novels that detailed the lives of the elite including: The House of Mirth, The Custom of Country, and The Age of Innocence. She was the first woman to be awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and one of four women whose election to the Academy of Arts and Letters broke the barrier for the next generation of women writers.

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THE AGE OF

INNOCENCE

EDITH WHARTON

Copyright © 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission request, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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Contents

Book I

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

Book II

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

Book I

I.

On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York.

Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances above the Forties, of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the new people whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.

It was Madame Nilsson’s first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as an exceptionally brilliant audience had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient Brown coupe. To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one’s own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one’s own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman’s most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was not the thing to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not the thing played a part as important in Newland Archer’s New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.

The second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that—well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna’s stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: He loves me—he loves me not—HE LOVES ME!— and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, M’ama! and not he loves me, since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

M’ama ... non m’ama ... the prima donna sang, and M’ama!, with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.

Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stagelovers. As Madame Nilsson’s M’ama! thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl’s cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.

No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank’s far-off prodigies.

In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul’s impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.

The darling! thought Newland Archer, his glance flitting back to the young girl with the lilies-of-the-valley. She doesn’t even guess what it’s all about. And he contemplated her absorbed young face with a thrill of possessorship in which pride in his own masculine initiation was mingled with a tender reverence for her abysmal purity. We’ll read Faust together ... by the Italian lakes ... he thought, somewhat hazily confusing the scene of his projected honey-moon with the masterpieces of literature which it would be his manly privilege to reveal to his bride. It was only that afternoon that May Welland had let him guess that she cared (New York’s consecrated phrase of maiden avowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of the engagement ring, the betrothal kiss and the march from Lohengrin, pictured her at his side in some scene of old European witchery.

He did not in the least wish the future Mrs. Newland Archer to be a simpleton. He meant her (thanks to his enlightening companionship) to develop a social tact and readiness of wit enabling her to hold her own with the most popular married women of the younger set, in which it was the recognised custom to attract masculine homage while playfully discouraging it. If he had probed to the bottom of his vanity (as he sometimes nearly did) he would have found there the wish that his wife should be as worldly-wise and as eager to please as the married lady whose charms had held his fancy through two mildly agitated years; without, of course, any hint of the frailty which had so nearly marred that unhappy being’s life, and had disarranged his own plans for a whole winter.

How this miracle of fire and ice was to be created, and to sustain itself in a harsh world, he had never taken the time to think out; but he was content to hold his view without analysing it, since he knew it was that of all the carefully-brushed, white-waistcoated, button-hole-flowered gentlemen who succeeded each other in the club box, exchanged friendly greetings with him, and turned their opera-glasses critically on the circle of ladies who were the product of the system. In matters intellectual and artistic Newland Archer felt himself distinctly the superior of these chosen specimens of old New York gentility; he had probably read more, thought more, and even seen a good deal more of the world, than any other man of the number. Singly they betrayed their inferiority; but grouped together they represented New York, and the habit of masculine solidarity made him accept their doctrine on all the issues called moral. He instinctively felt that in this respect it would be troublesome—and also rather bad form—to strike out for himself.

Well—upon my soul! exclaimed Lawrence Lefferts, turning his opera-glass abruptly away from the stage. Lawrence Lefferts was, on the whole, the foremost authority on form in New York. He had probably devoted more time than any one else to the study of this intricate and fascinating question; but study alone could not account for his complete and easy competence. One had only to look at him, from the slant of his bald forehead and the curve of his beautiful fair moustache to the long patent-leather feet at the other end of his lean and elegant person, to feel that the knowledge of form must be congenital in any one who knew how to wear such good clothes so carelessly and carry such height with so much lounging grace. As a young admirer had once said of him: If anybody can tell a fellow just when to wear a black tie with evening clothes and when not to, it’s Larry Lefferts. And on the question of pumps versus patent-leather Oxfords his authority had never been disputed.

My God! he said; and silently handed his glass to old Sillerton Jackson.

Newland Archer, following Lefferts’s glance, saw with surprise that his exclamation had been occasioned by the entry of a new figure into old Mrs. Mingott’s box. It was that of a slim young woman, a little less tall than May Welland, with brown hair growing in close curls about her temples and held in place by a narrow band of diamonds. The suggestion of this headdress, which gave her what was then called a Josephine look, was carried out in the cut of the dark blue velvet gown rather theatrically caught up under her bosom by a girdle with a large old-fashioned clasp. The wearer of this unusual dress, who seemed quite unconscious of the attention it was attracting, stood a moment in the centre of the box, discussing with Mrs. Welland the propriety of taking the latter’s place in the front right-hand corner; then she yielded with a slight smile, and seated herself in line with Mrs. Welland’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who was installed in the opposite corner.

Mr. Sillerton Jackson had returned the opera-glass to Lawrence Lefferts. The whole of the club turned instinctively, waiting to hear what the old man had to say; for old Mr. Jackson was as great an authority on family as Lawrence Lefferts was on form. He knew all the ramifications of New York’s cousinships; and could not only elucidate such complicated questions as that of the connection between the Mingotts (through the Thorleys) with the Dallases of South Carolina, and that of the relationship of the elder branch of Philadelphia Thorleys to the Albany Chiverses (on no account to be confused with the Manson Chiverses of University Place), but could also enumerate the leading characteristics of each family: as, for instance, the fabulous stinginess of the younger lines of Leffertses (the Long Island ones); or the fatal tendency of the Rushworths to make foolish matches; or the insanity recurring in every second generation of the Albany Chiverses, with whom their New York cousins had always refused to intermarry—with the disastrous exception of poor Medora Manson, who, as everybody knew ... but then her mother was a Rushworth.

