The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth
—Ecclesiastes 7:4

There’s an article on the internet somewhere describing The House of Mirth as a cursed choose-your-own-adventure. It’s an apt comparison.

There’s no single crucial incident, no defining moment that seals our heroine’s fate: there are a dozen. A rabbit warren of sliding doors, one juncture leading to the next, leading to the next, and on and on. From the opening scene where she accepts an invitation to tea, to her final act—every time Lily Bart is presented with options, she seems fated to choose the worst of them. Her life reduces by increments, and as she becomes ever more desperate to find a way out of the maze, each turn only leads further in... until finally, she is trapped forever at its centre.

But is Lily really making bad choices? She’s a smart woman, sensible to propriety, why do things go so wrong for her? Is the problem with her values or her judgment? Is she just unlucky? Or playing a rigged game? How much agency does she really have, anyway?

It’s tempting to think of the alternate universes in which different choices would have led to her happiness… but maybe not. Maybe this is one of those choose-your-own-adventures with only one ending, where every iteration’s winding path leads to the same tragic outcome.

n  All the men and women she knew were like atoms whirling away from each other in some wild centrifugal dancen

The House of Mirth is a deeply pessimistic story—it’s basically Pretty Woman in reverse—but it is still incredibly enjoyable to read thanks to Wharton’s elegant, refined prose and her ethnographic attention to detail in depicting New York’s fashionable upper crust of ~1905 (including a taste for electric cars!) But most of all, thanks to the psychological depth and complexity of Lily Bart and her epic fall from grace.

I did an in-depth analysis of the character of Lily Bart over on Booktube!

Edith Wharton sets the New York social stage of the early twentieth century for a succession of short scenes that glitter with glossy superficiality. Lightning, backdrops and lush costumes are put on display to create a natural effect in this tableaux vivant of a novel, where Lily Bart stands out as the most stunning living painting ever. She is the leading actress of this theatrical narrative, a delicate flower bred for exhibition and ornament whose beauty shines with the precise effortless grace and charm that will enable her to achieve her goals.
Being an orphaned, single woman of twenty-nine with frugal tastes Lily knows that in the gilded cage in which she blossoms and withers the only path to success is to become a saleable commodity that some wealthy gentleman will buy into marriage.

It’s easy to find fault in Lily’s dignified composure.
Wharton treats her tragic heroine harshly. She is vain, snobbish, selfish and as shallow as the stage of artificiality where she acts. She covets money and social position above gentleness and compassion, her ruthless anti-sentimentalism is reflected in the hard glaze of her chiselled, porcelain mask of complacency that in turn conceals her contempt for the parasitic life in which she has imprisoned herself.
But how much does the financial imperatives of this society in which wealth and not morality determines status influence in the making of stereotyped females grown up for mere decoration?

“She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.”(p.8)”

I keep asking myself. Is Lily a helpless victim or a hypocrite culprit? Guilty of presumptuousness or driven by desperation? The boundaries dividing the discrepant selves that coexist in Lily are as blurry as the thin line that separates fact from magic illusion.
I keep asking myself. Who am I to judge Lily when I feel my life to be an ongoing sequence of scenarios where I play the roles my varied audience expects from me?
She is as trapped as I am. Lily’s broken wings don’t allow her to escape from the social jungle that made her what she is, yet she craves for “freedom” and “happiness” while she keeps missing golden opportunities that present themselves in the form of eligible bachelors and running under obligations of generous cheques that are spent mindlessly on the card table. And below the glittering surface of Lily’s existence, a terrible sense of waste festers into growing despair.
She loves, but denies herself.
She smiles, but bleeds inwardly.
She wants to be saved, but sticks stubbornly to her idea of success.
Mr. Selden offers Lily a place in his “republic" where “freedom and success” are both possible:

“ ‘Freedom? Freedom from worries?’
‘From everything – from money, from poverty, from easy and anxiety, from all material accidents. To keep a kind of republic of spirit – that’s what I call success.' ” (p.78)

But Lily has no spiritual or actual home of her own, like Woolf urged women to some years later, and she clings feebly to the surface of her existence where she is swirled around by the turbulences of the social corset that asphyxiates her.
Loneliness, poverty and isolation are the true protagonists of Lily’s desired House where there is no Mirth. Lily’s frivolity is in fact a result of a deluded childishness that splits her troubled being in two halves, the false one in perpetual display on the perfidious stage of society and the real one that radiates with emotional expressiveness in the last chapters of the novel when the mask of appearances is finally dropped and the bright, tragic realism filters through the cracks of Wharton’s cardboard language.

