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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The words were so unexpected that they brought a flush to her cheeks and neck.
“Now?”
“Yes. Will you marry me, and let us take our chance?”
Her heart throbbed violently.
“You don’t mean at once, Jasper? You would wait until I know what father’s fate is to be?”
“Well, now, there’s the point. You feel yourself indispensable to your father at present?”
“Not indispensable, but—wouldn’t it seem very unkind? I should be so afraid of the effect upon his health, Jasper. So much depends, we are told, upon his general state of mind and body. It would be dreadful if I were the cause of—”
She paused, and looked up at him touchingly.
“I understand that. But let us face our position. Suppose the operation is successful; your father will certainly not be able to use his eyes much for a long time, if ever; and perhaps he would miss you as much then as now. Suppose he does not regain his sight; could you then leave him?”
“Dear, I can’t feel it would be my duty to renounce you because my father had become blind. And if he can see pretty well, I don’t think I need remain with him.”
“Has one thing occurred to you? Will he consent to receive an allowance from a person whose name is Mrs. Milvain?”
“I can’t be sure,” she replied, much troubled.
“And if he obstinately refuses—what then? What is before him?”
Marian’s head sank, and she stood still.
“Why have you changed your mind so, Jasper?” she inquired at length.
“Because I have decided that the indefinitely long engagement would be unjust to you—and to myself. Such engagements are always dangerous; sometimes they deprave the character of the man or woman.”
She listened anxiously and reflected.
“Everything,” he went on, “would be simple enough but for your domestic difficulties. As I have said, there is the very serious doubt whether your father would accept money from you when you are my wife. Then again, shall we be able to afford such an allowance?”
“I thought you felt sure of that?”
“I’m not very sure of anything, to tell the truth. I am harassed. I can’t get on with my work.”
“I am very, very sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault, Marian, and—Well, then, there’s only one thing to do. Let us wait, at all events, till your father has undergone the operation. Whichever the result, you say your own position will be the same.”
“Except, Jasper, that if father is helpless, I must find means of assuring his support.”
“In other words, if you can’t do that as my wife, you must remain Marian Yule.”
After a silence, Marian regarded him steadily.
“You see only the difficulties in our way,” she said, in a colder voice. “They are many, I know. Do you think them insurmountable?”
“Upon my word, they almost seem so,” Jasper exclaimed, distractedly.
“They were not so great when we spoke of marriage a few years hence.”
“A few years!” he echoed, in a cheerless voice. “That is just what I have decided is impossible. Marian, you shall have the plain truth. I can trust your faith, but I can’t trust my own. I will marry you now, but—years hence—how can I tell what may happen? I don’t trust myself.”
“You say you ‘will’ marry me now; that sounds as if you had made up your mind to a sacrifice.”
“I didn’t mean that. To face difficulties, yes.”
Whilst they spoke, the sky had grown dark with a heavy cloud, and now spots of rain began to fall. Jasper looked about him in annoyance as he felt the moisture, but Marian did not seem aware of it.
“But shall you face them willingly?”
“I am not a man to repine and grumble. Put up your umbrella, Marian.”
“What do I care for a drop of rain,” she exclaimed with passionate sadness, “when all my life is at stake! How am I to understand you? Every word you speak seems intended to dishearten me. Do you no longer love me? Why need you conceal it, if that is the truth? Is that what you mean by saying you distrust yourself? If you do so, there must be reason for it in the present. Could I distrust myself? Can I force myself in any manner to believe that I shall ever cease to love you?”
Jasper opened his umbrella.
“We must see each other again, Marian. We can’t stand and talk in the rain—confound it! Cursed climate, where you can never be sure of a clear sky for five minutes!”
“I can’t go till you have spoken more plainly, Jasper! How am I to live an hour in such uncertainty as this? Do you love me or not? Do you wish me to be your wife, or are you sacrificing yourself?”
“I do wish it!” Her emotion had an effect upon him, and his voice trembled. “But I can’t answer for myself—no, not for a year. And how are we to marry now, in face of all these—”
“What can I do? What can I do?” she sobbed. “Oh, if I were but heartless to everyone but to you! If I could give you my money, and leave my father and mother to their fate! Perhaps some could do that. There is no natural law that a child should surrender everything for her parents. You know so much more of the world than I do; can’t you advise me? Is there no way of providing for my father?”
“Good God! This is frightful, Marian. I can’t stand it. Live as you are doing. Let us wait and see.”
“At the cost of losing you?”
“I will be faithful to you!”
“And your voice says you promise it out of pity.”
He had made a pretence of holding his umbrella over her, but Marian turned away and walked to a little distance, and stood beneath the shelter of a great tree, her face averted from him. Moving to follow, he saw that her frame was shaken by soundless sobbing. When his footsteps came close to her, she
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