In addition to this forest of family trees, Mr. Sillerton Jackson carried between his narrow hollow temples, and under his soft thatch of silver hair, a register of most of the scandals and mysteries that had smouldered under the unruffled surface of New York society within the last fifty years. So far indeed did his information extend, and so acutely retentive was his memory, that he was supposed to be the only man who could have told you who Julius Beaufort, the banker, really was, and what had become of handsome Bob Spicer, old Mrs. Manson Mingott’s father, who had disappeared so mysteriously (with a large sum of trust money) less than a year after his marriage, on the very day that a beautiful Spanish dancer who had been delighting thronged audiences in the old Opera-house on the Battery had taken ship for Cuba. But these mysteries, and many others, were closely locked in Mr. Jackson’s breast; for not only did his keen sense of honour forbid his repeating anything privately imparted, but he was fully aware that his reputation for discretion increased his opportunities of finding out what he wanted to know.

The club box, therefore, waited in visible suspense while Mr. Sillerton Jackson handed back Lawrence Lefferts’s opera-glass. For a moment he silently scrutinised the attentive group out of his filmy blue eyes overhung by old veined lids; then he gave his moustache a thoughtful twist, and said simply: I didn’t think the Mingotts would have tried it on.

II.

Newland Archer, during this brief episode, had been thrown into a strange state of embarrassment.

It was annoying that the box which was thus attracting the undivided attention of masculine New York should be that in which his betrothed was seated between her mother and aunt; and for a moment he could not identify the lady in the Empire dress, nor imagine why her presence created such excitement among the initiated. Then light dawned on him, and with it came a momentary rush of indignation. No, indeed; no one would have thought the Mingotts would have tried it on!

But they had; they undoubtedly had; for the low-toned comments behind him left no doubt in Archer’s mind that the young woman was May Welland’s cousin, the cousin always referred to in the family as poor Ellen Olenska. Archer knew that she had suddenly arrived from Europe a day or two previously; he had even heard from Miss Welland (not disapprovingly) that she had been to see poor Ellen, who was staying with old Mrs. Mingott. Archer entirely approved of family solidarity, and one of the qualities he most admired in the Mingotts was their resolute championship of the few black sheep that their blameless stock had produced. There was nothing mean or ungenerous in the young man’s heart, and he was glad that his future wife should not be restrained by false prudery from being kind (in private) to her unhappy cousin; but to receive Countess Olenska in the family circle was a different thing from producing her in public, at the Opera of all places, and in the very box with the young girl whose engagement to him, Newland Archer, was to be announced within a few weeks. No, he felt as old Sillerton Jackson felt; he did not think the Mingotts would have tried it on!

He knew, of course, that whatever man dared (within Fifth Avenue’s limits) that old Mrs. Manson Mingott, the Matriarch of the line, would dare. He had always admired the high and mighty old lady, who, in spite of having been only Catherine Spicer of Staten Island, with a father mysteriously discredited, and neither money nor position enough to make people forget it, had allied herself with the head of the wealthy Mingott line, married two of her daughters to foreigners (an Italian marquis and an English banker), and put the crowning touch to her audacities by building a large house of pale cream-coloured stone (when brown sandstone seemed as much the only wear as a frock-coat in the afternoon) in an inaccessible wilderness near the Central Park.

Old Mrs. Mingott’s foreign daughters had become a legend. They never came back to see their mother, and the latter being, like many persons of active mind and dominating will, sedentary and corpulent in her habit, had philosophically remained at home. But the cream-coloured house (supposed to be modelled on the private hotels of the Parisian aristocracy) was there as a visible proof of her moral courage; and she throned in it, among pre-Revolutionary furniture and souvenirs of the Tuileries of Louis Napoleon (where she had shone in her middle age), as placidly as if there were nothing peculiar in living above Thirty-fourth Street, or in having French windows that opened like doors instead of sashes that pushed up.

Every one (including Mr. Sillerton Jackson) was agreed that old Catherine had never had beauty—a gift which, in the eyes of New York, justified every success, and excused a certain number of failings. Unkind people said that, like her Imperial namesake, she had won her way to success by strength of will and hardness of heart, and a kind of haughty effrontery that was somehow justified by the extreme decency and dignity of her private life. Mr. Manson Mingott had died when she was only twenty-eight, and had tied up the money with an additional caution born of the general distrust of the Spicers; but his bold young widow went her way fearlessly, mingled freely in foreign society, married her daughters in heaven knew what corrupt and fashionable circles, hobnobbed with Dukes and Ambassadors, associated familiarly with Papists, entertained Opera singers, and was the intimate friend of Mme. Taglioni; and all the while (as Sillerton Jackson was the first to proclaim) there had never been a breath on her reputation; the only respect, he always added, in which she differed from the earlier Catherine.

Mrs. Manson Mingott had long since succeeded in untying her husband’s fortune, and had lived in affluence for half a century; but memories of her early straits had made her excessively thrifty, and though, when she bought a dress or a piece of furniture, she took care that it should be of the best, she could not bring herself to spend much on the transient pleasures of the table. Therefore, for totally different reasons, her food was as poor as Mrs. Archer’s, and her wines did nothing to redeem it. Her relatives considered that the penury of her table discredited the Mingott name, which had always been associated with good living; but people continued to come to her in spite of the made dishes and flat champagne, and in reply to the remonstrances of her son Lovell (who tried to retrieve the family credit by having the best chef in New York) she used to say laughingly: What’s the use of two good cooks in one family, now that I’ve married the girls and can’t eat sauces?