I don’t judge. I sympathize. I grieve.
But I can’t help but wonder how much of Lily’s story reflects Wharton’s professional career and the inherent conflict between her eagerness for popularity and the necessity to exorcize her own frustrations as a female writer in a sparkling scenario as facetious as her characters. Hence my four stars saving the lacking one to pay homage to the fallen star in this House, which is ironically full of Mourning.

Había oído decir que Edith Wharton empleaba mucho el sarcasmo en sus libros, lo que no me imaginé cuando empecé a leer el libro es que el mismo título fuese una auténtica ironía.

Desde el minuto uno la autora te deja con la boca abierta. Hay una gran crítica a la sociedad de esa época, especialmente al trato que las mujeres recibían y lo que se esperaba de ellas.

Lily Bart, nuestra protagonista es criada en la alta sociedad neoyorquina y es educada como tal. Al comienzo de la novela Lily tiene 29 años, una edad en la que o bien ya debería estar casada o tendría que casarse en seguida por lo que vamos a ver muchos pretendientes con los cuales Lily piensa casarse en un principio, pero por una u otra razón no lo hace. Con esto, la sociedad ya la empieza a tachar de "mala mujer", unido esto a otras situaciones la señorita Bart es poco a poco marginalizada.

Pero, los debates internos a los que se enfrenta la protagonista son grandes. Por un lado tenemos la educación que recibió desde pequeña, la sociedad en la que se mueve y la despreocupación por el dinero y por el otro tenemos la gran preocupación por el dinero y sobre todo sus convicciones morales. Durante toda la novela Lily Bart se enfrenta al debate del dinero o ética.

Una gran novela para reflexionar, aprender sobre la época, odiar y amar a ciertos personajes, sentir repulsión hacia otros muchos e intentar ponerse en la piel de un personaje al principio muy distinto a nosotros pero que va madurando y aprendiendo.

P. D: llevaba mucho tiempo sin llorar con un libro o sentir ese vacío cuando lo terminaba. Wharton ha roto esa racha. Uno de los mejores del año.

4.5/5

Wharton feels such contempt for the characters in this book. A sort-of friend describes Lily as

...a captured dryad subdued to the conventions of the drawing-room; and Selden reflected that it was the same streak of sylvan freedom in her nature that lent such savour to her artificiality.

Ouch. Of one potential victim slash husband:

She had been bored all the afternoon by Percy Gryce...and all on the bare chance that he might ultimately decide to do her the honour of boring her for life.

Poor bastard. Of Lily's character:

...she had never been able to understand the laws of a universe which was so ready to leave her out of its calculations.

Of Lily's father:

...a neutral-tinted father filled an intermediate space between the butler and the man who came to wind the clocks.

Jesus. Her mother thought

...there was something heroic in living as though one were much richer than one's bankbook denoted.

Yeah, it's funny, but it's awfully nasty, too. I feel like Wharton's not just writing a novel, she's out for revenge.

She's a good writer, I'll give her that, she makes me despise them, too, but do I really want to live through 300 more pages of this? I understand that this is a portrait of a specific place and time, but were the members of New York's turn-of-the-century upper crust really so uniformly selfish and self-absorbed and snobbish? I can't have just one character I don't loathe?

I understand that Wharton is vilifying a society she despises (at least I think she is, otherwise what's the point of all this downright meanness), outing a silly, pretentious bunch of rich people who care for nothing but having money and marrying more. It just feels so heavy-handed. Talk about using a sledgehammer. She should have read more Austen to learn how to use a scalpel.

Несмотря на более глубокую психологическую проработанность и трагический конец, а не традиционный хэппи-энд в других книгах этого жанра, это всё же типично "женский" роман, где главная героиня Лили Барт, разумеется, красавица, поглощена своей матримониальная карьерой и все интеллектуальные усилия которой сводятся к замужеству, нарядам, роскоши и их оплаты. Она была так воспитана, и суть трагедии - именно в противоречии ее воспитания и ее реалий, помноженных на гордость, внутренние конфликты и разнонаправленность ее желаний. То ли она хочет любви, то ли мужа побогаче, чтобы оплачивал счета. Все варианты были, но она как буриданов осел, застопорилась в выборе. Именно в житейском принципе "отказ выглядеть безупречно - признак глупости" и заложено семя ее будущих несчастий.

"Женское достоинство, выраженное в долларах", - так Уоррен определяет проблему манипуляторского домогательства Тренора. У Лили много друзей и поклонников, но она не может ни на кого положиться. Она ни к кому не обращается за помощью, а стоически рассчитывает решить проблему за счёт наследства или замужества.

