Wharton Wednesday: Book 2, Ch 7 - 10
Week 9: "How much longer that hope would last she dared not conjecture."
Today, we’re working through Chapters 7, 8, 9, and 10 of Book 2 of The House of Mirth.
View all previous chapter summaries and the reading schedule.
For next week, finish the novel.
Just one more week
I can’t wait to celebrate the conclusion of our first read-a-long together! Is there anything specific you want to see in next week’s Wharton Wednesday? Get your final questions and requests in here.
Situation and character
Let’s start today with some wise words from Wharton, which she penned in 1933 (decades after writing Mirth and after winning the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction):
“In the birth of fiction, it is sometimes the situation, the "case," which first presents itself to the mind, and sometimes the characters who first appear, asking to be fitted into a situation. I have often speculated on the conditions likely to give the priority to one or the other, but I doubt if fiction can be usefully divided into novels of situation and of character, since a novel, if worth anything at all, is always both at once, in inextricable combination.”
—Edith Wharton
The “inextricable combination” of Lily and Old New York
In this week’s (rather devastating) chapters, Lily begins coming to terms with the reality—or situation—of her circumstances.
Long gone are the days of her flighty hopes for last-chance rescues or surprising sweeps at the bridge table; long gone are her hopes for some dashing man to appear and make her a business deal that is as romantic as it is lucrative. Long gone, in other words, are Lily’s fantasies of a bright future.
At the end of chapter 10, as she reaches for the “little bottle at her bed-side,” a laudnum-like concoction that induces a heavy sleep, Lily wonders how much she can resist using Bertha’s letters to Selden to re-establish herself socially (and thereby ensure a marriage to Rosedale). The “only hope of renewal,” of her spirits and body resides not in her powers to control situations to her advantage and renew her social status with the upper crust — that is the high she was addicted to in Book 1. Now, her hopes rest in that little bottle of sleeping draught, and Lily, like a true addict, knows the dwindling highs of the drug can’t last much longer.
The clarity of Lily’s “situation” or “case,” as Wharton puts it above is finally clear to Lily herself, our key “character.” This week, we see situation and character intersecting (finally) as Lily grasps the reality of how far she has fallen from her aspirations, or from the “situation” she had hoped to claim for herself.
For a long time in the novel, it has felt as though Lily was flitting above the reality of her situation — that the plot of the novel itself was still something Lily could control through her actions.
And yet, as we see this week, no matter what Lily does — no matter where she works or turns for help, no matter how or to whom she tells the truth of Gus Trenor’s stock market ploy — the plot seems destined to carry her further down society’s class system. And there are so many more layers to that system than Lily has ever realized. She is behind that “great tapestry,” or peeking inside the “great social machine” — and she’s realizing how complex it has always been; how naive she’s been!
When we think about “situation” or “case,” or perhaps, a series of things happening in a story (the plot, the action, the arc), we can sometimes do so without talking much about the characters. These are those “stock” stories that tend to feel a bit empty, if action-filled. Any character might be slotted into the action and serve our needs. (I’m reminded of many Marvel movies.)
But in a story like The House of Mirth, the situation and the character are “inextricably” bound, woven together so seamlessly, that it’s difficult to talk about Lily’s situation without talking about Lily; difficult to explain Lily without talking about the unique position she is in.
In The House of Mirth, in other words, Wharton is experimenting with form-meets-function in a way that feels (to me) distinctly modernist. She is taking types we recognize, from Daisy Miller to Lydia Bennet to Emma Bovary and she is twisting the stakes, the setting, the situation, to give us a new type of character — or at least, a new set-up between a woman and her situation.
She is also, perhaps, showing us what happens when a white woman with so much privilege, insulated so profoundly from the consequences of her actions, starts to experience those consequences. What happens when wealth and status are gone? Who is Lily without those things? What happens to character when situation changes?
For Lily, society and situation are also inextricably bound. When she finds herself “outside” the bounds of the society she once knew, she finds that her entire situation — not just of relating to others, but of relating to herself — has shifted.
