The Magnificent Ambersons by Booth Tarkington (little red riding hood ebook .TXT) 📕
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The Magnificent Ambersons, winner of the 1919 Pulitzer prize, is considered by many to be Booth Tarkington’s finest novel and an American classic. The story is set in the Midwest, where George, the spoiled and oblivious scion of an old-money family, must cope with their waning fortunes and the rise of industry barons in the automobile age.
George’s antiheroic struggles with modernity encapsulate a greater theme of change and renewal—specifically, the very American notion of a small community exploding into a dark and dirty city virtually overnight by virtue of industrial “progress.” Tarkington’s nuanced portrayal of the often-unlikable Amberson family and his paradoxical framing of progress as a destroyer of family, community, and environment, make The Magnificent Ambersons a fascinating and forward-thinking novel—certainly one with a permanent place in the American social canon. Despite the often heavy themes, Tarkington’s prose remains uniquely witty, charming, and brisk.
The novel is the second in Tarkington’s Growth trilogy of novels, and has been adapted several times for radio, film, and television, including a 1942 Orson Welles adaptation that many consider one of the finest American films ever made.
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- Author: Booth Tarkington
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George had stood before him in great and increasing embarrassment; and he was unable to allow the address to proceed to its conclusion.
“I can’t do it!” he burst out. “I can’t take her for my mistress.”
“What?”
“I’ve come to tell you, I’ve got to find something that’s quicker. I can’t—”
Old Frank got a little red. “Let’s sit down,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”
George told him.
The old gentleman listened sympathetically, only murmuring: “Well, well!” from time to time, and nodding acquiescence.
“You see she’s set her mind on this apartment,” George explained. “She’s got some old cronies there, and I guess she’s been looking forward to the games of bridge and the kind of harmless gossip that goes on in such places. Really, it’s a life she’d like better than anything else—better than that she’s lived at home, I really believe. It struck me she’s just about got to have it, and after all she could hardly have anything less.”
“This comes pretty heavily upon me, you know,” said old Frank. “I got her into that headlight company, and she fooled me about her resources as much as she did your Uncle George. I was never your father’s adviser, if you remember, and when the insurance was turned over to her some other lawyer arranged it—probably your father’s. But it comes pretty heavily on me, and I feel a certain responsibility.”
“Not at all. I’m taking the responsibility.” And George smiled with one corner of his mouth. “She’s not your aunt, you know, sir.”
“Well, I’m unable to see, even if she’s yours, that a young man is morally called upon to give up a career at the law to provide his aunt with a favourable opportunity to play bridge whist!”
“No,” George agreed. “But I haven’t begun my ‘career at the law’ so it can’t be said I’m making any considerable sacrifice. I’ll tell you how it is, sir.” He flushed, and, looking out of the streaked and smoky window beside which he was sitting, spoke with difficulty. “I feel as if—as if perhaps I had one or two pretty important things in my life to make up for. Well, I can’t. I can’t make them up to—to whom I would. It’s struck me that, as I couldn’t, I might be a little decent to somebody else, perhaps—if I could manage it! I never have been particularly decent to poor old Aunt Fanny.”
“Oh, I don’t know: I shouldn’t say that. A little youthful teasing—I doubt if she’s minded so much. She felt your father’s death terrifically, of course, but it seems to me she’s had a fairly comfortable life—up to now—if she was disposed to take it that way.”
“But ‘up to now’ is the important thing,” George said. “Now is now—and you see I can’t wait two years to be admitted to the bar and begin to practice. I’ve got to start in at something else that pays from the start, and that’s what I’ve come to you about. I have an idea, you see.”
“Well, I’m glad of that!” said old Frank, smiling. “I can’t think of anything just at this minute that pays from the start.”
“I only know of one thing, myself.”
“What is it?”
George flushed again, but managed to laugh at his own embarrassment. “I suppose I’m about as ignorant of business as anybody in the world,” he said. “But I’ve heard they pay very high wages to people in dangerous trades; I’ve always heard they did, and I’m sure it must be true. I mean people that handle touchy chemicals or high explosives—men in dynamite factories, or who take things of that sort about the country in wagons, and shoot oil wells. I thought I’d see if you couldn’t tell me something more about it, or else introduce me to someone who could, and then I thought I’d see if I couldn’t get something of the kind to do as soon as possible. My nerves are good; I’m muscular, and I’ve got a steady hand; it seemed to me that this was about the only line of work in the world that I’m fitted for. I wanted to get started today if I could.”
Old Frank gave him a long stare. At first this scrutiny was sharply incredulous; then it was grave; finally it developed into a threat of overwhelming laughter; a forked vein in his forehead became more visible and his eyes seemed about to protrude.
But he controlled his impulse; and, rising, took up his hat and overcoat. “All right,” he said. “If you’ll promise not to get blown up, I’ll go with you to see if we can find the job.” Then, meaning what he said, but amazed that he did mean it, he added: “You certainly are the most practical young man I ever met!”
XXXIIIThey found the job. It needed an apprenticeship of only six weeks, during which period George was to receive fifteen dollars a week; after that he would get twenty-eight. This settled the apartment question, and Fanny was presently established in a greater contentment than she had known for a long time. Early every morning she made something she called (and believed to be) coffee for George, and he was gallant enough not to undeceive her.
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