Узость жанра "женского" романа в том, что Лили видит единственным спасением замужество и делает расчет на собственную красоту, но непостижимым образом и в силу обозначенных выше противоречий, она упускает все возможности.

Положительным в романе можно обозначить зачатки женского самосознания, невысказанные явно, но вытекающие из постановки задачи - есть красавица из обанкротившейся семьи, есть мужчины, желающие ее, один из которых управляет ее деньгами. Значит, если она не выйдет замуж, она обречена. Устройство мира, в котором у женщин малый выбор получения дохода, особенно у представительниц высшего класса, с лучшим образованием, чем у девушек из рабочего класса, но чье образование предназначено для светских салонов, а не для работы -вот объект критики Уортон.

Роман довольно плосок, здесь только одна сюжетная линия - жизнеописание мытарств главной героини. Это тоже характерная черта женского романа. Ну и главный недостаток - это то, что в книге деньги - главный персонаж, не Лили. Здесь главный смысл романа - жить по средствам и добродетельно. Именно это означает "сердце глупых - в доме веселья".

Lily Bart, the protagonist of Edith Wharton's stunning first novel, is introduced to the reader as a young woman traveling within high society. While her blood and wealth may place her on the fringe of that society, her "pale" beauty (as it is continuously characterized throughout the novel) elevates her within its ranks. Lily is marriage material. And within Manhattan's high society at the turn of the century, women are meant to marry; and in order to marry women are meant to maintain a reputation of "pale" innocence (indeed, they must).

Lily hesitates to question these two fundamental rules that bind her, save on rare occasion in conversation with Lawrence Selden, the man it seems she would marry if the choice were hers, and who stands far enough outside Lily's circle to critique that circle from an apparent distance. Selden, however, presents Lily with several problems. First, Selden himself is hardly able to separate himself from the rules of Manhattan society, even if he so desired to or so imagined the independence of his perspective. Second, Selden serves as preacher, counselor, and sounding post to Lily with respect to the pitfalls of high society, but while Selden's efforts to take high society off its pedestal strike a chord with Lily, and indeed echo many of her own thoughts, Selden never presents Lily with a viable alternative to the only circle (and the only set of rules) she knows.

The final problem that first emerges from the relationship between Lily Bart and Lawrence Selden is the crux of the novel and the launching point for several shrewd insights Wharton compellingly places within the American cultural dialog, as extant within the novel. Lily couldn't marry Selden if the choice were hers. (And, perhaps ironically, she likely would not, in any case, as Selden lacks the most essential thing men in high society bring to a marriage -- money.)

Like any fully painted character in a great work of fiction, Lily Bart is a woman of substantial intellectual and emotional force. Indeed, given the degree the reader is aware of the goings on inside Lily Bart's head, it can be surprising to step back and remember the novel's narrated in the third person.

Lily, viewed in isolation, is more than situated to grab control of her life if that control were hers to grab. But because she does not live in isolation, control is not hers. Her will is usurped at almost every turn by the societal forces around her; which among other things make her will all but moot. While an argument could be made that Lily has a knack for making choices that reflect upon her poorly, she is defined nonetheless, and far more, by the perceptions of those around her than by any sense of self she seeks to, or by happenstance does, affirmatively present to the world. And in light of the rules that constrain her, her reputation -- never in her hands -- spirals downward as the novel progresses, most often, again, via external rather than internal forces. Absent her reputation intact, that Lily is meant to marry becomes meaningless. Her purpose and place within Manhattan's high society slip from her hands as, trying at least to retain her dignity, she chooses not to act on her own behalf when the opportunities are before her and otherwise, and perhaps always, lacks the choice to act on her own behalf as a byproduct of her social milieu.

The House of Mirth is remarkably tragic. At times, it feels as though too much is going wrong for Lily Bart a little too often. But the totality of the narrative, and Wharton's prose, combat what may be the novel's single shortcoming. Wharton's novel surfaces from many contexts. Two are telling, or at least were to me upon reading The House of Mirth. First, Lily Bart retains her outer beauty throughout the greater part of the novel, despite her internal struggle to maintain a grip in the face of near free fall. Her inner world, as she feels it, and as others perceive it, becomes dark as her "pale" beauty persists. Sadly, her inner life is all but wholly divorced from her outer reality. Thus, in Lily Bart's unfortunate transformation within the novel the saliency of maintaining superficial appearances is brought to the thematic forefront. A theme present in both The House of Mirth and Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray -- cast differently, but not without similarities. Second, The House of Mirth shines a bright light of reality upon Transcendentalism. At minimum, Wharton illustrates that self-determination and self-reliance are one thing when you're living in a cabin in the woods, growing beans, and contemplating existence during solitary sojourns around Walden Pond, but quite another in the company of others -- particularly a circle of others fixated upon a set of mores or, more strictly, rules. Reaching further, perhaps, Wharton exposes a stark line between the wherewithal of men and women in American society to "go Thoreau". In other words, The House of Mirth may temper Transcendentalism by portraying the profound influence of the company one keeps on reaching into oneself and, beneath that, the harsh reality of being a woman within that company.

