He had missed the flower of life: Edith Wharton, ‘The Age of Innocence’

The names of the characters aren’t exactly subtle in this vitriolic portrait of upper-class New York City society in the 1870s (though the novel, Edith Wharton’s twelfth, was first published in 1920): the protagonist’s is the doubly Jamesian Newland Archer, while his pretty but vacuous fiancée is May Welland (may well land) – tellingly described as a ‘young girl who knew nothing and expected everything’.

Virago Modern Classics edition

The cover of my Virago Modern Classics paperback edition

The plot is equally straightforward: the upright (almost smugly so) Archer, from one of that small, intermarrying set of wealthy socialite families to which May also belongs, has his complacently mapped-out life upset when the beautiful, troubled Countess Olenska comes back into his circle. He had known her before her marriage to a dashing but morally corrupt Polish count collapsed, amid stories of her husband’s brutality and serial infidelity. She escaped back to the city of her birth, where she believed her family and former friends would support her. Instead they treat her as a pariah, as if she is the guilty one; in their world it is not done for wives to desert their philandering husbands – they’re supposed to endure everything with a sweet smile and pretend all is well.

It’s a more plot-driven novel than The House of Mirth, about which I wrote recently. The style is less aphoristic and adorned, too; this makes its tone of moral outrage more powerful. Ultimately, however, I found the heroic stoicism and indomitable sense of honour of Newland Archer a little hard to take. He professes to be disgusted by the hypocrisy of his male peers, and therefore finds it impossible to compromise the honour of the woman he truly loves, or his own sense of duty. Here’s an early narrative comment about him that hints at this thinly concealed arrogance:

In matters intellectual and artistic Newland Archer felt himself distinctly the superior of these chosen specimens of old New York gentility…Singly they betrayed their inferiority; but grouped together they represented “New York”, and the habit of masculine solidarity made him accept their doctrine in all the issues called moral.

That he continues to live in this corrupt world of venal indulgence makes his honourable stance seem less noble. It’s not so much that he can’t act as immorally as everyone else – he seems almost to lack any kind of truly moral agency.

It’s an interesting and largely rewarding read, however. There are still some wonderfully witty and penetrating comments on American mores and society, like this on the very first page; the privileged rich are leaving the opera house, which they frequent largely to see what the rest of their set are up to, and to be seen and gossip about the latest peccadillos. The narrator points out that it’s better to catch a ‘Brown coupé’ after the performance than to wait for one’s own coachman –

It was one of the great livery-stableman’s most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

Newland is swayed by generous thoughts about the lack of freedom enjoyed by women in his social circle, but

Such verbal generosities were in fact only a humbugging disguise of the inexorable conventions that tied things together and bound people down to the old pattern.

 He can readily foresee that his marriage would become

What most of the other marriages about him were: a dull association of material and social interests held together by ignorance on the one side and hypocrisy on the other.

 And so it turns out: his and May’s marital existence is one of ‘deadly monotony’, in which appearance was everything, and Newland is unable to break free from what’s expected of him –

It was less trouble to conform with the tradition and treat May exactly as all his friends treated their wives than to try to put into practice the theories with which his untrammelled bachelorhood had dallied. There was no use in trying to emancipate a wife who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free…

It’s a mad world they live in, and there seems no impulse to do anything to change it:

In reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs…

 More echoes of the Master there (also, weirdly, of Saussure). Maybe Edith Wharton was too angry with that dull group of the tediously wealthy in which she’d moved (until she could stand it no more and decamped to France for the latter part of her life, ditching her good-for-nothing husband on the way) to come closer to emulating the penetrating gaze and measured psychological insight of her friend Henry James.

The ending is shocking, and aptly rounds off this withering indictment of the New York social set that would soon be even more tellingly portrayed by F. Scott Fitzgerald in The Great Gatsby.

 

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8 thoughts on “He had missed the flower of life: Edith Wharton, ‘The Age of Innocence’

  1. The Age of Innocence is on my Classics Club list, so I’ll come back to your review once I’ve read the novel itself. This novel has such a great reputation that I’m almost a little nervous about reading it just in case it falls short of my expectations. I guess there’s only one way to find out…

  2. I loved this. So very sad, so very acid. Interesting to compare it to Gatsby. I’m not sure I see this as less telling, but it’s perhaps narrower in aim and scope than Gatsby.

    A ‘young girl who knew nothing and expected everything’. Ouch.

  3. Pingback: A Divorce Novel: Edith Wharton, The Children (1928) - Tredynas Days

  4. I’ve read and wrote a billet about it. (it’s here, if it’s of any interest https://bookaroundthecorner.wordpress.com/2012/08/30/the-age-of-innocence-by-edith-wharton/)

    I’ve read this twice.
    First read, I had the same vision of Newland Archer as you. I was younger and I thought he was quite stupid not to go after what he wanted. I found him spineless.

    Second read, I saw a character intelligent and lucid enough to know he wouldn’t survive a day out of his world. And leaving with Helen would have meant leaving EVERYTHING behind. Look at her: she did nothing wrong and she’s a pariah. Imagine if they actually did something as shocking as leaving together. And honestly, Newland Archer is not equipped to rebound and live differently. It would have destroyed their couple.
    He made a choice: he kept his love story an ideal and settled for May.

    As for the ending, as a French reader, I couldn’t help thinking of La Princesse de Clèves by Madame de Lafayette.

    • Emma: an interesting interpretation. Maybe I need to return to the novel some time in the future to see if my views modify as yours clearly did. I’m not convinced, at the moment, that NA does ‘keep his love story an ideal’ – it still seems like moral timidity and lack of fortitude to me. But of course readers will always differ in their views – that’s why we blog and comment. Thanks for yours. Btw, I’ve just returned from a delightful week in Languedoc-Rousillon. The way things are here in the UK it’s tempting to go and live there!

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