“Society did not turn away from her, it simply drifted by, preoccupied and inattentive, letting her feel, to the full measure of her humbled pride, how completely she had been the creature of its favour.”
― Lily Bart
What happens in these chapters
A lot happened this week. Here's a plot summary. Any characters we meet this week are in bold.
In B2.Chapter 7:
Lily goes on a walk with Rosedale
She “cut[s] short the culmination of an impassioned period,” ahem, by finally telling Rosedale that she’ll marry him
He has to tell her he was just there to have sex; he’s not that interested in marrying her anymore, now that her “situation” has changed
He urges Lily to take the letters to Bertha and blackmail her into letting Lily back into society — so that Lily will be “desirable” again
If she does that, Rosedale says he will marry her
Lily balks and says she won’t do it
Rosedale assumes (perhaps correctly?) that Lily won’t do it because they aren’t just Bertha’s letters; they’re Bertha’s letters to Selden
In B2.Chapter 8:
Lily attends the Horse Show with Mattie Gormer and realizes the party’s over with that set
Lily projects her anger at poor Gerty, who has taken up the Silvertons as her latest charity case — the same Silvertons who were riding high over the summer, when Ned was on the yacht with Bertha
Lily tries to play it cool, but eventually breaks down and admits to Gerty that she’s not doing well and hardly sleeping
Gerty asks Selden to check on her and he’s lukewarm about the request
In B2.Chapter 9:
Lily becomes the social secretary for Mrs. Norma Hatch whose little social group has hatched a bit of a scheme to get her into the upper classes via marriage to a young millionaire
Lily’s job is to get Norma the proximity she desires and ensure she looks, drinks, orders, acts, and plays the right way when she does
Selden comes to see her and their dialogue is some of the best, most heartbreaking banter that you and I will ever read
Lily admits to a shocked Selden that she owes “every penny” of her inheritance
Selden tries to remind Lily that she doesn’t have to be the girl her mother raised; Lily doubles down: “Don’t give me up; I may still do credit to my training!”
In B2.Chapter 10:
Lily now works at a hat-shop and she isn’t very good at it; despite her good taste and strong ability to add finishing touches, Lily isn’t adept at stitching or putting together the basic forms of the hats, or performing the right kinds of stitches for the right kinds of fabrics (Yes, there’s a lot to read into this. Oh please, let’s.)
She works for a “tall forewoman” who has been compelled to give Lily a job in the back-room of Madame Regina’s after Lily was too proud to work out front, fitting and selling hats on the sales floor (lest she be visible to all the women from her old group coming in each week to pick up their orders)
We learn that Lily had to leave the Hatch-hotel situation because it was getting scandalous, but she didn’t make it out in time — a social crime she’s committed too many times at this point!
Lily refills an old prescription of Norma’s for sleeping draught for herself
Rosedale bumps into Lily outside the pharmacy and, horrified at her condition, takes her for a cup of tea
Over tea, she tells him everything and (shockingly) seems to genuinely like him and want to spend more time with him
Rosedale offers her “backing,” which Lily refuses (is this perhaps too much like Gus’s original offer to “back” her on the stock market? Maybe Lily has learned a lesson after all…)
Lily returns home — she’s now renting at a boarding-house — and takes the sleeping drug to knock herself out of consciousness
“As far as I can see, there is very little real difference in being inside or out, and I remember your once telling me that it was only those inside who took the difference seriously.”
We end this week’s reading with the feeling that Lily is solidly out of the society she was once the happy center of: “If one were not a part of the season’s fixed routine, one swung unsphered in a void of social non-existence. Lily, for all her dissatisfied dreaming, had never really conceived the possibility of revolving about a different center.”
Rather than a soft landing in some new place, with some new center to hold to, however, Lily is confronting the modernist void: there is no there there. There is nowhere for a girl like Lily to go, except into that “void of social non-existence,” where the shopgirls don’t care about her presence, don’t find her special, and don’t seem to care much what happens to her next.