The House of Mirth is one of the greatest American novels of the 20th century.

"Her whole being dilated in an atmosphere of luxury. It was the background she required, the only climate she could breathe in."

What a long, winding and tragic journey I've just been through with dear Lily Bart. Could Edith Wharton be the Queen of hopeless love affairs? I believe so.

House of Mirth is the third novel I've read by Edith Wharton and it ranks as such, behind Ethan Frome and The Age of Innocence. Mirth is the longest of the three novels and has the largest cast of characters, all of whom play significant roles in shaping the future of our protagonist Lily Bart. Frankly, I think Wharton may have introduced a few too many characters into the mix for my liking. With all the Mr.'s and Mrs.'s in society, I had a hard time remembering who was wooing who and who was *cheating on their spouses* with whom. Granted, I did read this book during the course of two to three weeks and was very busy and stressed making major life decisions, so maybe I was a little distracted - but still, lots of characters to keep track of.

My favorite character of the society has to be Lawrence Selden. I mean, Wharton just writes the best male characters, doesn't she? First Newland Archer, now Selden. I love that Selden has a moral compass. He's grounded and honest and unwilling to sacrifice his values for anything - money, reputation, popularity, even love. He's everything that Lily Bart admires, respects, and wishes she could be. And an honorable mention must go out to Simon Rosedale. I liked his "started from the bottom, now I'm here" attitude about things because he was not simply another man born into wealth, but he earned it and therefore knew its true value and capability of changing one's life.

Overall, another excellent, heart aching novel by Edith Wharton. I look forward to whatever work I next encounter by her - she has yet to disappoint me.

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The House of Mirth is a tragic tale of the life of Miss Lily Bart, a beautiful young girl who is raised to aspire into wealth and luxury. Being raised as an ornament to catch the eye of a rich man, she is not skilled in anything except in the art of being beautiful and agreeable. But the mean and selfish New York elite is too much for her. They do not hesitate to use her in their wile schemes, and eventually, to cast her off.

The story brings out an unpleasant side of the upper-class New York society with its false friendships, betrayals, jealousies, scandals, and ugly gossip. Being herself a member of this society, the author paints a true picture of this nasty side of the New York upper society hidden in layers of glamour.

Lily Bart is a complex character. It wasn't easy to connect with her. I truly couldn't for most part of the story. She is vain, proud, and self-centered of a girl who has too much faith in her self-importance. It wasn't easy to like her. True, she was indeed a victim of society, but for the most part, it was self-brought. Her imprudent actions and her love for material fineness take her on a destructive and degrading path. Towards the end of the story, however, a different personality of Lily Bart emerges. Inside the vain self-centered girl lives a young woman who sees the shallowness in her actions and the superficiality of the life to which she aspires, even though she cannot find the strength to free her from the desire for such living. She is also a principled woman who does not demean herself by avenging the injustice that was done to her by resorting to dishonorable conduct. This new side of Lily brought me a little closer to her and I felt her tragedy profoundly.

The author has centered her story on Lily, and the rest of the characters play only secondary roles in highlighting the tragic story of Lily Bart. Out of these characters, Lawrence Selden takes prominence. He truly loves Lily but loathes the life to which she aspires, and out of his love for her, tries hard to make her see reason (though in vain). Other than Lily, Lawrence Selden is the only likable character, most of the others being too shallow for any consideration. He represents ethics and morality. But was he too severe? Or, was he a coward? These questions do not find a definite answer in the story.

It must be said that Wharton's asset is her writing. The beauty of her prose is captivating. Nevertheless, the story is a little overwritten. That and the fact the story was wholly centered on the single character of Lily, her actions and her thoughts, made the reading a bit tedious. I wish Wharton had made more use of the other characters in the story to give it a little more colour and vibrancy.

Overall, it was a good read. Henry James has once said to Edith Wharton that she writes best when she writes within her element. I fully agree with him.

Everything about her was at once vigorous and exquisite, at once strong and fine. He had a confused sense that she must have cost a great deal to make, that a great many dull and ugly people must, in some mysterious way, have been sacrificed to produce her.

