Set against a vividly depicted background of fin de siécle New York, this novel centers on the conflict between a self-made millionaire and a fervent social revolutionary-a conflict in which a man of goodwill futilely attempts to act as a mediator, only to be forced himself into a crisis of conscience. Here we see William Dean Howells's grasp of the realities of the American experience in an age of emerging social struggle. His absolute determination to fairly represent every point of view is evident throughout this multifaceted work. Both a memorable portrait of an era and a profoundly moving study of human relationships,
Willam Dean Howells (1837-1920) was a novelist, short story writer, magazine editor, and mentor who wrote for various magazines, including the Atlantic Monthly and Harper's Magazine.
In January 1866 James Fields offered him the assistant editor role at the Atlantic Monthly. Howells accepted after successfully negotiating for a higher salary, but was frustrated by Fields's close supervision. Howells was made editor in 1871, remaining in the position until 1881.
In 1869 he first met Mark Twain, which began a longtime friendship. Even more important for the development of his literary style — his advocacy of Realism — was his relationship with the journalist Jonathan Baxter Harrison, who during the 1870s wrote a series of articles for the Atlantic Monthly on the lives of ordinary Americans.
He wrote his first novel, Their Wedding Journey, in 1872, but his literary reputation took off with the realist novel A Modern Instance, published in 1882, which described the decay of a marriage. His 1885 novel The Rise of Silas Lapham is perhaps his best known, describing the rise and fall of an American entrepreneur of the paint business. His social views were also strongly represented in the novels Annie Kilburn (1888), A Hazard of New Fortunes (1890), and An Imperative Duty (1892). He was particularly outraged by the trials resulting from the Haymarket Riot.
His poems were collected during 1873 and 1886, and a volume under the title Stops of Various Quills was published during 1895. He was the initiator of the school of American realists who derived, through the Russians, from Balzac and had little sympathy with any other type of fiction, although he frequently encouraged new writers in whom he discovered new ideas.
Howells also wrote plays, criticism, and essays about contemporary literary figures such as Henrik Ibsen, Émile Zola, Giovanni Verga, Benito Pérez Galdós, and, especially, Leo Tolstoy, which helped establish their reputations in the United States. He also wrote critically in support of American writers Hamlin Garland, Stephen Crane, Emily Dickinson, Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sarah Orne Jewett, Charles W. Chesnutt, Abraham Cahan, Madison Cawein,and Frank Norris. It is perhaps in this role that he had his greatest influence. In his "Editor's Study" column at the Atlantic Monthly and, later, at Harper's, he formulated and disseminated his theories of "realism" in literature.
In 1904 he was one of the first seven people chosen for membership in the American Academy of Arts and Letters, of which he became president.
Howells died in Manhattan on May 11, 1920. He was buried in Cambridge Cemetery in Massachusetts.
Noting the "documentary" and truthful value of Howells' work, Henry James wrote: "Stroke by stroke and book by book your work was to become, for this exquisite notation of our whole democratic light and shade and give and take, in the highest degree documentary."
A usual book review outlines something of the plot, not enough to give everything away, but at least something to catch a potential reader's fancy. I cannot assure you that this book has much of plot---some men come together to run a new bi-weekly magazine in New York in the 1880s, their financial backer has hickish, conservative tendencies and he opposes a certain impoverished writer who supports socialism (then a wild-eyed fantasy.) This rich man's son, who abhors any form of business, is made into the managing editor. A crisis develops, takes a sudden unexpected turn, and the men buy out the backer, who leaves for Europe. Most novels have a main character whose moods and motivations are central to the work. Not A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES. Several people figure almost equally in this respect, none of them women, but women are developed more than in most male-authored novels of the time, even including a sympathetic view of a very independent female character. Basil March might be taken for the main character, but that would be mostly because he is introduced first. He is abandoned for long stretches while we follow the lives and personalities of others. Yet, I must say, I admired Howells' novel very much. It is not for those who require action, sex, or dramatic events. Rather, it is a slice of life of the period, of the place, of family life and social repartee that may be unequalled. Though Howells claimed to be a "realist" and he is often spoken of, it seems, as one of such a school in American literature, the novel oscillates between extremely vivid descriptions of all varieties of life in New York, humanist philosophizing, and mild melodrama, thus, I would not class it as a truly realist novel in the same sense as say, "McTeague" by Frank Norris. Howells had the American optimism, the reluctance to dwell on the darker sides of human nature. This novel may draw accusations, then, of naivete. I think that would be short-sighted. Henry James and Faulkner might be deeper psychologically and Hemingway more sculpted, but Howells sometimes puts his finger right on the very essence of American ways of thinking and on American character. Some sections, like for instance the long passage on looking for an apartment in New York-over thirty pages---simply radiate genius. The natural gas millionaire and his shrewish daughter; the gung-ho, go-getter manager of the magazine; the dreamy, but selfish artists, the Southern belle---all these may be almost stock characters in 20th century American letters, but can never have been better summarized than here. Two statements made by Basil March, a literary editor married into an old Boston family, sum up the feel of A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES, a novel that takes great cognizance of the potential for change in people (always an optimist's point of view). First, he says, "There's the making of several characters in each of us; we are each several characters and sometimes this character has the lead in us, and sometimes that." And lastly, he says "I don't know what it all means, but I believe it means good." Howells was no doubt a sterling man and this, perhaps his best novel, reflects that more than anything else.
