George Babt,, the pride of our city's production, is good at making money and also good at spending it. He knows how to be a modern city man. He has no original opinion or conviction. He is only convinced by what the newspapers, governments, and public taste feed him. He can talk about anything as long as it is only on the surface. He is good at handling appearances, and everything superficial may encounter problems in the middle of life. He may waste some time and feel meaningless, but we guarantee you that he will return to the limelight.

Don't let your family scare you, don't let all the vanity scare you, and don't let yourself scare you either.

George Babt is a complex figure. On one hand, he has achieved certain success in the material aspect. He is proficient in the ways of making and spending money, which makes him stand out in the eyes of many people. However, on the other hand, his lack of true beliefs and deep thinking makes him vulnerable in the face of life's challenges. He may rely too much on external appearances and the opinions of others, rather than having his own independent judgment. This kind of lifestyle may bring him temporary glory and satisfaction, but in the long run, it may lead to a sense of emptiness and loss.

We should learn from George Babt's experience and realize that true success and happiness do not come from material wealth and external recognition alone. We need to have our own beliefs and values, and be brave enough to pursue our dreams and face the difficulties and challenges in life. Only in this way can we achieve real growth and development, and live a fulfilling and meaningful life.

Domanda d’iscrizione

George F. Babbitt requests to be inscribed in the list of improbable (and unforgettable) protagonists, beside Morris Bober and William Stoner. With a magnificently aged translation by Liliana Scalero, the portrait of a man is restored. Like the characters of Williams and Malamud, he has no talent to offer his readers. Sinclair Lewis doesn't intend to cheat on this matter and presents him thus:

His name was George F. Babbitt. He was forty-six years old now, in April 1920, and he didn't make anything special: neither butter, nor shoes, nor poetry, but he was skillful in the profession of selling houses at a price higher than what people could pay.

Those who have plumbed Stoner had better flee, for good George lacks even the love for literature that the professor had. For numerous pages, he will try to show himself as the successful man he wants to be, frequenting exclusive clubs, golf courses, and surrounding himself with people who embody the typically American way of seeing the world, that is, a place with rules that a lobby of shrewd and predestined men first dictate and then circumvent. These men are those who feel capable of creating a wealth that, in their opinion, most other men would not be able to create. They mix religious faith and patriotic sentiments to hide their greed. If you are not among those who plumbed Stoner, if you have continued to read, if you are over forty, here's what George F. Babbitt has in store for you

Do you really believe that a man who is bored with his wife has the right to kick her and leave her, or kill himself? Good God, I don't know what "rights" a man has! And I don't even know how to get rid of boredom. If I knew, I would be the only philosopher who has the cure for that disease called life. But I know that there are perhaps ten times more people than one thinks who find life heavy, uselessly heavy, and don't want to admit it: and I believe that if sometimes we let off steam and confessed it, instead of being good, patient, and faithful for sixty years and then good, patient, and dead for the rest of eternity, perhaps life would be a little more fun.

Babbitt is dissatisfied. He lives the conflict between what his social position imposes on him and the freedom he craves. He oscillates between considering his family a blessing and a burden. The relationship with his wife has inevitably worn out over the years

He thought of his wife. - If only, if only she weren't so damn resigned to getting old and settled. No! I don't want to! I don't want to go back! In three years I'll be fifty. In thirteen years, sixty. I want to enjoy life a little, before it's too late. I don't care at all! I want it!

Halfway through the book, adultery seemed inevitable. I was starting to get tired of the gala dinners where economic alliances were born and proliferated. I hoped that Babbitt would take a fling with a real femme fatale instead of continuing to fantasize about her. Instead of the expected female, the "shot female" materializes. The one who shoots at her is George's dearest friend: Paolo Riesling. I feared two hundred pages of trial, lawyers, and jurors, but fortunately Sinclair Lewis has wasted a few, verdict included. The femme fatale will come, she will be what today is called a MILF, but she will not take the stage, she will not move the narration. Sinclair Lewis was not interested in marital infidelity, he was interested in social betrayal. He will base the last part of the novel on it. The libertarian yearning of his anti-hero will lead him to desertion but he will not be able to prevent his return to the ranks, his inscription in the League of Good Citizens.

I put Babbitt in the list he had asked to be part of, but there is no room beside, so I have to put him one line lower.

This is truly two distinct books, both centered around Babbitt yet significantly differing in plot structure and the time period they cover.

The first part (half) delves into the daily life of George Babbitt. He was once regarded as the symbol of the shallow and empty middle-class man. However, due to the fact that people don't really read Babbitt anymore, he has lost that iconic status. We accompany Babbitt as he awakens to the sound of an expensive alarm clock, heads off to work, attempts to give up smoking, socializes with other like-minded Babbitt-type friends, and then returns home. It is a well-rounded story that unfolds over the course of a single day.

Subsequently, the second half arrives like an entirely separate book. It advances the plot over a span of months and takes the narrative in an unnecessary and ultimately cyclical direction. This was somewhat disconcerting to me, as I detest it when authors don't know when to conclude. Additionally, at times Lewis goes to extremes in ridiculing Babbitt, and on occasion, the satire devolves into slapstick and becomes rather lame. Nevertheless, for the most part, this is yet another reason why I have a profound love for 1920's American fiction: it is robust, stylistically unique, and holds great meaning.