"She had lied to him--lied to him from the first...there hadn't been a moment when she hadn't lied to him, deliberately, ingeniously and inventively. As he thought of it, there came to him, for the first time in months, that overwhelming sense of her physical nearness which had once so haunted and tortured him. Her freshness, her fragrance, the luminous haze of her youth, filled the room with a mocking glory; and he dropped his head on his hands to shut it out..."

So the trick is how to write a long novel about an essentially unlikable person. Edith Wharton pulls it off here with her star, Undine Spragg. How's that for a name? Undine is the young daughter of middle class parents who've only recently arrived in New York at the turn of the century, its Gilded Age. She's magnificently beautiful, vapid and spoiled. Yet she has a ruthless ambition in becoming the queen of New York society. She pursues every relationship with this in mind. The novel has plenty of room for Wharton to cast a caustic and skewering eye on New York society in the early 1900's through her heroine as she maneuvers her way up the social circle, leaving lovers, husbands and friends in her wake.

This is the second novel by Wharton that I've read, and I would highly recommend to anyone. You can easily see Undine as a insta-celebrity in today's somewhat ridiculous and gullible infatuation for anyone who glitters, no matter how corrupt they are beneath the surface.

Now I see that Edith Wharton is a true master of the craft. This novel is not perhaps innovative, but bold it is, and sharp as can be.

This is a long one. A real commitment (which is ironic given the subject matter). But it's worth it!

Basically, it's about the adventures of Undine Spragg, an unscrupulous American beauty who is short on empathy and long on desire for social status and, it seems, innocent fun at dinner parties (though she's happy to harm anyone who gets in the way of this fun. So can it still be innocent?)

Though it spans years and continents, there is something very claustrophobic about this novel. While in its grip the world is a particular one, the upper classes and the nouveau riche and some not terrifically wealthy French royalty thrown in. Sometimes I feel like I need to open a window and breathe some real air. But I imagine it is an intended effect.

There are many characters both fully drawn and rich in symbolism who come alive in the chapters of this book, complex, flawed and interesting and I found that I cared about them though I can't say I found many terribly likable. I suppose Undine's three husbands had their warmth, sensitivity and charm (not all at the same time or in that order). And I fear for her son, but have hope for him, too. There is a curious point in the middle of the novel somewhere where Wharton offers up a certain position she is exploring as to the effects on American women of these wealthier classes of having so little to do with and so little understanding of their husbands'' worlds of business.

Undine is a memorable anti-heroine, not blood-thirsty exactly, but chillingly selfish. shallow and ambitious. She does learn a few things in the course of the novel, but none having to do with compassion or empathy.

I'm very surprised there hasn't been a movie or BBC series done of this. Oy the whiteness of it all.

The most Balzacian of Wharton's novels. ~~ A monumental epic of America (1913) lurching into materialistic vulgarity as personified by an intriguing Gatsbyesque financial manipulator and a Becky Sharp from "Vanity Fair" who is detestable. Wharton spent almost 5 years writing this, off and on, w time out for short stories and "Ethan Frome." A brutal, pessimistic view that some critics say kept her from winning the Nobel Prize. Clearly, Wharton is appalled by her own anti-heroine who has no moral center. Published just before W1 blew up the world.

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Step aside, Becky Sharp. Move over, Scarlett O'Hara...make way for Undine Spragg, the most unscrupulous anti-heroine I have ever encountered.

n  “[S]he could not conceive that any one could tire of her of whom she had not first tired.”n

Wharton once again focuses her narrative on a young woman’s unrelenting attempts at social climbing. While Wharton does inject her depiction of Undine Spragg's ‘trials’ with a dose of satire she nevertheless is able to carry out an incisive commentary regarding New York’s ‘high society’. Through her piercing insights into privilege Wharton is able to render a detailed and engaging examination of the intricate customs that prevailed among America’s ‘elite’ society, exemplifying the discordance between their values and their behaviour. Wharton emphasises their sense of entitlement and their idleness. While they often believe themselves to possess the most impeccable manners, readers know just how cut-throat they truly are.
Armed with gossip or ready to form conniving schemes, most of them will hesitate at nothing in order to augment their wealth and reputation (ideally ruining someone's life in the process). Marriages are business manoeuvres and one makes friends on the basis of whether they might be later on be put to good use (‘networking’ is everything for these people).
By bringing together these different themes and subjects—marriage, divorce, class, wealth—Wharton is able to present her readers with a nuanced and in-depth examination of New York's upper crust.

