An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser (i can read book club .TXT) π
Description
Clyde Griffithβs parents are poor street-preachers, but Clyde doesnβt βbelieve,β and finds their work demeaning. At fifteen he gets a job and starts to ease out of their lives, eventually landing in some trouble that causes him to flee the town where they live. Two years later, Clyde meets his well-off uncle, who owns a large factory in upstate New York. Clyde talks his way into a job at the factory, and soon finds himself supervising a roomful of women. All alone, generally shunned by his uncleβs family, and starved for companionship, he breaks the factoryβs rules and begins a relationship with a young woman who works for him. But Clyde has visions of marrying a high-society woman, and fortune smiles on him in the form of the daughter of one of his uncleβs neighbors. Soon Clyde finds himself in a love triangle of his own making, and one from which he seems incapable of extracting himself.
A newspaperman before he became a novelist, Theodore Dreiser collected crime stories for years of young men in relationships with young women of poorer means, where the young men found a richer, prettier girl who would go with him, and often took extreme measures to escape from the first girl. An American Tragedy, based on one of the most infamous of those real-life stories, is a study in lazy ambition, the very real class system in America, and how easy it is to drift into evil. It is populated with poor people who desire nothing more than to be rich, rich people whose only concern is to keep up with their neighbors and not be associated with the βwrong element,β and elements of both who care far more about appearances than reality. It offers further evidence that the world may be very different from 100 years ago, but the people in it are very much the same.
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- Author: Theodore Dreiser
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βAsa!β she called, and then tramping into the next room where he was, his frizzled grayish hair curling distractedly above his round head, she said: βRead this.β
Clyde, who had followed, saw him take it a little nervously in his pudgy hands, his lips, always weak and beginning to crinkle at the center with age, now working curiously. Anyone who had known his lifeβs history would have said it was the expression, slightly emphasized, with which he had received most of the untoward blows of his life in the past.
βTst! Tst! Tst!β was the only sound he made at first, a sucking sound of the tongue and palateβ βmost weak and inadequate, it seemed to Clyde. Next there was another βTst! Tst! Tst!β, his head beginning to shake from side to side. Then, βNow, what do you suppose could have caused her to do that?β Then he turned and gazed at his wife, who gazed blankly in return. Then, walking to and fro, his hands behind him, his short legs taking unconscious and queerly long steps, his head moving again, he gave vent to another ineffectual βTst! Tst! Tst!β
Always the more impressive, Mrs. Griffiths now showed herself markedly different and more vital in this trying situation, a kind of irritation or dissatisfaction with life itself, along with an obvious physical distress, seeming to pass through her like a visible shadow. Once her husband had gotten up, she reached out and took the note, then merely glared at it again, her face set in hard yet stricken and disturbing lines. Her manner was that of one who is intensely disquieted and dissatisfied, one who fingers savagely at a material knot and yet cannot undo it, one who seeks restraint and freedom from complaint and yet who would complain bitterly, angrily. For behind her were all those years of religious work and faith, which somehow, in her poorly integrated conscience, seemed dimly to indicate that she should justly have been spared this. Where was her God, her Christ, at this hour when this obvious evil was being done? Why had He not acted for her? How was He to explain this? His Biblical promises! His perpetual guidance! His declared mercies!
In the face of so great a calamity, it was very hard for her, as Clyde could see, to get this straightened out, instantly at least. Although, as Clyde had come to know, it could be done eventually, of course. For in some blind, dualistic way both she and Asa insisted, as do all religionists, in disassociating God from harm and error and misery, while granting Him nevertheless supreme control. They would seek for something elseβ βsome malign, treacherous, deceiving power which, in the face of Godβs omniscience and omnipotence, still beguiles and betraysβ βand find it eventually in the error and perverseness of the human heart, which God has made, yet which He does not control, because He does not want to control it.
At the moment, however, only hurt and rage were with her, and yet her lips did not twitch as did Asaβs, nor did her eyes show that profound distress which filled his. Instead she retreated a step and reexamined the letter, almost angrily, then said to Asa: βSheβs run away with someone and she doesnβt sayβ ββ Then she stopped suddenly, remembering the presence of the childrenβ βClyde, Julia, and Frank, all present and all gazing curiously, intently, unbelievingly. βCome in here,β she called to her husband, βI want to talk to you a minute. You children had better go on to bed. Weβll be out in a minute.β
With Asa then she retired quite precipitately to a small room back of the mission hall. They heard her click the electric bulb. Then their voices were heard in low converse, while Clyde and Julia and Frank looked at each other, although Frank, being so youngβ βonly tenβ βcould scarcely be said to have comprehended fully. Even Julia hardly gathered the full import of it. But Clyde, because of his larger contact with life and his motherβs statement (βSheβs run away with someoneβ), understood well enough. Esta had tired of all this, as had he. Perhaps there was someone, like one of those dandies whom he saw on the streets with the prettiest girls, with whom she had gone. But where? And what was he like? That note told something, and yet his mother had not let him see it. She had taken it away too quickly. If only he had looked first, silently and to himself!
βDo you suppose sheβs run away for good?β he asked Julia dubiously, the while his parents were out of the room, Julia herself looking so blank and strange.
βHow should I know?β she replied a little irritably, troubled by her parentsβ distress and this secretiveness, as well as Estaβs action. βShe never said anything to me. I should think sheβd be ashamed of herself if she has.β
Julia, being colder emotionally than either Esta or Clyde, was more considerate of her parents in a conventional way, and hence sorrier. True, she did not quite gather what it meant, but she suspected something, for she had talked occasionally with girls, but in a very guarded and conservative way. Now, however, it was more the way in which Esta had chosen to leave, deserting her parents and her brothers and herself, that caused her to be angry with her,
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