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Do you have an author in whose works you repeatedly get stuck?
Doncha love the ’80s cover?
You’re just sure you’re going to love them, but you can’t seem to read them?
That’s what had happened with me and Edith Wharton.
Well, that’s not entirely true, for we got along just fine in Ethan Frome.
But longer works? I haven’t yet crossed the 50-page line with either The Age of Innocence or The House of Mirth.
And I’m still flummoxed by this, because I finally did read one of her longer works last December, and I wholly enjoyed it.
Okay, that’s not entirely true either, because it took me more than 100 pages to actually believe that I could read that novel; I hovered around the 50-page mark for a good spell.
And, even afterwards, it took me a good while to get hooked on the idea of finding out what Undine’s next exploit would be. To get hooked on Undine.
Maybe that’s partly the reason why I deliberated for so long?
Maybe I had the idea — based on what? movie trailers maybe? — that I would like Wharton’s heroines.
Whereas Undine isn’t at all likeable.
“Undine’s estimate of people had always been based on their apparent power of getting what they wanted – provided it came under the category of things she understood wanting.”
But even though she is not likeable, she is believable.
And Edith Wharton draws her consistently, sustains her unlikeability throughout The Custom of the Country.
What Wharton does with Undine is what I longed for Margaret Mitchell to do with Scarlett.
It’s no wonder that “the narrow compass of her experience” grates on the reader. But Undine is beautiful and she presents well.
“The task of opening new windows in her mind was inspiring enough to give him infinite patience; and he would not yet own to himself that her pliancy and variety were imitative rather than spontaneous.”
Even the man she marries has to adjust his expectations. He “laughed in pure enjoyment of her beauty. When she shone on him like that what did it matter what nonsense she talked?”
But Undine has expectations, too. She wants something more. She wants to be seen. She wants, wants, and wants some more. And she chases that desire throughout The Custom of the Country.
“The sense of having been thus rendered invisible filled Undine with a vehement desire to make herself seen, and an equally strong sense that all attempts to do so would be vain….”
The novel moves slowly through time at the beginning; Undine’s struggle to engage with society (or Society) in NYC is spun out so that the reader feels something of her sense of being excluded. But after Undine marries, the arc widens, and things get complicated.
“The turnings of life seldom show a sign-post; or rather, though the sign is always there, it is usually placed some distance back, like the notices that give warning of a bad hill or a level railway-crossing.”
The turnings of Undine’s life are increasingly inward; Undine becomes more Undine-y as the years pass, and it creates this sense of can’t-read-on and can’t-look-away.
“She had everything she wanted, but she still felt, at times, that there were other things she might want if she knew about them.”
I owe my persistence through The Custom of the Country to Laura, who convinced me that this was a book that I would appreciate (EW is one of her favourite authors); she didn’t know about the sticky relationship that I’ve had with Edith, and that’s no matter, for everything’s been smoothed over between me and Edith now.
Do you have a sticky relationship with an author’s works?
[…] and had I finished it, I could not possibly have misunderstood this. (The Age of Innocence and The Custom of the Country should have helped […]
I think I would have to class myself as a fan, even though I’ve only read two of her novels – The House of Mirth and Summer – and some of her ghost stories. I thought they were all terrific, especially The House of Mirth. There are a lot more I want to read, The Age of Innocence, Custom of the Country, The Reef etc. I just need to get to them. No excuse, they’re sitting on my Kindle waiting, I just need to shift my backside and read them.
I think you can count yourself a fan based on very little reading, and you’ve read two books already, Cath! I have the others that you’ve mentioned here at hand, too, but I don’t know what will make me, as you say, shift my backside in their direction. Maybe peer pressure. Heheh.
BIP, I’m so glad you liked this. It’s one of my favorites. Undine is evil, isn’t she? Wharton is so shrewd.
And because I know you’re a fan of Margaret Drabble, here’s a link to her essay on The Custom of the Country.
Thanks very much, Kat: I loved the idea of MD striking out from the shopping mall with a copy of the novel in hand. It’s not hard to imagine that, if EW was writing today, her female characters would be spending time in malls! (While there, I also found this article by Lionel Shriver about why EW is her hero; that was fun too.)
I also feel this way about Wharton! I feel like, as a group, I would like her heroines for being independent and forward-thinking. But individually, I think I’d find them whiny and annoying. So I’ve never tried one of her books…
I really have no idea where I picked up this idea: do you? Because when I now read other people’s responses to these women, they do seem single-mindedly annoyed by them. Honestly, if I’d’ve known sooner that I wouldn’t like them, I’d’ve been quicker to make their acquaintance!
Hurray! I’m so glad you enjoyed this book, liked the dislikable Undine, and smoothed over everything with dear Edith.
“What Wharton does with Undine is what I longed for Margaret Mitchell to do with Scarlett.” — oh yes! me too!
But that cover … *shudder* … if that’s what your Wharton collection looks like, no wonder you’ve had problems with her! 🙂
Heheh. My others are mostly of our beloved green editions, with a Norton of House of Mirth (and even its pristine white pages didn’t help me out). Do you feel a little better now?
I started looking for a copy of this one as soon as you recommended it (January of last year), but I didn’t find my own copy until October (and I actually finished reading in December, but this post is overdue). It really is kind of hideous, I know, but the introduction is by Marilyn French, and I do remember buying covers like this in the 80s and thinking they were quite lovely *hangs head*, so I brought it home with me.