All this, a staggering contrast to those in Lily’s old set who always wanted to know where she was and who she was with, who thought her the most special and remarkable young woman, and who cared — at least in terms of vague interest — about who she would marry and how it would solidify her social standing. It’s pretty clear that no one, including Lily herself, thought this would be where she ended up, and the few people who know where she is now feel horrible about it. (But not horrible enough to help her out. The notable exception is the ever-faithful, endlessly patient Gerty Farish.)
Reader question
“Ok, at the risk of this being a very stupid question, did I miss something about how lily spent the $9000 (!) from Gus Trenor? I thought she was spending it on dresses and bridge gambling. But when she confesses to her aunt that she needs more than just money for the dressmaker and that she’s been playing cards for money, her aunt refuses to pay and then “if her aunt turned such a stony ear to the fiction of the gambling debts, in what spirit would she receive the terrible avowal of the truth?” I thought the “terrible truth” was the gambling, but if that’s a fiction, where did Lily lose that enormous sum of money??”
This is not a stupid question at all, and in fact, it’s helpful to make sure we all understand the details of her situation and her perception of that situation — because it all comes roaring to a head in today’s chapters.
You’re pointing us back to a crucial scene in Book 1, chapter 15, in which Lily realizes she has to ask Aunt Peniston for money.
“For the first time, [Lily] forced herself to reckon up the exact amount of her debt to Trenor; and the result of this hateful computation was the discovery that she had, in all, received nine thousand dollars from him.”
Lily has indeed spent it all on dresses and gambling, and all those other little “taxes” of “keeping up,” which include things like cards and gifts, jewelry, hair salon visits, manicurists and massages (the kinds of things we see her arranging for Mrs. Hatch). Lily had also sent a large order to the dress-maker for her “winter” wardrobe, which would have included opera dresses (made of the finest materials and trimmings), as well as coats and furs, shoes and hats. On top of all this, she also admits to Julia that “I’ve played cards a good deal.”
A little historical context may help us understand this too: Lily doesn’t purchase dresses off of a rack, or from a basic clothier or department store. No. Lily has all her clothing custom made for her, with frequent orders of couture garments. She goes to a dressmaker to be constantly measured and fitted, and to ensure that all her measurements are correct for her custom-made garments — including hats, gloves, and shoes. This also means she’s paying multiple people for the process of dressing herself: the dressmaker who takes measurements, the cost of the dress itself, the deliveries of all that clothing, the “tips” to pay for the deliveries, and for the maid she employs to dress her and do her hair.
“Specialty stores’ custom departments, selling made-to-order fashions from Paris to the American consumer, were preferred retailers for upper-class men and women. Clothing was purchased as originals, or created by a dressmaker copying a couturier’s design. Tailoring shops continued to flourish and at-home sewers still created clothes, “although if they lived in an urban environment, they probably bought the fabric and sewing supplies in a department store” (Schorman 2010). At the end of the nineteenth century, Lord & Taylor, among several New York City department stores, had on-site workrooms to produce custom garments.”
Source
While it feels shocking to us for her to spend that much money, Lily thinks of it all as her “tax” for keeping up with the other women in her set — women who are becoming wealthier and wealthier as their husbands make keener investments and deepen their pockets. As their wealth exponentially grows, so, too, do Lily’s “taxes.”
Now this week, in Book 2, chapter 8, Lily details these expenses to Gerty Farish:
“You asked me just now if I could understand why Ned Silverton spent so much money. Of course I understand—he spends it on living with the rich…We eat their dinners, and drink their wine, and smoke their cigarettes, and use their carriages and their opera-boxes and their private cars—yes, but there’s a tax to pay on every one of those luxuries….the girl pays it by tips and cards too—oh, yes, I’ve had to take up bridge again—and by going to the best dress-makers, and having just the right dress for every occasion, and always keeping herself fresh and exquisite and amusing!”
So, now we understand what Lily spent it on.
But the second half of your question, you’re paying attention to a fantastic tension: what is the real root of Lily’s fear about disclosing the $9,000 sum to Julia? What is the “terrible truth” she can’t bring herself to admit?
Well, it’s this:
To clarify the true (shocking) amount Lily needs, she’d have to tell Julia that she’s been letting a married man spectate for her on the stock market.
