New Grub Street by George Gissing (best mobile ebook reader .txt) π
Description
Grub Street is the name of a former street in London synonymous with pulp writers and low-quality publishers. New Grub Street takes its name from that old street, as it follows the lives and endeavors of a group of writers active in the literary scene of 1880s London.
Edwin Reardon is a quiet and intelligent writer whose artistic sensibilities are the opposite of what the London public wants to read. Heβs forced to write long, joyless novels that he thinks pop publishers will want to buy. These novels are draining to write, yet result in meager sales; soon Edwinβs increasingly small bank account, and his stubborn pride, start to put a strain on his once-happy marriage.
His best friend, Biffen, lies to one side of Edwinβs nature: as another highly-educated writer, he accepts a dingy, lonely, and hungry life of abject poverty in exchange for being able to produce a novel thatβs true to his artistic desires but is unlikely to sell. On the other side lies Jasper Milvain, an βalarmingly modernβ writer laser-focused on earning as much money as possible no matter what heβs made to write, as he floats through the same literary circles that Edwin haunts.
The intricately-told tale follows these writers as their differing outlooks and their fluctuating ranks in society affect them and the people around them. Gissing, himself a prolific writer intimately familiar with the London literary scene, draws from his own life in laying out the characters and events in the novel. He carefully elaborates the fragile social fabric of the literary world, its paupers and its barons both equal in the industry but unequal in public life. Though the novel is about writers on the face, the deep thread that runs through it all is the brutality of the modern social structure, where the greedy and superficial are rewarded with stability and riches, while the delicate and thoughtful are condemned to live on the margins of respectable society in grimy poverty, robbed not only of dignity, but of love.
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- Author: George Gissing
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βA thousand times I have given her to understand that I utterly disapproved of such association. She knew perfectly well that this girl was as likely as not to discredit her. If she had consulted me, I should at once have forbidden anything of the kind; she was aware of that. She kept it secret from me, knowing that it would excite my displeasure. I will not be drawn into such squalid affairs; I wonβt have my name spoken in such connection. Your mother has only herself to blame if I am angry with her.β
βYour anger goes beyond all bounds. At the very worst, mother behaved imprudently, and with a very good motive. It is cruel that you should make her suffer as she is doing.β
Marian was being strengthened to resist. Her blood grew hot; the sensation which once before had brought her to the verge of conflict with her father possessed her heart and brain.
βYou are not a suitable judge of my behaviour,β replied Yule, severely.
βI am driven to speak. We canβt go on living in this way, father. For months our home has been almost ceaselessly wretched, because of the ill-temper you are always in. Mother and I must defend ourselves; we canβt bear it any longer. You must surely feel how ridiculous it is to make such a thing as happened this morning the excuse for violent anger. How can I help judging your behaviour? When mother is brought to the point of saying that she would rather leave home and everything than endure her misery any longer, I should be wrong if I didnβt speak to you. Why are you so unkind? What serious cause has mother ever given you?β
βI refuse to argue such questions with you.β
βThen you are very unjust. I am not a child, and thereβs nothing wrong in my asking you why home is made a place of misery, instead of being what home ought to be.β
βYou prove that you are a child, in asking for explanations which ought to be clear enough to you.β
βYou mean that mother is to blame for everything?β
βThe subject is no fit one to be discussed between a father and his daughter. If you cannot see the impropriety of it, be so good as to go away and reflect, and leave me to my occupations.β
Marian came to a pause. But she knew that his rebuke was mere unworthy evasion; she saw that her father could not meet her look, and this perception of shame in him impelled her to finish what she had begun.
βI will say nothing of mother, then, but speak only for myself. I suffer too much from your unkindness; you ask too much endurance.β
βYou mean that I exact too much work from you?β asked her father, with a look which might have been directed to a recalcitrant clerk.
βNo. But that you make the conditions of my work too hard. I live in constant fear of your anger.β
βIndeed? When did I last ill-use you, or threaten you?β
βI often think that threats, or even ill-usage, would be easier to bear than an unchanging gloom which always seems on the point of breaking into violence.β
βI am obliged to you for your criticism of my disposition and manner, but unhappily I am too old to reform. Life has made me what I am, and I should have thought that your knowledge of what my life has been would have gone far to excuse a lack of cheerfulness in me.β
The irony of this laborious period was full of self-pity. His voice quavered at the close, and a tremor was noticeable in his stiff frame.
βIt isnβt lack of cheerfulness that I mean, father. That could never have brought me to speak like this.β
βIf you wish me to admit that I am bad-tempered, surly, irritableβ βI make no difficulty about that. The charge is true enough. I can only ask you again: What are the circumstances that have ruined my temper? When you present yourself here with a general accusation of my behaviour, I am at a loss to understand what you ask of me, what you wish me to say or do. I must beg you to speak plainly. Are you suggesting that I should make provision for the support of you and your mother away from my intolerable proximity? My income is not large, as I think you are aware, but of course, if a demand of this kind is seriously made, I must do my best to comply with it.β
βIt hurts me very much that you can understand me no better than this.β
βI am sorry. I think we used to understand each other, but that was before you were subjected to the influence of strangers.β
In his perverse frame of mind he was ready to give utterance to any thought which confused the point at issue. This last allusion was suggested to him by a sudden pang of regret for the pain he was causing Marian; he defended himself against self-reproach by hinting at the true reason of much of his harshness.
βI am subjected to no influence that is hostile to you,β Marian replied.
βYou may think that. But in such a matter it is very easy for you to deceive yourself.β
βOf course I know what you refer to, and I can assure you that I donβt deceive myself.β
Yule flashed a searching glance at her.
βCan you deny that you are on terms of friendship with aβ βa person who would at any moment rejoice to injure me?β
βI am friendly with no such person. Will you say whom you are thinking of?β
βIt would be useless. I have no wish to discuss a subject on which we should only disagree unprofitably.β
Marian kept silence for a moment, then said in a low, unsteady voice:
βIt is perhaps because we never speak of that subject that we are so far from understanding each other. If you think that
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