As a character in the novel observes, Undine Spragg is the “monstrously perfect result of the system: the completest proof of its triumph”. Undine, who was raised by two loving parents who spoiled her from a young age, possesses a solipsistic worldview and her values are exceedingly materialistic.
Undine is an appalling protagonist. She is Lily Bart's monstrous little sister. We first ‘meet’ Undine when she still seems to be a simple, if pampered, ‘country’ girl. Soon however we begin to see that in spite of her simplicity (she definitely lacks Miss Bart's charisma and acumen) Undine Spragg is entirely egocentric and lacks both self-awareness and empathy.

n  “It never occurred to her that other people's lives went on when they were out of her range of vision.”n

As noted by the narrative and the various characters, Undine's conceitedness, as well as her perpetual sense of boredom, may be the likely result of her upbringing. Her parents' leniency definitely played its role in making Undine feel as if she should only be concerned with her own happiness, and to be truly happy she has to marry well.
Undine believes that as long as can enjoy an extravagant lifestyle and be favoured within certain circles, she won't be bored. As much as I loathed Undine—for her selfishness, her lack of creativity, and for her frivolous tastes—I was always aware that she did grow up in a society that values appearances.
Undine was never made to feel as if she needed to cultivate any real interest. Her main concern are her own beauty and reputation, the two means through which she will be able to find a satisfactory match.
It shouldn't be surprising then that Undine becomes a woman who is thoroughly disinterested in the lives of others. She sees no reason why she should be preoccupied with her husband's ‘menial’ work. She is unable to see why she should be held accountable for other people's misery.
There was something oddly compelling about Undine's determination not to allow her desires to be comprised by anyone or anything. She is more than willing to have affairs, lie, drive her husband(s) and family into debt, and blackmail and manipulate others.
While the narrative definitely accentuates Undine’s cherubic appearance (from her creamy complexion to her beautiful golden locks) readers are made aware of what lies beneath her rosy surface: Undine's vision of happiness is rather limited. She lacks imagination, so much so that she often merely tries to emulate the women around her.

n  “Her entrances were always triumphs; but they had no sequel.”n

And while I certainly thought her to be a horrible person (her behaviour is reprehensible) there was a part of me that found her egocentrism and cruelty to be strangely compelling. Whether she is merely a product of environment or innately selfish, her total self-absorption was transfixing.
Wharton portrays a scathing picture of her society: were “the average American looks down on his wife”, were women's sense of self is dictated by a cult of aspiration, were marriages are entirely transactional, and were young individuals are trapped by old traditions and customs.
In spite of Undine's many romances, there is little if any love to be found within the pages of The Custom of the Country. And maybe that's for the best given that Undine is no heroine.
While I certainly didn't find this novel to be as moving as Wharton's
The Age of Innocence, and Undine's misadventures lack the poignancy of Lily's ones in The House of Mirth, I would still recommend this. Wharton's percipient prose, her sophisticated use of satire, vividly renders the customs and values of New York's high class.

Hell yeah

#RetoEdwardianspirit de la cuenta @victorianspiritsblog, premisa “Un Libro de Edith Wharton”.

Primer Wharton del año, y espero que sea el primero de muchos más. Porque esta lectura me ha recordado porque disfruto y sufro tanto, a la vez, con esta autora y sus trabajos. Y me alegro de que me haya dejado tan buena impresión porque al principio bien pensé que esto no iba a ser así. Y es que me costó muchísimo conectar con esta lectura. Al principio se me hizo muy pesada y aburrida. No fue hasta casi la página doscientos y poco que empezó a interesarme lo que tenía delante. Y hasta más o menos la mitad no fue cuando en el libro comenzó a engancharme, lo cual se mantuvo hasta su final. Lo que está claro es que Wharton es una autora muy inteligente y capaz, logra crear de tramas argumentales muy sencillas, novelas que impactan, que llegan a enganchar y que se disfrutan mucho al leerlas. Y crea historias muy interesantes, llena de detalles y sutilezas, en las que todo no es tan sencillo como aparenta a simple vista, ya que muchas veces hay que ahondar y pensar un poco para descubrir lo que quiere decir realmente.

