The Women Who Make Our NovelsOverton, Grant M. (Grant Martin)
General
The Women Who Make Our Novels
Overton, Grant M. (Grant Martin)
Novelists, American -- Biography; Women novelists, American -- Biography
Edith Wharton comes first in this book that she may the better stand
alone. She has always stood alone. The distinguishing thing about her is
the distinguishing thing about her work--aloneness, which is not the
same thing as aloofness. She is not aloof. At 56 she is working in
France, doing that which her hand finds to do. Her aloneness arises from
the facts of her life. Never were so many favoring stars clustered
together as for her when she was born. She had everything.
She was born in New York (item 1) in 1862, Edith Newbold Jones, the
daughter of Frederic Jones and Lucretia Stevens Rhinelander Jones (item
2). She was educated at home (item 3) and was married to Edward Wharton
of Boston in 1885 (item 4--no! countless items of luck had already
intervened!). In other words, Mrs. Wharton, granddaughter of General
Ebenezer Stevens of Revolutionary fame, came of distinguished family,
was the child of extremely well-to-do parents, had every advantage that
careful instruction, generous travel and cultivated surroundings could
confer upon her. Much of her life has been spent in Italy; a perfect
acquaintance with great painting and architecture, everywhere so
discernible in her work, has always with her been the customary thing.
Private tutors in America and abroad spared her the leveling processes
of forty lines of Virgil a day and ten mathematical sums each night.
They touched her as a sculptor touches his clay, firmly and caressingly
and only to bring out her peculiar excellences, only to help her native
genius to expression. Think of it--Italy and all the other rich
backgrounds, means, social position, fine traditions, the right
surroundings, the right mentors, the right tastes and a considerable
gift to begin with! What a mold! It is exquisite, perhaps unmatched in
the instance of any other novelist. It is what we dream of for genius
and it is what genius would smash to fragments! The very fact that Mrs.
Wharton _had_ a mold is the best evidence that she is not a genius in
the most discriminating sense of a most indiscriminately used word.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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