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Oh, the rarified life of Edith Wharton. Beautifully written but the details of her entitlement...ick.
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A Backward Glance
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Edith Wharton, the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize, vividly reflects on her public and private life in this stunning memoir.
With richness and delicacy, it describes the sophisticated New York society in which Wharton spent her youth, and chronicles her travels throughout Europe and her literary success as an adult. Beautifully depicted are her friendships with many of the most celebrated artists and writers of her day, including her close friend Henry James.
In his introduction to this edition, Louis Auchincloss calls the writing in A Backward Glance “as firm and crisp and lucid as in the best of her novels.” It is a memoir that will charm and fascinate all readers of Wharton’s fiction.
With richness and delicacy, it describes the sophisticated New York society in which Wharton spent her youth, and chronicles her travels throughout Europe and her literary success as an adult. Beautifully depicted are her friendships with many of the most celebrated artists and writers of her day, including her close friend Henry James.
In his introduction to this edition, Louis Auchincloss calls the writing in A Backward Glance “as firm and crisp and lucid as in the best of her novels.” It is a memoir that will charm and fascinate all readers of Wharton’s fiction.
385 pages, Paperback
First published January 1,1934
This edition
- Format
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385 pages, Paperback
- Published
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July 15, 1998 by Simon \u0026 Schuster
- ISBN
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9780684847559
- ASIN
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0684847558
- Language
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English
About the author
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Edith Wharton was an American writer and designer. Wharton drew upon her insider's knowledge of the upper-class New York "aristocracy" to portray, realistically, the lives and morals of the Gilded Age. In 1921, she became the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction, for her novel, The Age of Innocence. She was inducted into the National Women's Hall of Fame, in 1996. Her other well-known works are The House of Mirth, the novella Ethan Frome, and several notable ghost stories.
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An extraordinary woman who became a leading writer of the day--even more extraordinary because she became a writer in an age when women in her day in upper crust NYC were expected only to attend society events. Edith Wharton's Backward glance explains her love of books and writing at an early age. Born during the Civil War, she lived through the turn of the century during WWI and into the 1930s. She was an intrepid traveler embracing the earliest motor cars. During WWI she traveled to the western front in Belgium and France bringing relief supplies to hospitals and refugees. If there is any part that lost my interest it was the extensive list of names she references with her English and French literary circles. Her books ends:
Life is the saddest thing there is, next to death; yet there are always new countries to see, new books to read (and, I hope to write), a thousand little daily wonders to marvel at and rejoice in.... The visible is a daily miracle for those who have eyes and ears; and I still worm my hands thankfully by the old fire, through every year it is fed with the dry wood of more memories.
Life is the saddest thing there is, next to death; yet there are always new countries to see, new books to read (and, I hope to write), a thousand little daily wonders to marvel at and rejoice in.... The visible is a daily miracle for those who have eyes and ears; and I still worm my hands thankfully by the old fire, through every year it is fed with the dry wood of more memories.
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A really interesting read and one of Edith Wharton’s most underrated! While I think she does spend too much time drawing character portraits of every close friend she had over the course of her life, even these were often interesting (especially those of Henry James and Teddy Roosevelt). Edith lived during such an interesting time in the world. She was witty, observant, good-natured, and well-traveled. This book really captures her joyous spirit and relatively carefree approach to life and the pursuit of adventure. Nothing in here of any personal drama. Her husband is usually only mentioned in the context of “my husband and I next went to Spain,” and there’s no mention of unhappiness or even of her divorce.
Definitely worth reading!
Definitely worth reading!
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For such a fascinating lady, this was a little slow but worth the time invested. Her friendship with Henry Jones was the highlight of this memoir. I also didn't realize she had such an affluent upbringing which was interesting. Informative and well written.
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good to know more details about one of my fave classic authors -- especially her really sweet friendship/mentorship with Henry James -- but not nearly as enjoyable as her fiction. My favorires are Age of Innocence and House or Mirth. Check those out!!
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Very charming autobiography. It is more of a selection of memories and stories than a detailed account of Wharton's life. She never mentions her divorce, but does talk about her time in Europe. It is a delightful book.
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I would rate this a 3.5-4. I honestly expected to enjoy it more than I did, but it frequently slowed to a crawl for me. Thankfully it would pick up again, but then back to a crawl. Although she led an interesting life of privilege, I never got a real sense of her as a person as I have with autobiographies written by other people. Her "House of Mirth" remains my favorite of her books.
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The unbending warning from Wharton herself in the preface hinted her determined restraint not to share personal life with us. Does it matter that we must be entertained by the anecdotes if she treated her servant angelically but called them relentlessly to bring her this and that; or her unmatched marriage which leads to ultimate divorce? We all have personal shames, guilt, privacy that are difficult to confide to even intimate friends, let alone saying revealing everything from flesh to bones to unsympathetic readers?
Wharton was restraint, that is certain; however, what she brought us closer to was the oasis-- the inner land where she sprouts after years of solitary reading and grows into a writer. By sharing the books she read we form a congenial familiarity through the same companionship as Byron, Moore, Wordsworth, Shelly, etc.
She was inspired, and we become acquainted with enchanting artists such as Berenson, Vernon Lee, etc. Her candid observations of Henry James also exhibit a vivid and humane portrait of him, although occasionally it can appear a bit overbearing on the subject
Wharton remained Victorian in her taste for lucidity but elegant statement.
That is her standard, despite the notable formal tone, her prose is stylish. Wharton has her class limit, but listen to herself and give a chance to "Ethan Frome" or short story "Summer," we ought to find the brave and emphatic silhouette of hers breaking from stifling society and became the frontier reporter near the French trench at WW1. Perhaps it was her redeemable emotional compensation for her failed personal happiness. Regardless, I held her in esteem more than a writer.
Last, to say, Wharton's sharing opinions of other artists or discussion of her writing is at modest enchanting volume, but the glance is sweetly enough.
Wharton was restraint, that is certain; however, what she brought us closer to was the oasis-- the inner land where she sprouts after years of solitary reading and grows into a writer. By sharing the books she read we form a congenial familiarity through the same companionship as Byron, Moore, Wordsworth, Shelly, etc.
She was inspired, and we become acquainted with enchanting artists such as Berenson, Vernon Lee, etc. Her candid observations of Henry James also exhibit a vivid and humane portrait of him, although occasionally it can appear a bit overbearing on the subject
Wharton remained Victorian in her taste for lucidity but elegant statement.
That is her standard, despite the notable formal tone, her prose is stylish. Wharton has her class limit, but listen to herself and give a chance to "Ethan Frome" or short story "Summer," we ought to find the brave and emphatic silhouette of hers breaking from stifling society and became the frontier reporter near the French trench at WW1. Perhaps it was her redeemable emotional compensation for her failed personal happiness. Regardless, I held her in esteem more than a writer.
Last, to say, Wharton's sharing opinions of other artists or discussion of her writing is at modest enchanting volume, but the glance is sweetly enough.
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