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Newland Archer (the main character in The Age of Innocence) is in love.  

And, although he may not recognize it, the reader does.

Wharton (like Jane Austen) brilliantly uses the powerful means of dramatic irony in her stories which allow the reader to be placed into a position of superiority.  As the reader grasps the inner thoughts of the characters, the characters themselves (poor things) are lost in a state-of- confusion.

In The Age of Innocence, I have the strong urge to shake Newland and shout “Wake up you moron!  Don’t you know that you’re in love!”

Here are just a few examples:

…He had the feeling of unexplained excitement with which, on half-holidays at school, he used to start off into the unknown…. 

…The longing was with him day and night, an incessant undefinable craving, like the sudden whim of a sick man for food and drink once tasted and long since forgotten…  

…he could not see beyond the craving, or picture what it might lead to, for he was not conscious….

And these words which scream LOVE from the rooftop:

…He simply felt that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty.  

From The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

In attempting to read some of the greatest novels ever written, I read Kafka’s The Trial.

Ironically, I had just finished reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll and found several similarities:

  • the absurdity;
  • the senseless accusations;
  • the lack of communication;
  • the lack (non-existence) of justice in the courtroom

The main difference between the two books was found in their aftereffect.  Alice in Wonderland didn’t make me want to KILL MYSELF!

Sarcasm there friends; no intervention calls please.

Reading The Trial was akin to reading someones nightmare journal; caught in that continuous style that lacks the discipline of paragraph usage; each sentence adding a sense of suffocation and feeling of paranoia.  Ugh.  One long dark ongoing train-of-thought/paranoid nightmare. So dark and disturbing.  Me no like.

Give me some Jane Austen.  Now!

Anyway, I couldn’t wait to be done with it….just to scratch it off my list and feel better about life.

Even if it means being delusional in my happiness.

I have a few favorite literary fictional heroines:  

  • Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice;
  • Jane Eyre from Jane Eyre; and
  • Dolores Price from She’s Come Undone

What makes them so special?  Why am I drawn to them?  Why do I respect them? I’ve been wondering what it is that makes their character so likable.

What impresses me the most, I’ve concluded, is the fact that they each have the courage to speak up for themselves.  They share the common thread of telling it like it is; no matter the cost.

I posed the question (“Who is your favorite fictional heroine?”) to a few friends.  Here’s how they responded:

*   *   *  

  • Jody:  I think mine might be Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird.  
  • Erin:  Becky Sharp from Vanity Fair (Thackeray), Lisbeth Salander from the Dragon Tattoo (crappy books, compelling character) and Helena (much ado).  Also, Imogene Hurdman from the Best Christmas Pageant Ever.  Those are the first that come to mind.
  • Blair:  Nothing so lofty I am afraid, Rebecca Bloomwood, Bridget Jones and Jennifer Cavalleri
  • Jennifer:  Nice choices! I liked She’s Come Undone, even though reading the book made me feel ill at certain parts. Such a story.  My fave will always be Elizabeth Bennet, because she says what she wants and doesn’t care what society thinks of her. I also like Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games, who was strong and brave and loved her family. I also like Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, who never forgot her manors even in the strangest of places, and Jadis, The White Witch who ruled Narnia with a frosty fist.
  • Jasmine:  Elizabeth Bennett, Harriet Vane, Miss Climpson,  Jo from Little Women, Imogen Quy from the detective series by Jill Paton Walsh. …. I could go on but that’s enough for now surely!
  • Janice:  Elizabeth Bennet is one of my favorites too — but then again, so is Jo from Little Women and, of course, Scarlett O’Hara from Gone With the Wind.  Do we see a pattern here?
I wonder.  Do we see a pattern?   Do you have a favorite?
If so, what is it that makes her so compelling?
* * *

Lily Bart is caught up in materialism.

The tragic heroine of The House of Mirth was raised to believe that success is to be measured solely by what one owns; social status; money; “making it.”  It’s a lie of course.

In chapter six, there’s a brief sense of liberation when Selden offers a different view.  Lily had had an inkling of it all along.  Most of us feel the truth that way.  A deep-down-inkling.  His words (or Wharton’s words) are worth reflecting on.  Worth living by actually…

*   *   *

“My idea of success,” he said, “is personal freedom.” 

“Freedom? Freedom from worries?”

“From everything–from money, from poverty, from ease and anxiety, from all the material accidents. To keep a kind of republic of the spirit–that’s what I call success.”

She leaned forward with a responsive flash. “I know–I know–it’s strange; but that’s just what I’ve been feeling today.”

He met her eyes with the latent sweetness of his. “Is the feeling so rare with you?” he said.

She blushed a little under his gaze. “You think me horribly sordid, don’t you? But perhaps it’s rather that I never had any choice. There was no one, I mean, to tell me about the republic of the spirit.”

“There never is–it’s a country one has to find the way to one’s self.”

“But I should never have found my way there if you hadn’t told me.”

“Ah, there are sign-posts–but one has to know how to read them.”

– From Chapter 6, The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

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