En “Las Costumbres Nacionales” seguimos la pista de Undine Spraggs, una hermosa joven que se ha trasladado con su familia a Nueva York desde una ciudad de provincias del medio oeste norteamericano, con el fin de prosperar socialmente y escapar de un escandaloso episodio de su pasado. Dicha meta, tras dos años de infructuoso trabajo, se le resiste. Por lo tanto, para entrar en los círculos sociales más selectos de la burguesía norteamericana y la rancia nobleza europea, a Undine no le quedará otro remedio que usar el vehículo tradicional de toda joven con encanto y algunos posibles: el matrimonio. Para ello no durará en casarse dos veces, buscando siempre llevar una vida de lujos y honorabilidad social.

La historia puede parecer simple y tópica, pero no hay que bajar la guardia por esta sensación. Wharton no da puntada sin hilo. A partir de inicios aparentemente anodinos y sin sustancia va uniendo elementos y personajes para crear auténticas tragedias griegas de principios del siglo XX llenas de enormes dosis de sátira y critica social, y de mucha amargura. En algunos momentos, “Las Costumbres Nacionales” me ha recordado a dos de las novelas más famosas de la autora y que tanto disfrute el año pasado, “La Casa de la Alegría” y “La Edad De La Inocencia”. El ejercicio de comparar estas tres obras es algo que no tiene el más mínimo mérito. Pero tengo que decir que si algo me ha sorprendido de la novela que nos ocupa es que su trama me ha parecido un tanto más enrevesada y compleja que la de las otras dos, contando con algún que otro giro de guión realmente impactante. Sin que nada de eso le quite para nada méritos. A “La Edad De La Inocencia” me ha recordado por ciertas escenas y personajes que han aparecido a lo largo y ancho de la obra que nos ocupa, y, por supuesto, a la omnipresente crítica y representación de la sociedad neoyorquina de la época, muy típica en todo el trabajo de Wharton.

Respecto a “La Casa de la Alegría”, más que en el aspecto ideológico y argumental, el parecido lo encuentro entre sus dos protagonistas. Y que al mismo tiempo son las dos caras de la misma moneda, completamente diferentes la una de la otra. La Lili Bart de “La Casa de la Alegría” y la Undine que nos ocupa, son dos chicas jóvenes y bellas, llenas de habilidades sociales y que disfrutan de gastar dinero, a las que solo les falta haber nacido en las familias apropiadas, tanto en lo monetario como en lo social. Y también en carácter hay ciertas similitudes entre ellas, en cuanto que las dos son muy vehementes e impacientes, actúan sin pensar, y eso les trae no pocas consecuencias negativas, siendo ellas mismas, muchas veces, sus peores enemigas. Ambas sienten que tienen el derecho a pertenecer a una posición social mejor que aquella a la que pertenecen, y luchan enconadamente por conseguir ese objetivo. Pero es ahí, también, donde difieren totalmente. Mientras que Lili es un personaje trágico porque aún mantiene ciertos principios y bondad en su corazón, que logran redimirla y hacerla cercana al lector, a Undine, Wharton no le proporciona esas concesiones. Es un personaje totalmente antipático, qué disgusta por su egoísmo, sus dotes para la manipulación, y por su falta de escrúpulos. Es capaz de pisotear a cualquiera por conseguir sus objetivos, y se cree con derecho a tener todo aquello que desee, siendo ciega a las desdichas de los demás.