Newland Archer, as he mused on these things, had once more turned his eyes toward the Mingott box. He saw that Mrs. Welland and her sister-in-law were facing their semicircle of critics with the Mingottian APLOMB which old Catherine had inculcated in all her tribe, and that only May Welland betrayed, by a heightened colour (perhaps due to the knowledge that he was watching her) a sense of the gravity of the situation. As for the cause of the commotion, she sat gracefully in her corner of the box, her eyes fixed on the stage, and revealing, as she leaned forward, a little more shoulder and bosom than New York was accustomed to seeing, at least in ladies who had reasons for wishing to pass unnoticed.

Few things seemed to Newland Archer more awful than an offence against Taste, that far-off divinity of whom Form was the mere visible representative and vicegerent. Madame Olenska’s pale and serious face appealed to his fancy as suited to the occasion and to her unhappy situation; but the way her dress (which had no tucker) sloped away from her thin shoulders shocked and troubled him. He hated to think of May Welland’s being exposed to the influence of a young woman so careless of the dictates of Taste.

After all, he heard one of the younger men begin behind him (everybody talked through the Mephistopheles-and-Martha scenes), after all, just WHAT happened?

Well—she left him; nobody attempts to deny that.

He’s an awful brute, isn’t he? continued the young enquirer, a candid Thorley, who was evidently preparing to enter the lists as the lady’s champion.

The very worst; I knew him at Nice, said Lawrence Lefferts with authority. A half-paralysed white sneering fellow—rather handsome head, but eyes with a lot of lashes. Well, I’ll tell you the sort: when he wasn’t with women he was collecting china. Paying any price for both, I understand.

There was a general laugh, and the young champion said: Well, then——?

Well, then; she bolted with his secretary.

Oh, I see. The champion’s face fell.

It didn’t last long, though: I heard of her a few months later living alone in Venice. I believe Lovell Mingott went out to get her. He said she was desperately unhappy. That’s all right—but this parading her at the Opera’s another thing.

Perhaps, young Thorley hazarded, she’s too unhappy to be left at home.

This was greeted with an irreverent laugh, and the youth blushed deeply, and tried to look as if he had meant to insinuate what knowing people called a double entendre.

Well—it’s queer to have brought Miss Welland, anyhow, some one said in a low tone, with a side-glance at Archer.

Oh, that’s part of the campaign: Granny’s orders, no doubt, Lefferts laughed. When the old lady does a thing she does it thoroughly.

The act was ending, and there was a general stir in the box. Suddenly Newland Archer felt himself impelled to decisive action. The desire to be the first man to enter Mrs. Mingott’s box, to proclaim to the waiting world his engagement to May Welland, and to see her through whatever difficulties her cousin’s anomalous situation might involve her in; this impulse had abruptly overruled all scruples and hesitations, and sent him hurrying through the red corridors to the farther side of the house.

As he entered the box his eyes met Miss Welland’s, and he saw that she had instantly understood his motive, though the family dignity which both considered so high a virtue would not permit her to tell him so. The persons of their world lived in an atmosphere of faint implications and pale delicacies, and the fact that he and she understood each other without a word seemed to the young man to bring them nearer than any explanation would have done. Her eyes said: You see why Mamma brought me, and his answered: I would not for the world have had you stay away.

You know my niece Countess Olenska? Mrs. Welland enquired as she shook hands with her future son-in-law. Archer bowed without extending his hand, as was the custom on being introduced to a lady; and Ellen Olenska bent her head slightly, keeping her own pale-gloved hands clasped on her huge fan of eagle feathers. Having greeted Mrs. Lovell Mingott, a large blonde lady in creaking satin, he sat down beside his betrothed, and said in a low tone: I hope you’ve told Madame Olenska that we’re engaged? I want everybody to know—I want you to let me announce it this evening at the ball.

Miss Welland’s face grew rosy as the dawn, and she looked at him with radiant eyes. If you can persuade Mamma, she said; but why should we change what is already settled? He made no answer but that which his eyes returned, and she added, still more confidently smiling: Tell my cousin yourself: I give you leave. She says she used to play with you when you were children.

She made way for him by pushing back her chair, and promptly, and a little ostentatiously, with the desire that the whole house should see what he was doing, Archer seated himself at the Countess Olenska’s side.

We DID use to play together, didn’t we? she asked, turning her grave eyes to his. You were a horrid boy, and kissed me once behind a door; but it was your cousin Vandie Newland, who never looked at me, that I was in love with. Her glance swept the horse-shoe curve of boxes. Ah, how this brings it all back to me—I see everybody here in knickerbockers and pantalettes, she said, with her trailing slightly foreign accent, her eyes returning to his face.

Agreeable as their expression was, the young man was shocked that they should reflect so unseemly a picture of the august tribunal before which, at that very moment, her case was being tried. Nothing could be in worse taste than misplaced flippancy; and he answered somewhat stiffly: Yes, you have been away a very long time.

Oh, centuries and centuries; so long, she said, that I’m sure I’m dead and buried, and this dear old place is heaven; which, for reasons he could not define, struck Newland Archer as an even more disrespectful way of describing New York society.

III.

It invariably happened in the same way.

Mrs. Julius Beaufort, on the night of her annual ball, never failed to appear at the Opera; indeed, she always gave her ball on an Opera night in order to emphasise her complete superiority to household cares, and her possession of a staff of servants competent to organise every detail of the entertainment in her absence.

