But even the classics can leave you with a bad case of diarrhea. Actually, a LOT of the classics can do that. My Darling My Hamburger, anyone? But I digress and cut short my food and gastro-intestinal comparisons. For now.
I've heard wonderful things about Edith Wharton ever since I could read. During my epic move this summer, when half the family library was relocated to my room, I suddenly discovered that, lo' and behold, I owned an Edith Wharton novel: Ethan Frome. I jumped, eager for some early twentieth-century writing I'd never seen before.
I- I tried to get through this book, you guys. I tried so hard.
The Good: Everything wonderful you may hear about Edith Wharton's writing is true. Her style is what got me as far through Ethan Frome as I did. It's beautiful, eloquent, and stands strong with her male contemporaries.
The Bad: But the story ran into the fundamental problem that I can't stand any narrative set in New England and related areas that doesn't include eldritch gods, the vengeful dead, and/or other Lovecraftian horrors that strike well-deserved terror into the cold, suspicious, puritanical hearts of New Englanders.
The Rest: If you like John Updike stories but want better writing set a little earlier in time, this may be the book for you. I, for one, will be looking for other Edith Wharton writings that don't make me cringe. As it stands, I have to grade Ethan Frome on two different levels.
The Writing: 5 Mushrooms
The Story: 2 Mushrooms