En algún lugar leí que se la ponía en el mismo cajón que a la Scarlett O’Hara de “Lo que El Viento Se Llevó” y a la Becky Sharp de “La Feria de las Vanidades”. Pero a diferencia de estas dos anti heroínas, Undine nunca logra caer bien. Es un personaje que puede llegar a ser cruel, que personifica totalmente la implacable carrera por avanzar socialmente que tanto trata Wharton en la mayoría de sus obras. Y, curiosamente, es en su representación donde recae toda la gracia en el libro y lo que lo hace un trabajo increíblemente sublime. Usando a una protagonista totalmente poco convencional y nada agradable, Wharton hace un excelente ejercicio de escritura. Su personaje no puede caerte bien, pero está descrita psicológicamente con tal finura e inteligencia que entiendes perfectamente su psique y su forma de ver las cosas, y acabas entendiendo (que no compartiendo) su forma de pensar y actuar. Sin que te guste, de alguna manera acabas en empatizando con ella. En eso me ha recordado mucho a la forma como Navokov trabaja al odioso Humbert Humbert de su celebre “Lolita”: el lector sabe que lo que hace es asqueroso, le odia. Pero al mismo tiempo se sumerge totalmente en su interior, y su personalidad y forma de actuar se despliega ante él como si fuera un cuadro, con todos sus matices a la vista.

Y es por medio de Undine por donde se trabajan los grandes temas de la novela.

Por un lado la crítica a la sociedad neoyorquina de principios del siglo XX, y su representación como un mundo cerrado que puede llegar a ser cruel e implacable, con sus férreas normas sociales, su clasismo, sus costumbres inquebrantables, sus incesantes cotilleos y sus cambiantes preferencias y alianzas. Un mundo que está en pleno cambio, como se ve en la lucha de de las viejas familias de noble abolengo y rancias costumbres de Nueva York, en conflicto contra los nuevos ricos que acaban de llegar al lugar, una lucha que los primeros están destinados a perder, ya que los segundos, poco a poco, van haciéndose con todo el poderío económico y social. Pero en este aspecto, la crítica también se vierte contra las sociedades europeas, como puede verse en los muchos episodios que tiene lugar en París y en Europa. Ahí se critican las costumbres aburridas, añejas y clasistas de la vieja nobleza europea, más apegada a su pasado que a intentar evolucionar e ir al compás de los nuevos tiempos. Si en Nueva York la guerra es entre los habitantes de una misma ciudad, en Europa la guerra es un pulso contra las costumbres que vienen desde la propia Norteamérica, y que amenazan con devorar las tradiciones y la historia de las antiguas familias del viejo continente, quienes buscan, irónicamente, parecerse a ellos, con lo que solo logran desvirtuar aquello que anhelan. Los gustos y normas continentales pueden ser diferentes que las de sus vecinos del otro charco, pero sus leyes sociales y su forma de ver el mundo no son por ello menos fuertes y menos asfixiantes. Es decir, son iguales y diferentes a la vez.

Y, por otro lado, Undine es un vehículo para que se lleve acabo una critica hacia el puesto que la mujer ocupa en la sociedad de su época. Después de dos matrimonios, uno con el hijo de una importante familia neoyorquina, pero empobrecida, y el segundo con un noble francés de rancia estirpe y pocos recursos, Undine se ve obligada a aceptar que la honorabilidad social y el dinero no van siempre de la mano. Y ella busca desesperadamente que ambos factores converjan en su existencia. No entiende por qué ninguna de sus dos familias políticas, tan respetables y apegadas a las tradiciones, lucha por prosperar en lo económico. Por lo tanto, ella tendrá que conseguirlo a su manera, usando las únicas armas que se le permiten a una mujer de su momento, y por medio del único vehículo que tiene a su disposición. Y es que, en el mundo en que Undine vive, a las mujeres no se les permite más que eso, no cuenta con las posibilidad de poder ser independientes económica y socialmente por si mismas. Por lo tanto, si los hombres pueden tener como medios para prosperar su trabajo y sus negocios, el matrimonio se convertirá en el gran negocio de las mujeres para conseguir ese mismo objetivo. Y para ello, nuestra Undine demostrará ser tan implacable y cruel como alguno de los especuladores de Wall Street que nos encontramos en las páginas de esta novela, incluido Elmett Moffat, un hombre que tiene un vinculo con Undine desde antes que esta llegará a Nueva York.