The Beauforts’ house was one of the few in New York that possessed a ball-room (it antedated even Mrs. Manson Mingott’s and the Headly Chiverses’); and at a time when it was beginning to be thought provincial to put a crash over the drawing-room floor and move the furniture upstairs, the possession of a ball-room that was used for no other purpose, and left for three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of the year to shuttered darkness, with its gilt chairs stacked in a corner and its chandelier in a bag; this undoubted superiority was felt to compensate for whatever was regrettable in the Beaufort past.

Mrs. Archer, who was fond of coining her social philosophy into axioms, had once said: We all have our pet common people— and though the phrase was a daring one, its truth was secretly admitted in many an exclusive bosom. But the Beauforts were not exactly common; some people said they were even worse. Mrs. Beaufort belonged indeed to one of America’s most honoured families; she had been the lovely Regina Dallas (of the South Carolina branch), a penniless beauty introduced to New York society by her cousin, the imprudent Medora Manson, who was always doing the wrong thing from the right motive. When one was related to the Mansons and the Rushworths one had a droit de cite (as Mr. Sillerton Jackson, who had frequented the Tuileries, called it) in New York society; but did one not forfeit it in marrying Julius Beaufort?

The question was: who was Beaufort? He passed for an Englishman, was agreeable, handsome, ill-tempered, hospitable and witty. He had come to America with letters of recommendation from old Mrs. Manson Mingott’s English son-in-law, the banker, and had speedily made himself an important position in the world of affairs; but his habits were dissipated, his tongue was bitter, his antecedents were mysterious; and when Medora Manson announced her cousin’s engagement to him it was felt to be one more act of folly in poor Medora’s long record of imprudences.

But folly is as often justified of her children as wisdom, and two years after young Mrs. Beaufort’s marriage it was admitted that she had the most distinguished house in New York. No one knew exactly how the miracle was accomplished. She was indolent, passive, the caustic even called her dull; but dressed like an idol, hung with pearls, growing younger and blonder and more beautiful each year, she throned in Mr. Beaufort’s heavy brown-stone palace, and drew all the world there without lifting her jewelled little finger. The knowing people said it was Beaufort himself who trained the servants, taught the chef new dishes, told the gardeners what hot-house flowers to grow for the dinner-table and the drawing-rooms, selected the guests, brewed the after-dinner punch and dictated the little notes his wife wrote to her friends. If he did, these domestic activities were privately performed, and he presented to the world the appearance of a careless and hospitable millionaire strolling into his own drawing-room with the detachment of an invited guest, and saying: My wife’s gloxinias are a marvel, aren’t they? I believe she gets them out from Kew.

Mr. Beaufort’s

Reviews for The Age of Innocence

[ghost_boy-691444 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I actually enjoyed this book. I loved the fact that she really made New York part of this novel. I originally got this because it's a well-known book, but I really like New York City literature for some reason. In my option this is one of the best New York fiction books. Another plus for this book is the historic value. Keep in mind this is the 3rd book to win a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and Edith Wharton is also the first woman to win a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. She was nominated for the Nobel Prize too (I don't think she won though). Wharton is one smart lady and her writing shows that I think. I'm not so much a fan of her writing though, but I do find her as a person very interesting. No complaints for this book except from the size I thought it would be a light read, for a short novel it was a little difficult.

[alisony-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I thoroughly enjoyed The House of Mirth, but boy oh boy this was a drear fest by comparison. The characters were so dully portrayed I couldn't have cared less what romantic choice the protagonist did or didn't make. The whole thing just seemed to go on and on yet never really get anywhere.This novel might have been scintillating when it was written 100 years ago, but for me it paled in comparison with so many other classics from that time. 3 stars - an almost DNF, but I'd given it so many hours of my time I felt compelled to finish it.

[p_s_patrick · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Classic American novel charting the courses of upper-class New York families in 1870's. Love triangles, longing, black sheep, social maneuvering, and scandals are woven together here to create a never-tiring tale that brings to times to life. The characters are excellently realised, as are the situations which they rotate through with often more spatial volume and apparent cogitation than the colleagues we see every day. As the introduction, let alone the writing suggests, much of this tableau vivant was based on the experiences of the author and those who she knew. Not all the characters are likeable, but this only adds to the interest.

[edwinbcn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

For more than 20 years Henry James suggested to Edith Wharton to write about the social circles she grew up in. DO NEW YORK, he told her. When finally she did, she produced The age of innocence, about, in American upper-class parlance "Old New York", the upper crust oldest and wealthiest families or the "Old Money" families in New York, the Rockefellers of the 19th century.The age of innocence is about the moral values of these Old Families. The moral dilemma in this novel is the same as that in James's The portrait of a lady, published 30 years earlier, but Wharton's style is much lighter, and the treatment of this theme much more frivolous.Countess Olenska is a still young American woman, who left the US to get married to a Polish Count. Unhappy in her marriage she shows up in New York, in an attempt to return her family in America. There she meets Newland Archer, who is engaged to get married with her cousin May Welland.Written from the point of view of Newland, Countess Olenska is the young, exotic new belle on the block, making his newly-wed wife May look dull. It isn't until the very last part of the book that the conservative, conventional morals of Old New York, the family and all their friends become clear. A married woman should stay with her husband, no matter what.The age of innocence is much drawn out and rather unfocussed, with its main theme not becoming fully clear until the end. It would probably have been much more forceful if it was a novella, of less than half its number of pages.