Which would mean she would also have to admit that she believed him when he started sending her thousands of dollars, every week, behind Julia’s — and his wife Judy’s — backs.
Which would also imply, through its very secrecy and high dollar amount, that Trenor was gifting Lily money in exchange for sexual favors.
So, Lily would have to admit, in other words, that she got tangled up in a pretty sordid exchange of money for sex — and she has little reason to believe that Julia will believe her when she tells her she never, ever gave Gus the “seat at the table” he’s been demanding.
This is the “terrible truth” that underlies the money, and it’s one that Lily is too afraid to say out loud, because of the way it would confirm all the nasty rumors Grace Stepney has been making certain that Aunt Julia has heard every day at tea time.
That Lily spent the money isn’t all that surprising, especially since we know she’s an addictive personality with a gambling problem.
What would be surprising, for Aunt Julia, is how Lily ever got that much money to gamble with and spend in the first place. To answer that question, Lily would have to tell her about Trenor.
Parallel this with how, in today’s reading, to answer the question of how she might re-enter society, Lily would have to tell Bertha she has the letters.
These are dingy and ugly truths — they reveal the messy threads of the social tapestry, the ones behind the pretty pictures Lily is so accustomed to. Is it any wonder Lily keeps her distance from these “ugly” facts of her life?
A defeated Lily
In an essay about nineteenth-century literature, Wharton scholar Barbara Hochman writes:
“Many women novelists tell a story of female defeat. Nineteenth-century fiction is particularly full of women characters who cannot make peace with the options available to them in their society.”1
These types of novels, or stories, play on the idea of the defeated or “fallen woman,” a literary trope based on the fall of Eve in the King James Bible — she signifies a profound loss of innocence, as well as a dangerous carnality and the seduction of men into her sphere of power. This is an evolution of those singing sirens of Greek mythology who lure men to ruin. In the Victorian era, in England, we see many “fallen women” in the pages of Thomas Hardy and Wilkie Collins. (And in the 19th century more broadly, we see this trope in Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary.) Christina Rosetti’s “Goblin Market” is exemplary on the type, should you want to learn more.
In her work on Mirth, Hochman argues that like Edna Pontellier of The Awakening, much of Lily’s trouble stems from her lack of voice and clear understanding of herself: “Lily’s efforts to articulate the life-issues that concerns her are…fitful and unsatisfactory.”
Now, here’s a beautiful close reading of this problem by Hochman:
At a critical juncture…Gerty asks Lily to explain the events that result in Lily’s disinheritance and ostracism from society.
“[W]hat is your story?” Gerty asks, “I don’t believe anyone knows it yet.”
“My story?” Lily replies, “I don’t believe I know it myself. You see, I never thought of preparing a version in advance as Bertha did — and if I had, I don’t think I should take the trouble to use it now.”
Lily claims that there is no way to establish the “beginning” of her story; it was in her cradle, she speculates — in her upbringing, or perhaps in her blood, via some “wicked pleasure-loving ancestress.”
Moreover, Lily argues that the believability of a story is in any case relative, dependent on the power and influence of the teller. Thus, unlike Gerty, Lily sees no point in telling her friends “the whole truth”:
“The whole truth?” Miss Bart laughed. “What is truth? Where a woman is concerned, it’s the story that’s easiest to believe.”
This, to go back to our reader’s wonderful question this week, is precisely why Lily never bothers to tell Aunt Julia about Trenor’s trickery on the stock market: she knows that, thanks to the gossip reel, there’s little story she can tell to defend herself that won’t be spun, or misunderstood, by even her closest remaining relatives.
It is curious, then, that she finally tells someone the truth — and it’s Rosedale, of all people. She also tells Selden in a moment of heat and pain, with hardly any time to repair or come to understanding, and we once again feel Selden’s judgments and disdain for her, despite a lingering interest in her well-being.
As Hochman reads it: “By refusing to tell anyone her story and rejecting all plots,” (like the icky marriage plan Rosedale has proposed), “Lily renounces the project of being believed or even heard, progressively isolating herself.”