Undine, sin pretenderlo, y sin caer a nadie bien por sus actos, tiene una personalidad sorprendentemente avispada y adelantada para su época. En un momento en el que el divorcio era todo un escándalo, si es necesario para sus objetivos no durará en pasar por ese proceso que puede poner en jaque su reputación. Una crítica más que Wharton lanza en su presente trabajo: lo difícil que es obtener este trámite, y como la vida de una mujer queda irrevocablemente marcada por ello. Para que las masas sociales lo acepten debe haber una excusa muy fuerte, no el simple deseo de separarse de un hombre al que no se ama y con el que no se desea ya estar.

El personaje de Undine entra dentro de todos aquellos que quieren prosperar social y económicamente y están dispuestos a lo que sea por conseguirlo, esa nueva burguesía que se come los viejos valores tanto en América como en Europa. Su lucha constante será contra su irrefrenable deseo de una vida de lujos y su necesidad de tener un alta y estable posición social, buscando incansablemente conseguir ambos. Un debate que es el núcleo central y emocional de esta obra, y que se manifiesta incluso en las páginas finales de la novela. Wharton nos presenta un desenlace cerrado pero a la vez abierto; que deja al lector con una sensación de amarga angustia y de duda que, pese a todo, se convierte en el culmen de todo lo que se ha leído anteriormente. Y que nos deja clara una cosa: al igual que el sueño norteamericano nos presenta a un hombre que no deja de luchar hasta conseguir medrar en la vida, Undine tampoco se ha quedado satisfecha con lo que consigue después de diez años de viajes y matrimonios desafortunados, y después de haber pasado por encima de todo aquel que se interponía en su camino y de toda convención; de haber , supuestamente, logrado aquello a lo que consideraba que tenia derecho. Es posible que su voracidad, como la de los Estados Unidos de América, no tenga freno.

Para acabar , solo decir que “Las Costumbres Nacionales”, pese a no ser una de las novelas más famosas de Edith Wharton, es una obra que merece totalmente la pena por lo maravillosamente bien escrita que está. Con cada novela que leo de ella, Wharton me enamora más por su estilo tan pausado y detallista, nítido en sus descripciones psicológicas y de los ambientes. Esto se ve especialmente en cómo nos habla de los entornos europeos, descripciones llenas de gran fuerza, lirismo y belleza que se disfrutan y viven mientras se leen. Y por supuesto, no hay que olvidar todo lo que la autora quiere reivindicar con esta novela, la cual deja al lector con muchas cosas en las que pensar al terminar.

My new favorite writer is Edith Wharton. I have read four of her wonderful novels this year and I intend to read all of the others in time. She is one of the sharpest observers of mankind that I have ever come across. You could believe that she sat and studied the people around her and then drew them in flesh and blood (that often ran red) on the sheets of paper in front of her. They are real, they breathe, and they make me wish to cry with them, comfort them or slap them with a fervor that is generally reserved for non-fictional human beings.

Undine Spragg is one of the most complex characters ever drawn. Much of what she is can be easily understood by viewing her background and seeing her struggle to haul herself up from the acceptable but somewhat meager beginnings in Apex, NC to the elevated status of a New York society maven. She seems to have no scruples about how she elevates herself, however, and she can recognize none of the greater qualities in people. When she has driven her loving and devoted husband to the point of suicide, her reaction is one of wondering why she is always required to pay such a heavy price to obtain those things that are rightfully coming to her (in this case his money). She has so little regard for her child that she is willing to use him as a pawn in a game of ransom, and she will marry or exploit anyone she thinks will push her up the ladder of society. What is sadder still is that she has no recognition of what true genteel society is. She marries into that with Ralph and despises it. Her true match is the conniving, exploitive, and unrefined Moffat, who is also just a social climber. They have one thing in common, all their values are defined by money and position.

Watching Undine claw her way to the top is like watching an automobile accident in the making. You can scream at her to apply the brakes, but she has got too much momentum to ever stop the vehicle. To carry the analogy a step further, if she survives the accident, she will only think she is safer in a bigger, heavier car. She will not really learn to drive any better.

