(The Mount: Edith Wharton's Home.....) 

Back in 1995 I was introduced to Edith Wharton. The two things I remember: 1) She wrote Ethan Frome and 2) She was the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize.

My responses, at the conclusion of our study of her work: 1) Suicide pact via sled, who the hell are you kidding? and 2) Obviously any person with a pen, paper, and lots of money can buy herself a Pulitzer Prize.

Ethan Frome repelled me from her writing for over a decade. Then, one day I was wandering past the used book store, and I decided to peruse the bargain books on the rack outside. There she sat, Edith, but this was not that wretched sled love story; it was a book of short stories. It was $.50, so I figured it was worth a try, and if it turned out to be awful, then I would be only out a half a buck.

The first story, "Mrs. Manstey's View," was about a widow who enjoyed the view out of her room.

Yawn.

She loved to look out at the garden across the way because it brought her joy and let her connect to the country, a place she always wanted to live before her husband died.

Yawn yawn.

Then the garden is going to be gone as a building is being extended across the way, forever destroying her view. After pleading with the building's owner to no avail, the woman takes matters in her own hand. Late one night she crawls out in the cold and lights a fire.

A frail, old lady arsonist. Okay, this isn't so bad--but that sled, how could I possibly forget that sled?

Not yet convinced, I tried another tale: "Xingu." Here we have a 19th century version of an Oprah Book Club getting together to discuss all forms of art and literature, complete with the author herself, Osric Dane. Osric is a complete snob who looks down upon these frivolous women and their little club.

Okay, who doesn't like a little Bette Davis drama queen action?

Continuing on, Mrs. Roby, the trouble-maker of the group, invents a topic of conversation, Xingu. No one in the room knows what it is, but not one of them will admit it. Osric Dane, the pretentious blow-hard, is enraptured by the topic of conversation and plays right into Mrs. Roby's hand.

Hey, wait a minute, this is actually kind of funny? Not funny in the sad pathetic way of a couple in love deciding to slam headfirst into a tree to seal their undying devotion to one another, but funny as in "Ha, ha!"

Mrs. Roby then drops enough innuendo and engages in enough word play to even put Abbott and Costello to shame--all culminating in a fantastic ending that refocuses the tale back on Edith Wharton's world of manners and etiquette, but the reader knows better: those image-obsessed parlor sitting women got exactly what was coming to them. 

Bravo, says I, Bravo!

So, now it was time to try another novel. I jumped on my Kindle and downloaded a copy of The Age of Innocence.  I don't want to load you down with too much summary but the backstabbing friends, the relatives obsessed with money and social standing, cheating spouses, and the close knit community where everyone knows everyone else's business---well, if you updated the storyline to the 1980s, dropped the social class down a couple notches, placed the action in northern Wisconsin, and instead of ballroom parties and opera performances placed the characters at Thanksgiving dinner or at 4th of July picnic tables, you would have my family.

And that ending...wow, what an ending. That beautifully tragic blend of life's potential in conflict with the desire to hold on to one's past, she hit a chord with that one.

So, today, on Edith Wharton's 150th birthday, try to take a little time out to read a short story, begin a novel, or even just check out some of her quotes on the web. A virtual tour of her house, The Mount, would be appropriate for those of you who love the visuals. For the younger set, an episode of Ghost Hunters was filmed at her home--you can find that on YouTube.

Oh, by the way, I hear she wrote a story about a suicide and a sled--I think it might be best to just skip over that one--but that's just one man's opinion....