I say The House of Mirth is anthropological, in the sense that it is a literary precedent for what would later become known as cultural determinism; that is, the conception that human conduct is directed by environmental / biological factors of which we may be largely unconscious. It is not surprising to discover that Wharton read Darwin and Zola intensively in her early twenties. Lily Bart is herself engaged in a competition with her rivals to find the wealthiest husband, in what amounts to a 'survival of the fittest' - although the 'winners' in Wharton's world are not necessarily those most physically or economically strong, but rather those who best conform to the all-powerful social structure, and secure a physical space in society (normally, a home). Those who fail to adapt, whether due to social background, or - in Lily's case - pyschological temperament - are doomed. Thus an important ambiguity is created: whether it is better to forsake morality and independence in order to improve one's social status, or whether a moral victory is ultimately more profitable than a material one. Wharton leaves any such conclusion to the reader.

If I have made The House of Mirth sound drearily scientific, rest assured this is not the case: it reads much like a novel by Austen or Eliot, but with a sharper tinge of social satire. I would say it is perhaps a little long, and that the determinism implicit in the character of Lily Bart renders the outcome a little inevitable, but it does have some brilliant moments: the best of these being the tête-à-tête between Lily and Selden in chapter 6; a meditation on spiritual independence and moral cowardice which will colour the rest of the novel. And it is a curious book in that it has no real heroes, but rather a series of characters who are all crucially flawed in some way, and who do little to resolve these flaws until it is too late. It is thus a novel of realism, of a perverse Providence, and centrally, of the unstoppable power of the dollar in refashioning the class system: something from which the earliest Americans had been determined to liberate themselves.

The story follows the beautiful Lily Bart as she painfully falls out of the graces of society by, unfortunately, her own fault and naivete. Rather than cursing her foolishness as one would normally do, the reader feels strong empathy for a woman who, much to her own detriment, simply does not know how to live in the real world; she trusts too much, thinks too little, and feels too deeply. I will, of course, not ruin the ending for you, but I will say, if you have a heart, it will break.

The commentary, on the other hand, is scathing, and critics and the public of her time took it quite personally, much like Theodore Dreiser's public later took Sister Carrie. The idea of a woman being treated as an object was everyday in Lily's time, but the public certainly didn't want to hear about it. Old though the book may be, Lily's plight and the message connected still hit home.

I will also recommend watching the film adaptation of the book, starring Gillian Anderson, who plays Lily Bart in a way that makes me proud. I adored her already as an X-Files fan, and I was astounded--literally ASTOUNDED--when I watched her as Lily. Read the book, then watch Gillian. You won't regret the 140 minutes you spend with the video.

Happy reading.