[eosch1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton – a 1920 novel that won the Pulitzer prize for fiction – Ms. Wharton was the first woman to win the prize.I always keep in mind that reading is both subjective and situational. In my current “situation” (older, busy, having just read Don Quixote! Ahhhh!), I may have DNF’d this one, had it not been for an Instagram challenge.The beginning was too tedious and a mental struggle . Too many names dropped all at once and no immediate connection to any of the characters or the society they lived in.However, the longer I read, the more I became invested in understanding the character’s behavior within the restrictive societal convections and expectations of the 1870’s New York society that “dreaded scandal more than disease.”They “all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs…” – this “society” was comprised of upper class white people with their own intrinsic set of acceptable behavioral rules that have in many ways trickled down to modern society. By page 14 (in my quirky edition), I had come across my second reference to “white” being preferable to anything else or more valuable: “Her hand is large (re: engagement ring) – but the skin is white.” In other words, her paleness was valued and trumped the size of her hand.One of the things that I found interesting was how these society “rules” were in a way restrictive for both men and women of the time. Of course it has always fallen harder on women, but Newland felt just as trapped by them.SPOILERS ahead Newland feared marriage and believed women “should be free,” yet conformed and paid the price of happiness. From the beginning he saw what marriage to May would be like: “becoming what other marriages about him were: a dull association of material and social interests held together by ignorance on the one side and hypocrisy on the other.” He was not married yet, and was already mourning his freedom and feeling he “were being buried alive under his future.”Women were seen as entrappers and how they can derail a man because of course young men cannot be at fault because they are “foolish and incalculable.” Some women “are so ensnaring and unscrupulous – that it was nothing short of a miracle to see one’s only son safe past the Siren Isle and in the haven of a blameless domesticity.” Therefore the fear of Countess Olenska and her unwillingness or inability to completely conform to their world.In my view, May, was not very well fleshed out as a character because she was a representation of that society and how it forced both Newland and Countess Olenska to conform. Just when there might have been a chance for those two, May pulled the pregnancy card and that was that! (not quite as innocent our little May…she knew how to play the game of her society)For a great section of the book I had my doubts about Countess Olenska and her motives. I saw her as a woman that simulated learned helplessness type behaviors and exuded vulnerability to invoke stereotypical hero complexes in men that fell over themselves to “help” her. But then I hit the part where it was obvious she was not aware they (meaning society) was sneering at her and her “foreign” behavior, the fact that she had left her husband, and the suspicions she was having affairs. She did not betray May, who did not think much of her. She did not want to destroy their lives. She left.By the way….that part where Newland felt so asphyxiated by his marriage that he considered the notion of May being dead…and that she could “die soon” to “leave him free” while he was standing by the window had me at the end of my seat!! I for sure thought he was going to throw her out the window!! (page 136 in my book)And the ending…well… “It’s more real to me here than if I went up” encapsulates the regret but also the acceptance of the life he lived. The longing for what was that would never match the reality of the passage of time and the different lives they lived. I will never forget this ending.Other:On feeling the need to be alone and in one’s own space: “I like the lithe house…the blessedness of its being here, in my own country and my own town; and then, of being alone in it.” – Countess Olenska.On reading: The literary allusion to Middlemarch made me chuckle: Newland mentioned he “had declined three dinner invitations in favor of this feast” – we can all relate!lol

[lauralkeet · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Age of Innocence explores the mores of New York society in the 1870s through the lives of Newland Archer and May Welland, who become engaged at the beginning of the novel. Newland’s world is rocked by the arrival of May’s cousin Ellen, now Madame Olenska, who recently left an unhappy marriage to a European count. Society is simultaneously shocked and fascinated by Ellen’s behavior; most feel it is her duty to return to her husband. When Ellen approaches a law firm to begin divorce proceedings, Newland is asked to intervene and convince her not to take this step. Newland is sympathetic to Ellen’s situation, and becomes obsessed with her, seeking every possible opportunity to spend time together. Told from Newland’s point of view, it’s easy to miss the developing game of chess being played by May and her family, as they manipulate the lives of both Ellen and Newland to outcomes they consider more favorable. May and Newland’s relationship appears highly dysfunctional by modern standards, as the couple are completely unable to communicate directly with one another. But May turns out not to be as naive and oblivious as she first appears, and demonstrates surprising strength in her quiet, determined response to Newland’s behavior. This book was my introduction to Edith Wharton many years ago. Having now read most of her novels it was time for a re-read. This is a magnificent book, right up there with The House of Mirth and The Custom of the Country.

[japaul22 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A reread for me, I think the third time I've read this. Every time I find myself noticing something new. This time I was thinking the entire time of what the book would have been from May Welland's point of view. I would love to read a retelling of that - is there one??For those who haven't read this, [Age of Innocence] follows Newland Archer, a young man on the cusp of marriage to May Welland and into the stifling, closed off New York society of the 1870s. When worldly, exotic (well, to their small circle) Ellen Olenska returns home to escape a bad marriage, Archer becomes enthralled. This is a love triangle but also a study of what happens when people are caught in a shifting society and whether they'll stick with the old rules or forge a new path. The book is written from Newland Archer's perspective which wildly annoyed me the first time I've read this. Subsequent readings have made me so impressed with how Wharton manages to make this about the women, particularly about May, without giving them a direct voice. I love this book and highly recommend it.

[jbd1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Another of those classics I probably waited too long to read, and spent mostly wanting to dope-slap many of the characters. But the "old New York" world-building is excellent.