Her selfishness is unbelievable (and yet, sorry to say, I have seen women just like her in my own lifetime...want, want, want and never any satisfaction.  In fact, even when she has Moffatt in the end and all the money she could ever wish, her poor French husband’s family heirloom tapestries hanging on her wall, and the power to manipulate most of society into admitting her because of her money, she is dissatisfied.

Wharton’s last poke at Undine is “Even now, however, she was not always happy. She had everything she wanted, but she still felt, at times, that there were other things she might want if she knew about them. And there had been moments lately when she had had to confess to herself that Moffatt did not fit into the picture. At first she had been dazzled by his success and subdued by his authority. He had given her all she had ever wished for,and more than she had ever dreamed of having: he had made up to her for all her failures and blunders, and there were hours when she still felt his dominion and exulted in it. But there were others when she saw his defects and was irritated by them: when his loudness and redness, his misplaced joviality, his familiarity with the servants, his alternating swagger and ceremony with her friends, jarred on perceptions that had developed in her unawares. Now and then she caught herself thinking that his two predecessors--who were gradually becoming merged in her memory--would have said this or that differently, behaved otherwise in such and such a case. And the comparison was almost always to Moffatt's disadvantage.”

She will never be happy or satisfied and she will always make others suffer for her desires and shortcomings. Moffatt will be the next to be made miserable in trying to satisfy Undine, but at least Moffatt will be someone who will be armed against her, as he is her kind and her equal.

While it is tempting to concentrate on Undine, since she is the character that moves all the action forward, one should not forget how beautifully Wharton draws all the other characters in this tale. Ralph Marvell is a stupendous character. He is an iconic picture of the old guard that is being squashed in favor of the nouveau riche. (I thought of Ashley Wilkes in GWTW, a man who has outlived the lifestyle he was intended for) All the qualities that make him exceptional are also the things that now hold him down in the society he inhabits. He has his name and little else and we can clearly see the Dogenets are a family falling from power. Peter Van Degen is a great example of someone who is from the old-school families but is learning to navigate perfectly in the new, less moral world of Wall Street investors, and Undine’s father is someone who seeks to become part of a world that does not improve his lot or make him happier. He was a big fish in a small pond in Apex, in New York he barely knows how to fit into the society he seeks. It is easy to see that if not of Undine, he would have been happily prospering in Apex. Every lesser character, from little Paul Marvell to Ralph’s cousin and sister, are drawn with precision and depth and seem real and essential to the understanding of this world.

I could not be more pleased to have added this wonderful book to my growing list of Wharton missives. She is a masterful, insightful, splendid writer; a professional in the art of character study; and an expert in the art of flowing, expressive prose. If you have not come to her yet, you are missing one of the great writers of the early twentieth century.

Published in 1913, “The Custom of the Country” depicts the lures and dangers of materialism in New York at a time when fashionable people boarded or lived in hotels. The quest for wealth and upward social mobility is a normal human ambition – an ancient drive that never grows old. It is a common enough theme but Wharton’s exploration is epic via an anti-heroine who is vile and yet so irresistible.

This is my fourth Wharton novel and I marvel at her flair for creating beautiful, vain, and self-serving female protagonists who are ruthless in seeking wealth and membership in the highest echelons of society. Undine Spragg is a supremely attractive young lady whose family has moved from Apex City to New York in hopes that she will gain entry into the gilded sanctum of the rich and influential. Undine prides herself on two things she claims to live for: amusement and respectability. The easiest route is marriage. The novel’s energy is swept up in Undine’s triumph in marrying one rich man after another when her marriage fails to satisfy her materially. To her, marriages are merely "experiments in happiness". I derived a subversive thrill in anticipating her conquests.

Wharton paints a lush and enticing picture of a lavish lifestyle available to a beautiful woman who has a wealthy husband: vacations in Paris, staying at fancy hotels, frolicking in the countryside, dining like royalty, going to the opera, and shopping up a storm while your family picks up the bill. No wonder Undine throws a titanic fit whenever her expectations cannot be exceeded.

