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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“I admit that you have run the gauntlet, and that you have had marvellous escapes. But be good enough to leave me alone for the present. I must finish this review by midday.”
“Only one word. I don’t know how to thank Dora, how to express my infinite sense of her goodness. Will you try to do so for me? You can speak to her with calmness. Will you tell her what I have said to you?”
“Oh, certainly.—I should recommend a cooling draught of some kind. Look in at a chemist’s as you walk on.”
The heavens did not fall before the marriage-day, and the wedded pair betook themselves for a few weeks to the Continent. They had been back again and established in their house at Earl’s Court for a month, when one morning about twelve o’clock Jasper dropped in, as though casually. Dora was writing; she had no thought of entirely abandoning literature, and had in hand at present a very pretty tale which would probably appear in The English Girl. Her boudoir, in which she sat, could not well have been daintier and more appropriate to the charming characteristics of its mistress.
Mrs. Whelpdale affected no literary slovenliness; she was dressed in light colours, and looked so lovely that even Jasper paused on the threshold with a smile of admiration.
“Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “I am proud of my sisters! What did you think of Maud last night? Wasn’t she superb?”
“She certainly did look very well. But I doubt if she’s very happy.”
“That is her own look out; I told her plainly enough my opinion of Dolomore. But she was in such a tremendous hurry.”
“You are detestable, Jasper! Is it inconceivable to you that a man or woman should be disinterested when they marry?”
“By no means.”
“Maud didn’t marry for money any more than I did.”
“You remember the Northern Farmer: ‘Doan’t thou marry for money, but go where money is.’ An admirable piece of advice. Well, Maud made a mistake, let us say. Dolomore is a clown, and now she knows it. Why, if she had waited, she might have married one of the leading men of the day. She is fit to be a duchess, as far as appearance goes; but I was never snobbish. I care very little about titles; what I look to is intellectual distinction.”
“Combined with financial success.”
“Why, that is what distinction means.” He looked round the room with a smile. “You are not uncomfortable here, old girl. I wish mother could have lived till now.”
“I wish it very, very often,” Dora replied in a moved voice.
“We haven’t done badly, drawbacks considered. Now, you may speak of money as scornfully as you like; but suppose you had married a man who could only keep you in lodgings! How would life look to you?”
“Who ever disputed the value of money? But there are things one mustn’t sacrifice to gain it.”
“I suppose so. Well, I have some news for you, Dora. I am thinking of following your example.”
Dora’s face changed to grave anticipation.
“And who is it?”
“Amy Reardon.”
His sister turned away, with a look of intense annoyance.
“You see, I am disinterested myself,” he went on. “I might find a wife who had wealth and social standing. But I choose Amy deliberately.”
“An abominable choice!”
“No; an excellent choice. I have never yet met a woman so well fitted to aid me in my career. She has a trifling sum of money, which will be useful for the next year or two—”
“What has she done with the rest of it, then?”
“Oh, the ten thousand is intact, but it can’t be seriously spoken of. It will keep up appearances till I get my editorship and so on. We shall be married early in August, I think. I want to ask you if you will go and see her.”
“On no account! I couldn’t be civil to her.”
Jasper’s brows blackened.
“This is idiotic prejudice, Dora. I think I have some claim upon you; I have shown some kindness—”
“You have, and I am not ungrateful. But I dislike Mrs. Reardon, and I couldn’t bring myself to be friendly with her.”
“You don’t know her.”
“Too well. You yourself have taught me to know her. Don’t compel me to say what I think of her.”
“She is beautiful, and high-minded, and warmhearted. I don’t know a womanly quality that she doesn’t possess. You will offend me most seriously if you speak a word against her.”
“Then I will be silent. But you must never ask me to meet her.”
“Never?”
“Never!”
“Then we shall quarrel. I haven’t deserved this, Dora. If you refuse to meet my wife on terms of decent friendliness, there’s no more intercourse between your house and mine. You have to choose. Persist in this fatuous obstinacy, and I have done with you!”
“So be it!”
“That is your final answer?”
Dora, who was now as angry as he, gave a short affirmative, and Jasper at once left her.
But it was very unlikely that things should rest at this pass. The brother and sister were bound by a strong mutual affection, and Whelpdale was not long in effecting a compromise.
“My dear wife,” he exclaimed, in despair at the threatened calamity, “you are right, a thousand times, but it’s impossible for you to be on ill terms with Jasper. There’s no need for you to see much of Mrs. Reardon—”
“I hate her! She killed her husband; I am sure of it.”
“My darling!”
“I mean by her base conduct. She is a cold, cruel, unprincipled creature! Jasper makes himself more than ever contemptible by marrying her.”
All the same, in less than three weeks Mrs. Whelpdale had called upon Amy, and the call was returned. The two women were perfectly conscious of reciprocal dislike, but they smothered the feeling beneath conventional suavities. Jasper was not backward
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