[pilgrimjess · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

"The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend."Newland Archer and May Welland seem to be the perfect couple. He is a wealthy gentleman lawyer and she a beautiful, sweet-natured girl. On the verge of announcing their engagement all seems set for success until May’s cousin returns from Europe to escape from an ill-fated marriage to a Polish Count. Countess Ellen Olenska was a playmate of Newland's as a child now as a young woman she raises eyebrows in polite society who seems either oblivious or uncaring of society's rules of civility in 1870s New York.Despite long periods of time apart, a romantic bond grows between Newland and Ellen Olenska.Alienated from most of her relatives and their circle of acquaintances who consider divorce distasteful Ellen is lonely and unhappy. Newland appears to be her only champion. In contrast Newland wants to escape from the limitations he feels have been placed on him by that very society. Ellen becomes an unattainable object of desire because he knows deep down that a future with her would be impossible. In fact it is the forbidden nature of his feelings for her that stokes his passion.Newland experiences a romantic love for Ellen that feels untethered by the concepts of duty and tradition; whilst his feelings for May are dictated by propriety and decorum. Newland believes that May is sheltered, naive and inexperienced and he often makes unfavourable comparison between her and the Countess whom he regards as more worldly. However, her later actions suggest that May is more intuitive than he gives her credit for.The novel looks at how desire is influenced by social conventions and duty (what Newland wants for himself vs. what society wants for him). Yet, Newland appears to draw more pleasure from the yearning than the possibility of an actual union with Ellen meaning that it is difficult to dislike him as you soon realise that he will only ever be disloyal to May in thoughts rather than deeds. In contrast Ellen quickly realises that any possible union is doomed from the outset as Newland will never leave May. Alienated heroes and ill-fated lovers aren't exactly a rarity in literature, however Wharton’s elegant prose provides an modicum of irony that gives a certain poignancy to this particular tale and lends itself well to the serious nature of it. Yet despite all of this, the story ultimately failed to really grab me meaning that I found it an OK read rather than a particularly memorable one.

[lethalmauve · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Age of Innocence is a quick and piercing read. A heavyset and challenging critique of 1870s New York; its stifling social conventions and very traditional expectations on marriage, classes, and women themselves. Betrothal and betrayal are the chief troublemakers and, fascinatingly, also the peacemakers throughout this whole debacle of a repressed romantic pursuit complicated by familial relations and reputations. Heartbreaking and infuriating, the short breaths of rebellion dies out in place of a mundane yet secure life; a bittersweet sacrifice.This novel pulls you in: you join the dinners, listen to the town gossip, gets annoyed and terrified by Beaufort and his investments, judge the prejudiced yourself, and looks on with pity from afar as Newland Archer gets off the carriage, snow all over, the harsh wind upon his face as the tears fall whilst May Welland-Archer is at home playing with ignorance. Sometimes passionate love does not suffice. Each time you happen to me all over again. Sometimes late is too late.Edith Wharton was really on another level during her time. What a woman. (

[drbrand-271246 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The worst of doing one's duty was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything else. At least that was the view that the men of his generation had taken. The trenchant divisions between right and wrong, honest and dishonest, respectable and the reverse, had left so little scope for the unforeseen. There are moments when a man's imagination, so easily subdued to what it lives in, suddenly rises above its daily level, and surveys the long windings of destiny.Brutal gut punch. Everyone is constrained by social pressure. I found myself thinking of Emerson and his exhortations to resist conformity. If only Newland Archer had read Emerson!

[techeditor_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

THE AGE OF INNOCENCE is about the silly manners followed by the very rich New York society in the 1870s. While the book is romantic, the romance serves to show the absurdity of the “rules” they lived by. Newland Archer is a part of this society yet sees the absurdities. But he’s a young man in his 20s and just goes along with it. He becomes engaged to May, a girl from another wealthy New York family. May is an innocent who follows the rules and believes in them. She is not a snob; she knows no other way.Then Newland meets May’s cousin, Ellen. Ellen disregards many of the rules. And that attracts Newland. He falls in love with her.Although I’d like to see this movie, a book about romance and wealthy New York society can sometimes bore me nowadays. I found myself rereading paragraphs because I would forget what I read immediately after I read it. My mind wandered while I was reading, not a good sign.

[charrlygirl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I loved the story, but I didn't care for the narrator very much.

I can't add to the reams that have already been written about this novel. I adore Edith Wharton, at least-what I've read so far, and I admire her powers of observation and her wit. I wouldn't have lasted five minutes in what passed for high society in New York City in the mid 1870's. There was so much gossip, so much repressed emotion and so much...phoniness. UGH.

I enjoyed this book even though I saw the movie many years ago, because as usual, the book has more depth and in this case, more scathing commentary hidden between the lines. As compared to The House of Mirth, The Age of Innocence at least has a happier ending, though I guess it depends on how you look at it. Society was definitely happier, but I'm not so sure that Newland Archer or Mrs. Olenska were.

Recommended for fans of Edith Wharton's work, stories of the gilded age and high society, or just plain fans of a good story.

[scottjpearson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This tale spans 20-30 years, two continents, and the hearts of two women and one man. Newland Archer is engaged in pre-World-War-One New York City to May Welland. However, he falls for May's cousin Ellen who is fresh off a separation from her marriage in Europe.

Ellen seems to respond (however subtly) to Newland's flirtations and overtures. Newland seems torn between his two lovers and seems to prefer Ellen over May. May sees the two and responds not with anger but with passivity. She seems to say, "What will be, will be."

After a couple of years of drama, the final chapter approaches the story over twenty years later after the die has been cast. In one fell swoop, Wharton shows her literary marvel in leaving enough unsettled to make the reader unsettled about the outcome. Just enough ambiguity begets questions and speculation.