In many ways, Undine reminds me of Lily Bart in “The House of Mirth” who is fanatically obsessed with marrying well. It is hard to like self-absorbed narcissistic women who are unapologetically opportunistic in their voracious pursuit of opulence and self-aggrandizement. With Lily Bart, I felt disgust but also pity, and even a modicum of respect for her at the end. With Undine Spragg, I felt only a revulsion that did not abate. She treats her parents shabbily and feels toward them only “sentimental pity” despite their having simplified their lifestyle to fund her extravagance. Her first husband, genteel Ralph Marvell, she holds in contempt for his inability to keep up with her flamboyant spending habits. She blackmails him over the custody of their son and the consequences are tragic. Even her 9-year-old son, Paul, is astute enough to see through her lies. By the end of the novel, Undine remains completely unchanged, devoid of any redeeming quality. Lily Bart, in contrast, has more self-respect.

One wonders if the likes of Lily Bart and Undine Spragg are products of their social world. What is the custom of the country in the early twentieth century? According to Bowen, a friend of the Marvell family, it is against the custom of the country for a man to tell a woman about his work or interest her in it. The custom is for men to slave for women, make financial sacrifices, and to lavish their fortune on their wives. Could this account for the expectations women like Undine have and their sense of entitlement? Of Ralph, Bowen says, "It's normal for a man to work hard for a woman - what's abnormal is his not caring to tell her anything about it." However, Bowen is mistaken where Undine is concerned. There is little point for Ralph to tell her about his business and struggles because she strikes me as incapable of taking an interest in her husband's work. Undine does not care about anyone because she loves only herself.

“The Custom of the Country” is a typical Wharton story that ushers the reader into a rather beguiling culture of a far flung era. Beautifully written, it is an entertaining and enjoyable read.

"n  On her siden"
Come Again? Pardon? Huh?

March 8, 2017

Open Letter to Baron Fellowes of West Stafford (Lord Julian Fellowes):

After reading the novel n  The Custom of the Countryn, I read that you attribute to this novel your success with, among other endeavors, the popular series Downton Abbey, and the part of your speech accepting the 2012 Edith Wharton Lifetime Achievement Award when you said:

"It is quite true that I felt this was my book; that the novel was talking to me in a most extreme and immediate way. I think it's a remarkable piece of writing. In Undine Spragg, Wharton has created an anti-heroine absolutely in the same rank as Becky Sharp, Scarlett O'Hara, or Lizzie Eustace. Undine has no values except ambition, greed and desire, and yet through the miracle of Wharton's writing, you are on her side. That's what's so extraordinary about the book...I decided, largely because of her work, that it was time I wrote something."

I agree, in a general way, with everything you state about this novel up until the part about being "on [Undine Spragg's] side." I find the thought that anyone could pull for Undine Spragg quite perplexing and almost troubling. Perhaps I might attribute our difference in opinion to class distinctions: me an attorney who grew up middle class in the American Deep South and you a loaded, landed Baron/author/screenwriter reared in South Kensington and Chiddingly, East Sussex. I do not think though, that this can be pegged simply to the fact that you are English and I am American. At least I hope that is not the case because I do sincerely believe that I am on the side of the angels here.

I enjoyed this fine novel as a satire of the upper class society in New York City at the start of the 20th Century. I take heart from the fact that no one in the novel pulls for or is on Undine's side except Undine. Her father cannot even stand her. I cannot think of or imagine a female anti-heroine who is or could be more despicable, callow, vacuous, callous, nauseating, cold, loveless, loathsome, self-centered and inhumane as Undine Spragg. She was spoiled by her parents, threw fits when her father hesitated to bankrupt himself to buy her the next new thing to fit into NYC's upper crust, she married in hopes of money, then, when it was never enough, she abandoned husband and child and prostituted herself for jewelry, long stays in Paris, et cetera, then failed to come home from her vixen adventure to attend to her son or husband when the husband had pneumonia, did not bat an eye upon her husband's awful death, and committed many other moral misdeeds.