If I were shabby no one would have me: a woman is asked out as much for her clothes as for herself. The clothes are the background, the frame, if you like: they don’t make success, but they are a part of it. Who wants a dingy woman? We are expected to be pretty and well-dressed till we drop— and if we can’t keep it up alone, we have to go into partnership.

The world Wharton invites readers to enter into is one of exclusive membership during the Gilded Age. The New York Society of the late 19th century encompasses the “upper crust” with old money living lives completely focused on the rigid social restrictions imposed upon their members. There were dinner parties, opera outings, carriage rides, social calls, trips to the dressmakers, trips to Europe, as well as tableaux vivant soirees (think, bringing paintings to life!). It was all rather exhausting “work” to keep up with all of the social events and make sure that one was also keeping up with social proprieties. This exclusive group strictly sought pleasure and amusement as their chief pursuit in life. No one worked for a living because they lived off their inheritances. New money was not readily accepted by those who made the rules. In this novel, Wharton portrays a privileged class of petty hypocrites beneath their refined manners and appearances. This set of people are quick to damage another’s reputation if it will be advantageous to themselves. They are quite selfish and materialistic.

But what if you are a young woman of 29 years (teetering on the edge of too old to be an unmarried woman), beautiful beyond measure, and brought up to flourish in this specific lifestyle? This was the situation Lily Bart (what a fantastic name!) found herself in. She was a charming and clever young woman that society desired to have in their presence. She knew exactly how to lure a young man with a look that would enchant him. She understood all the right behaviors and pretenses. Her priority in life was to find the wealth, whether through a marriage or a fortune, that would enable her to remain affluent in society. However, it’s not that simple. And Lily Bart questions what she really wants - to be a successful social climber within the circle of friends she knew and understood or to be an independent woman - to marry for money or for love? When Lily’s father faced a financial downfall and then her parents died, her circumstances changed and the only way she would remain in her beloved circle would be to marry a wealthy husband. But Lily suffered several ill-fated attempts at marriage in the past. Surprisingly, she had an uncanny way of self-sabotage and made certain decisions that were questionable leading to rumors that were a result of her being naive. The hypocrisy of society considered one guilty until proven otherwise.

She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.

While Lily wasn’t a perfect young lady she was inclined to view the world in a rather romantic light. She suffered materialistic desires and their consequences when she found herself with huge debts. She did know how to love as it was obvious she loved Selden, but she loved luxury maybe a little more. Lily’s inner conflict was sadly portrayed as the reader realizes that she is really playing different roles in her relationships with her different friends. It is as if she is pretending and not really able to be who she really is. Lily is a formidable and tragic character that by the end reconsiders her past behaviors and principles. I loved how brilliantly Wharton developed her character in all its self—obsessed yet naive complexities.


But, after all, it was the life she had been made for: every dawning tendency in her had been carefully directed toward it, all her interests and activities had been taught to center around it. She was like some rare flower grown for exhibition, a flower from which every bud had been nipped except for the crowning blossom of her beauty.

Beautifully written. Good literature never gets outdated. i loved the Interesting time in American / New York city / in female history.

n  She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.n

I was not fully prepared for The House of Mirth.

There I was, reading along pleasantly, mentally comparing this book to Jane Austen, finding it quite charming, amusing, satirical, even, when the really dark depressing side of this novel hit me full force.

I suppose, in hindsight, I should have known. I have read Wharton's The Age of Innocence and Ethan Frome, after all, and neither were cheery tales. This one was just so unassuming at first, though. Yes, Lily was in a bit of a predicament, but she was a charming, much-loved member of upper class society... how bad could things really get?

Well. Lurking beneath the surface of this novel are themes I found really quite upsetting. Lily is a stunningly beautiful socialite, but she is also flawed, messy, frivolous. She wants to marry a rich husband, and skirts close to doing so several times, except she also doesn't on some level. She also wants to be free from the necessity, to not have to marry a wealthy man, to be able to marry for love, or else not marry at all.

It's a story about class, materialism and social expectations, especially what they meant for women in the late 19th/early 20th centuries. The more Lily deliberates, plays the game, and loses, the more time runs away from her. I really felt for her and experienced frustration alongside her as she is forced to play a role again and again just to get along.

I'm a person who usually prefers a gritty tale about working class people, alcoholism, poverty and the like. More Dickens or Dostoevsky than this. Yet, if anyone can make upper class society feel like an oppressive, suffocating gilded cage, then it's Wharton.

This must be the bleakest novel I've read by her so far.