What a heartbreaking reading of Lily’s “defeat” in these chapters.
Discussion & reading questions
What do you think of Hochman’s reading of Lily’s isolation?
In what ways is Lily a stereotypical “fallen woman”? In what ways does she depart from that type?
What is Lily’s story? Do we really know it?
Where, or how, do you think Lily’s story will end next week? Will she overcome this defeat and rise once more? What are the alternatives?
My favorite sentence
My favorite sentence for today actually comes from a bit of criticism on the novel by Maureen Howard2, who writes:
“The House of Mirth is a novel of concealment and revelation, of what is presumed socially and what must be discovered — morally and emotionally — by both of its principals, and what remains unknowable to them.”
The “principals” here are Selden and Lily — those two central figures through which we’ve experienced the bulk of the novel (with lovely, foiled tangents into Gerty’s experience once or twice).
I like this line because it nicely sums what we’re thinking about in today’s reading — and it aligns so beautifully with our previous discussions of Lily’s “conspicuousness” and all those ripe questions surrounding visibility and how Lily is perceived by Selden, as well as all those other social figures from the Trenors to the Dorsets to the working-class girls in the hat shop.
Here’s my favorite line from the novel, this week. It comes from the moment Selden appears in the hotel and their epic fight begins:
“Even under the most adverse conditions, that pleasure always made itself felt: she might hate him, but she had never been able to wish him out of the room.”
All I kept thinking about in this scene was how humiliated Lily must feel, and how pissed I am at Selden for disappearing on her, only to reappear when she’s in such a low place, and to take such a lecturing, self-righteous tone with her. (He feels like such a hypocrite to me, on this re-read of the novel. He had an affair with Bertha but he’s obsessive about Lily’s supposed affair with Trenor? Okay bud.)
Despite all this, she can’t actively wish for him to leave her again. She wants him to stay, so she lures him into a true blow-up of a fight. Even at the moment she “hates” him the most, she also feels pleasure. Maybe because she loves him, too.
Have you ever felt that way about someone? Or picked a fight because you wanted someone to stay with you after disappearing on you? Lily has a way of driving me crazy at the exact moments she’s doing things I can’t say I haven’t done myself. She’s such a curious mirror.
Additional readings
I’ll talk more about this stellar biography of Wharton next week // Here’s a Guardian review of that biography // This Reddit thread on why so many people have affairs in Henry James and Edith Wharton novels // More about the “fallen woman” trope // Learn more about the dressmakers and consumer culture Lily would’ve experienced in the early 20th century // Learn about The House of Worth in Paris //
For next week
We’re reading the rest of the novel.
I’m emotional about it. I cannot wait to hear everything you feel and think and wonder and process in the last few chapters.
Until then: meet me in the comments.
What was your favorite sentence?
What broke your heart?
What pissed you off or shocked you?
Just one more week ahead. 📚
And remember:
If there’s anything you’d like me to cover in our final discussions of the novel…Make your final requests here!!!
“The Awakening and The House of Mirth: Plotting Experience and Experiencing Plot,” by Barbara Hochman, from The Cambridge Companion to American Realism and Naturalism, from Howells to London.
“The House of Mirth: The Bachelor and the Baby” by Maureen Howard, from The Cambridge Companion to Edith Wharton, edited by Millicent Bell.
Oh, thank you for such a fabulous rounding up of all that has happened to Lily! I am fearing the worst for her...
Hochman quoted the standout sentence for me, spoken by Lily: "The whole truth? Miss Bart laughed. "What is truth? Where a woman is concerned, it's the story that's easiest to believe." That line. It broke me! I find it such an honest statement that Wharton expressed through Lily. As we've mentioned before, the resemblance to Edna Pontellier and the idea, as Hochman mentions, of the fallen woman in literature is a trope I have long found both fascinating and tragic. I only wish I had read Mirth earlier when studying The Awakening. Looking forward to next week :)
So I must be missing something in the subtext. Just what is going on with Mrs. Hatch that elicits such strong repugnance that Lily is deemed and even feels tainted just by being there?