So far, I've only read The House of Mirth, but I rate it 5 stars. I loved the style of writing and was truly engaged with and rooting for Lily Bart.

Truthfully I only read bits and pieces of Edith Whartons novels because I had to read them for a class. I didn't particularly like her writing. I found it boring and most of the time didn't bother to keep up with the material.

At first he had chafed under the taciturnity surrounding him: had passionately longed to cry out his humiliation, his rebellion, his despair. Then he began to feel the tonic effect of silence; and the next stage was reached when it became clear to him that there was nothing to say. There were thoughts and thoughts: they bubbled up perpetually from the black springs of his hidden misery, they stole on him in the darkness of night, they blotted out the light of day; but when it came to putting them into words and applying them to the external facts of the case, they seemed totally unrelated to it. One more white and sun-touched glory had gone from his sky; but there seemed no way of connecting that with such practical issues as his being called on to decide whether Paul was to be put in knickerbockers or trousers, and whether he should go back to Washington Square for the winter or hire a small house for himself and his son.

The fourth novel, "The Age of Innocence" was a good read, which I wasn't expecting. Much more of a page turner than "The Reef" or "The Custom of the Country". I was a little surprised at the ending of "The Age of Innocence", but then when I reflected on the style exhibited in the previous three novels I nodded my head in acceptance.