In short, I could not find one redeeming quality in this b*tch. I wanted her to fall and miserably so in some tangible or measurable way; certainly, she failed in about every part of the moral human character and condition.

By posting this online, I am inviting anyone (of any class, gender, age, and from anywhere) who has read this novel to enlighten me on what I am missing that put Baron Fellowes of West Stafford "on [Undine Spragg's] side." My Lord, hath our moral decadence come to this?


Most Respectfully Yours,

/s/
Attorney Addled, At A Loss in Alabama

A book with more use as a paperweight or a doorstop. Could sum up the whole thing in probably 5 sentences yet it’s so incredibly dense I wanted to put my head through a wall :)

1. The Custom of the Country is kind of Vanity Fair for Americans in the early 20th century (unless it is the late 19th century!). Admittedly, I haven't read Vanity Fair so I am talking from osmosis here, but Becky Sharp's come far enough in the cultural consciousness that the parallels are extremely tempting. Undine Spragg is the kind of beautiful but unscrupulous woman who claws her way upwards, shedding husbands and nevertheless obsessing over respectability. Scarlett O'Hara, who came later, is probably the refinement of this type, which is maybe why she is both iconic and beloved now; the things that make Scarlett kind of a horrible person contribute to our love for her, and her personal difficulties make her understandable . . . but never excusable. Undine is simply greedy, rather than ambitious - she doesn't dream, and she doesn't want something until she sees someone else having it. Ralph Marvell describes her as a woman with "violent desires and . . . cold tenacity"; Undine destroys him, though she doesn't mean to, several years after their actual divorce. She ends up on top, stuffed but still unsatisfied.

2. Like Colette, Edith Wharton's women are often more vigorous than her men. Her female characters are hungry, active, determined, single-minded. Her men tend to be softer creatures - sometimes they have steel underneath their down stuffing (in The Custom of the Country, Raymond de Chelles fits this type), but mostly they don't. But equally as often, she writes members of both sexes as lost and bewildered - The House of Mirth is perhaps the best example of that approach - and there's something of that in The Custom of the Country although Undine is, necessarily, a woman of the vigorous and hungry type. She's out of her depth for most of the novel; shockingly, this does not lead to happiness! Like, who knew! The man she's "meant for" is, of course, the masculine version of her, though able to actually earn money (Undine just spends it) and with some unsuspected depths (he's basically a Rhett Butler prototype). But it seems ridiculous to talk about Undine Spragg in terms of relationships, since she doesn't understand them, has no interest in sex, and is not emotionally expressive; she is beautiful, and she wants but she essentially eats her way through the world: once you've eaten, you just get hungry again later, and this is exactly how Undine goes through the world.

3. Despite the preceding point, Wharton's books resist dichotomies and dualisms with admirable consistency. She doesn't shy away from contrast, but her contrasts are layered and carefully shaded. It's not an either/or for Wharton.

4. The Custom of the Country is the kind of book you can read without picking up the satire. There's an edge to all her works, but she's so smooth that you can finish them without noticing it. (And I say this as a person who loathes Ethan Frome, okay?) But you should keep an eye out for that edge, because Wharton's actually hilarious when she wants to be, when she thinks you're smart enough to pick up on it. And, interestingly, the satire is hardly ever directed at Undine.

"She had everything she wanted, but she still felt, at times, that there were other things she might want if she knew about them."

This sentence sums up the spoiled, vain, shallow Undine Spragg perfectly. A relentless yet unintelligent social climber who believes that any bird in the bush has to be better than the one she holds in her hand, Undine plows through Society leaving heartbreak and ruin in her wake. Her complete lack of self-awareness is pitiful and yet one can't pity her, because she does have moments when she almost seems to grasp how boring and horrible she is yet chooses to "fix" it by focussing on her wardrobe and her looks. She values material gain over personal development and thus will never be satisfied. Edith Wharton paints a vivid portrait of early 20th century American society and the rise of the nouveau riches and contrasts it charmingly with the ancient aristocracy of French society, using Undine and her ilk to (embarrassingly) represent the upstart Americans in a most unflattering way.