As one step closer to our general self-improvement, my book club decided to create our list for the year by alternating contemporary and classic works. We all enjoyed Girl on a Train and The Light We Cannot See, but our most recent choice was a classic one.
We just finished The House of Mirth and even though I’ve read Edith Wharton before, I’m smitten. I don’t think I need to provide you with any other explanation than the following excerpts which I found I had to write down, if only to savor them that much longer.
“The girl’s face turned to her companion like an empty plate held up to be filled.”
“She always entered the conversation with a handspring.”
“She was not accustomed to the joys of solitude except in company.”
“. . . all the guileless confidence of a young girl who has always been told there’s no one richer than her father.”
“. . the sugar maples wavered like pyres of light.”
“The two had the same prejudices and ideals, and the same quality of making other standards non-existent by ignoring them.”
Need I say more?