New Grub Street by George Gissing (best mobile ebook reader .txt) 📕
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. He’s 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 Edwin’s 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 Edwin’s 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 that’s true to his artistic desires but is unlikely to sell. On the other side lies Jasper Milvain, an “alarmingly modern” writer laser-focused on earning as much money as possible no matter what he’s 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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“But he must feel glad that you have five thousand pounds.”
Marian delayed her reply for a moment, her eyes down.
“Yes, perhaps he is glad of that.”
“Perhaps!”
“He can’t help thinking, Dora, what use he could have made of it. It has always been his greatest wish to have a literary paper of his own—like The Study, you know. He would have used the money in that way, I am sure.”
“But, all the same, he ought to feel pleasure in your good fortune.”
Marian turned to another subject.
“Think of the Reardons; what a change all at once! What will they do, I wonder? Surely they won’t continue to live apart?”
“We shall hear from Jasper.”
Whilst they were discussing the affairs of that branch of the family, Maud returned. There was ill-humour on her handsome face, and she greeted Marian but coldly. Throwing off her hat and gloves and mantle she listened to the repeated story of John Yule’s bequests.
“But why ever has Mrs. Reardon so much more than anyone else?” she asked.
“We can only suppose it is because she was the favourite child of the brother he liked best. Yet at her wedding he gave her nothing, and spoke contemptuously of her for marrying a literary man.”
“Fortunate for her poor husband that her uncle was able to forgive her. I wonder what’s the date of the will? Who knows but he may have rewarded her for quarrelling with Mr. Reardon.”
This excited a laugh.
“I don’t know when the will was made,” said Marian. “And I don’t know whether uncle had even heard of the Reardons’ misfortunes. I suppose he must have done. My cousin John was at the funeral, but not my aunt. I think it most likely father and John didn’t speak a word to each other. Fortunately the relatives were lost sight of in the great crowd of Wattleborough people; there was an enormous procession, of course.”
Maud kept glancing at her sister. The ill-humour had not altogether passed from her face, but it was now blended with reflectiveness.
A few moments more, and Marian had to hasten home. When she was gone the sisters looked at each other.
“Five thousand pounds,” murmured the elder. “I suppose that is considered nothing.”
“I suppose so.—He was here when Marian came, but didn’t stay.”
“Then you’ll take him the news this evening?”
“Yes,” replied Dora. Then, after musing, “He seemed annoyed that you were at the Lanes’ again.”
Maud made a movement of indifference.
“What has been putting you out?”
“Things were rather stupid. Some people who were to have come didn’t turn up. And—well, it doesn’t matter.”
She rose and glanced at herself in the little oblong mirror over the mantelpiece.
“Did Jasper ever speak to you of a Miss Rupert?” asked Dora.
“Not that I remember.”
“What do you think? He told me in the calmest way that he didn’t see why Marian should think of him as anything but the most ordinary friend—said he had never given her reason to think anything else.”
“Indeed! And Miss Rupert is someone who has the honour of his preference?”
“He says she is about thirty, and rather masculine, but a great heiress. Jasper is shameful!”
“What do you expect? I consider it is your duty to let Marian know everything he says. Otherwise you help to deceive her. He has no sense of honour in such things.”
Dora was so impatient to let her brother have the news that she left the house as soon as she had had tea on the chance of finding Jasper at home. She had not gone a dozen yards before she encountered him in person.
“I was afraid Marian might still be with you,” he said, laughing. “I should have asked the landlady. Well?”
“We can’t stand talking here. You had better come in.”
He was in too much excitement to wait.
“Just tell me. What has she?”
Dora walked quickly towards the house, looking annoyed.
“Nothing at all? Then what has her father?”
“He has nothing,” replied his sister, “and she has five thousand pounds.”
Jasper walked on with bent head. He said nothing more until he was upstairs in the sitting-room, where Maud greeted him carelessly.
“Mrs. Reardon anything?”
Dora informed him.
“What?” he cried incredulously. “Ten thousand? You don’t say so!”
He burst into uproarious laughter.
“So Reardon is rescued from the slum and the clerk’s desk! Well, I’m glad; by Jove, I am. I should have liked it better if Marian had had the ten thousand and he the five, but it’s an excellent joke. Perhaps the next thing will be that he’ll refuse to have anything to do with his wife’s money; that would be just like him.” After amusing himself with this subject for a few minutes more, he turned to the window and stood there in silence.
“Are you going to have tea with us?” Dora inquired.
He did not seem to hear her. On a repetition of the inquiry, he answered absently:
“Yes, I may as well. Then I can go home and get to work.”
During the remainder of his stay he talked very little, and as Maud also was in an abstracted mood, tea passed almost in silence. On the point of departing he asked:
“When is Marian likely to come here again?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” answered Dora.
He nodded, and went his way.
It was necessary for him to work at a magazine article which he had begun this morning, and on reaching home he spread out his papers in the usual businesslike fashion. The subject out of which he was manufacturing “copy” had its difficulties, and was not altogether congenial to him; this morning he had laboured with unwonted effort to produce about a page of manuscript, and now that he tried to resume the task his thoughts would not centre upon it. Jasper was too young to have thoroughly mastered the art of somnambulistic composition; to write, he was still obliged to give exclusive attention to the matter under treatment.
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