This story is well worth the read, especially for its visage into early 1900s New York City. The City seems to then be run by a few powerful families, almost in-grown in their society. Rank, scandal, and social rules seems to govern the day, and freedom - at least for those on top - seems fleeting at best. Newland's choice is not only whom to love but whether to rebel. This situation is much like that in any smaller, in-grown community like a church or a small town.

[zoes_human · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I was astonished to find that a book published in 1920 which focuses on the wealthy of New York "Society" in the 1870s is still so relevant in this time and in society as a whole.While the needless, arbitrary, and sometimes harmful rules of "proper" decorum have changed a great deal, current ideas of propriety are still enforced with ostracism and judgement. Individuals still struggle to find genuine happiness in a society where media and culture rigidly define what one should want and need to be happy.Ms. Wharton puts forward the notion that a woman has the same right to sexual experience without judgement as a man does. I find it mildly depressing that we still aren't there yet.

[danielstj · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I didn't really understand why this novel is so recommended and highly rated. It is a character study of several people, in the vein of the different classes and societal concerns that beset them, but I did not feel engaged or enraptured with the story or the developments that occurred during it. To me, it seemed a bit archaic in form and style and did not seem to age well. The prose was a bit stale and uninspired as well- largely dealing with the same sort of approach and taciturnity that I did not feel suited the novel very well.2.5 stars- worth skipping.

[deusxmachina-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The age of individualism has not yet dawned when Newland Archer, a young man from a good New Yorker family, has to make the age-old choice between an untamed true love and a marriage that fits into all the traditions he grew up and believes in. A remarkable story about love, duty, sacrifice and the power that society, its morals and traditons have over the lives of people, especially if they don't fit seamlessly into the fold. The excesses of these conventions often seems absurd to modern readers, the introspective voice of this narrative sometimes borders on melodrama, but especially as I read (listened to) it right after Pride and Prejudice, the difference how both books handle this overarching theme left a deep impression on me. Where P&P takes it with a lot of humour, optimism and exaggeration, the tone here is decidedly melancholic, introspective and much more subdued.

[carlahaunted · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A startlingly, devastatingly good book.

[jessika.c · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I'm really surprised at how much I liked this book considering how I tend to dislike what is considered classic feminist literature. This is the story of a guy named Newland Archer who wants to marry well but also wants good company from his marriage. He gets himself engaged to a young girl named Mary Welland (whoa accidental pun) who offers a nice aesthetic to his image and an increase in wealth. But then he meets her cousin the Countess Ellen Olenska who makes a grand and scandalous return to New York having separated from her husband. Newland is honorable physically but creates an intimate emotional relationship with Ellen. She, being the older and more mature one does her best to keep her distance to not hurt her cousin but things happen when you allow yourself to get emotionally close to someone. Eventually, that isn't good enough for one or both parties involved.Because of my personal conditioning and life experiences, I'm always frustrated with the portrayal of women in classic literature. Not because I'm naive enough to think that women didn't face sexism or am shocked to see men demeaning women but because their feelings don't seem genuine to me. But again it could be that I don't consider myself to be a sensitive type, I'm a very closed off feelings type of person so to see a woman behaving so over-the-top sometimes makes it seem fake to me. In this case, I really enjoyed Mary and Ellen's portrayal because both had feelings and reactions that seemed real. Mary gave Newland an out of their engagement and behaved exactly like that young teenager that I imagined in my mind. Ellen was a quiet but powerful point in every scene she was in. It was clear to me how tied she felt to the arrangement she made with her marriage but she didn't let herself be weighed down by it. Ellen was a kind and respectable woman who knew what she wanted and knew when to back away at the appropriate times. Both women were ones I sympathized with and wanted the best for both.Newland was a hoe, he knew exactly what he was doing and I rolled my eyes at his underestimating Mary's value other than a beautiful trophy wife. He is the kind of man that I truly despise but this book wouldn't have worked for me if he had been a nice guy (TM) who just happened to fall in love with the wrong person. I probably wouldn't have finished the book at all. But in the end he isn't a villain at all, he's just a guy who had feelings for someone and made the wrong decision because he was young and stupid.

[justagirlwithabook · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I am not a fan of Edith Wharton. This book was required reading and bored me to tears. For the most part it felt that nothing was really going on, and while I don't remember specific details nearly 10 years later, I remember that by the time I finished it I was relieved and also hated it. I have never recommended this one to anyone and am usually surprised by those who sing Wharton's praises. It was just too exhausting.

[margaretfield · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

interesting insight into what life was like for these people but seemed dull to me

[aalyssa0714 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I was deeply mesmerized by the delicate writing style Wharton used to paint a vivid picture of old New York during a time dictated by social norms and mores set by tradition and by a group of tightly-knit select people that represented New York, keeping up appearances, and conformity to what society deemed acceptable.Newland Archer was set in the conventions that dictated and moulded his everyday life. He was so set in it that for a time, his actions and thoughts were aligned with it accordingly. His beliefs was jarred at the arrival of the Countess Ellen Olenska, a cousin of his then-betrothed, the docile May Welland. He was, at first, a typical representation of masculine vanity and he chose May as his bride, often taking note of her purity and girlish charm, for what he sees as his "manly privilege".Ellen was a mystery, a breath of fresh air, and a spark of color amidst a black and white crowd and Archer was captivated by her, although, he didn't want to be and has tried to fight it time and again but loses whenever he sees her. Without intending to, she made Archer examine his beliefs, his surroundings, and even his own thoughts and actions. And Archer fell in love, the kind of love accompanied by a deep yearning for something that will never be; a longing to reach someone a mere breadth's away from him but still beyond his reach; an agony of being close to each other but not together.Each characters has very distinct personalities-- Archer, idealistic and romantic; Ellen, "bohemian" and very realistic to the point that she has given up on her and Archer being together; Mrs. Manson Mingott, formidable and astute to the workings, dealings, and feelings of those around her. Some are even more complex, as in the case of May Welland who seemed pure, unassuming, and noble but was actually quite shrewd and cunning and knows a lot more than she lets on, much to the surprise of his husband.I have seldom been this invested to a love triangle than I did in this novel. It wasn't over dramatized and was treated delicately, effectively presenting Archer and Ellen's feelings and heavy emotions in the way they act whenever they're alone together-- the space that separates the two of them alone in a room, their stares and gestures, the desire to touch each other but still hesitating to cross the final boundary-- spoke volumes of the depth of what they felt for each other; although, to be quite honest, I'm still not certain if Ellen's feelings is as deep as Archer's. The crisp and straight prose managed to convey to the readers the pain and frustration of being under the constraints set by the people around them and the helplessness of being stealthily manipulated in accordance to those unspoken but rigid rules. The characters very much operated in almost ritualistic behaviors so ingrained in their upbringing that it even accomplished to stifle their personalities and desires, and heavily influenced their actions and conduct. It was depressing to read about people who would've flourished and lived fuller lives if they only had the courage to break from their restraints, some of which are even self-imposed.One cannot help but be enraptured by the novel's atmosphere of subtle melancholia hiding deeply under guise of twinkling lights and the sparkle of the rich. It amazed me how Edith Wharton worked her prose beautifully to present humorous and ridiculous details, and gradually transform them to something dark and malevolent. Her writing itself can be mistakenly described as seemingly innocent if one will not care to examine it closely.I thoroughly enjoyed this book and I aim to reread it before the year ends, just so I can see whether I missed a few more details that weren't directly stated. I hope to get my hands on a copy of Edith Wharton's other prominent works as I'm really a fan of her writing style.

[electrascaife · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Mleh.I didn't really like this one and I feel bad about not liking it. I feel like I've missed some big pointy part of it all, but dash it, I just couldn't muster any feeling of interest or liking for any of the characters or what they were doing (or not doing, as the case may be). I may have been interested in the commentary on the smothering nature of that particular society had I not been aware of it before, but, well, I was, and so I wasn't.

[etxgardener · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Edith Wharton's Pulitzer Prize winning novel is a classic story of one man's struggle over obsessive love and his duty to his family and class.Archer Newland is a well-bred New Yorker from the best of families in the late nineteenth century. He has his calm and serene life well mapped out for him including his fiancee and future wife, May. Every thing is going along without a hitch until one night he goes to the opera to meet May and her family and meets May's older cousin Ellen, the Countess Olenska who has fled her aristocratic husband and returned to New York to find safety among her family.Archer finds himself being drawn more and more into Ellen's orbit and also finds himself questioning the self-satisfied life of his family and friends. He is torn between wanting to follow his grand passion and his feelings of obligation towards his finance (and then wife) who more and more appears to be vapid and conventional when compared to his heart's desire.Wharton's writing draws the reader into the closed society of New York in the 1870's -and deftly shows how society closes around May and her family and makes sure that Archer does the right thing.This is a classic story that is told magnificently.

[kristelh_15 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Pulitzer Prize winner of 1921 is a portrait of New York on the precipice of change. Old New York has it's rules and society but things are changing as the people cling to their ways. Newland Archer is marrying May Welland. Her cousin, Countess Ellen Olenska returns to the US from a bad marriage with a plan to divorce but she is persuaded not because it isn't the way it is done. Newland champion's Ellen at his wife to be wish and his own desire and soon he is on the outside of all his and her relatives because of his support of Ellen when the rest of New York society withdraws their support of Ellen and wish her to return to her foreign husband. A crisis of decision is interrupted by Newland's wife's clever moves. Here is a quote that I liked, "For such a summer dreams it was too late; but surely not for a quiet harvest of friendship, of comradeship, in the blessed hush of her nearness.

[jennysbookbag.com · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I'm calling it quits at page 39, although I don't like having unfinished books on my shelf. I'm disappointed, but I just can't get into this book.

[laugal-2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Loved this book. I will say the first week was difficult, I only had 15 minutes at a time to read. Once I was able to sit and read,it was a great book. I loved the writing,and the characters. The ending made me sad,but I understood Newland.
Fabulous.
As much as things have changed,have they really?

[bell7_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In 1870s New York, Newland Archer apparently has it all: a decent job as a lawyer in and a nice young lady, May Welland, about to become his wife. When May's cousin Countess Ellen Olenska returns to their set with marital troubles, however, Newland begins to question his unthinking bending to convention when he discovers he's in love with the Countess.Themes of convention or community versus personal satisfaction pervade the story and, to my mind, overtook it in such a way that the characters never came alive and I grew rather bored by the end. Our society has changed so much in the last hundred years when it comes to gratification and doing what you want or sacrificing your happiness for another's, that I wonder how many young people reading this today would have anything to relate to. There is certainly enough meat for discussion and I may find my opinion changing slightly as I ponder the book more.

[brakketh-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The stilted and highly controlled New York society juxtaposed with the humanity of the protagonists.

[bookconcierge · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A look at 1880's-1900's New York society. Wharton focuses on the characters' thoughts, veiled message, secret communication, delayed gratification. The tension is palpable. Some members of our book club did not like it because it didn't move, but that's the whole point.