It is not Howells's work that has aged poorly. No,the reading habits and tastes of educated Americans have died a slow and painful death. Imagine if the lovers of classical music lost their hearing, so that highbrow opinion became middlebrow opinion, only for middlebrow opinion to mingle with and become indistinguishable from the lowbrow. That is what you get here on goodreads, where merit is treated as a democratic question. Merit, however, is not a human right. Not all can recognize it. Most cannot. If you do not like this book, or at least cannot recognize its superiority, you simply do not have any taste in serious fiction. That's okay. I do not even pretend to care for classical music or jazz. But, then again, I would not assign a star rating to symphonies or jazz records. My music is lowbrow, but at least I know it.
Unlike children's books, like Harry Potter, or trashy works that suit those who would rather watch a movie than read, such as Stephen King's books, this book is subtle and complex. Because the serious novel has been relegated to college classroom force-feedings to students who have no idea how to approach a novel that lacks gore and sex, Howells has joined Lewis, Galsworthy, Sinclair, and Dos Passos in the the bin of novelists whose journalism and sociology make them easily understood by lazy readers and literature professors alike. Hence, Howells's most commonly available and most well known work is the Rise of Silas Lapham, a weaker work than A Hazard of New Fortunes; the former is short and straight forward. If there's one thing our fellow readers can tolerate less than subtlety it's length. (Unless of course the long book is full of self-indulgent nonsense and literally meaningless phrases- for examples see, Rushdie, Salman.) There is, as some readers who apparently failed to get past page 70 have noted, there is a somewhat tedious account where the protagonist and his wife search for an apartment in New York. This takes up about 30 pages, and seems to mar the books otherwise symmetrical structure. Howells is almost always dismissed today as prude and a prig because his stories refer to sexual desire and sexual impropriety in the most oblique fashion imaginable. He is more circumspect than then even the stodgiest Victorian writers. However, is he is neither a overly modest school marm nor a member of Granny's Bible study class. He is a critic as sophisticated as any of the great European writers of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Although one will find a literary analysis by a professor of literature that will likely tell you that Hazard simply recalls the political tensions that that boiled over into violence, and Lit Prof, whose name will be Leonard Tancock or Dick Morris (real intro writing lit profs, mind you), will tell you that Marsh and his wife are Bostonians thrown into and force to confront a harsher and more sophisticated reality. Or perhaps a sociologist named Kazin or whatever will tell you about identity, politics, class, and economic disparities. And then, if this is an intro and not an afterward, you will decide that what you are about to read is nothing but a dry exposition on such subjects. Well, the literature classroom is all too often the place where the joy of reading of reading goes to die; great fiction was not meant to be the subject of formal study; we owe that late innovation to the literature professors who we ought to call fictionologists.
Instead of the Fictionologists dull world, a careful reader will find a humanizing work that brings to life members of opposing political worlds in a way that no modern author is capable of. It is quite the difficult thing to do. Consider: how many among the fictionologists and their fellow deconstructionists would care for Howells's treatment of the anti-labor billionaire, which is equally sympathetic to his portrayal of the socialist crank? Well, very few. In fact, the fictionologist labors to deconstruct literature, which, according to their untested assumptions, conveys the ideological trappings of false social consciousness. And the fictionologists wonder why they labor in obscurity. Moreover, like the his European counterparts, who Howells was responsible for familiarizing the American public with, Howells humanizes his subject. There are no easily decided moral questions in his universe, contrary to the liberal paradigm of the fictionologist, which is intellectually shallow. Instead, the primary characters are forced to compromise and make terms with the external world. Neither fictionologists nor movie-watching-Harry-Potter-reading dullards can appreciate.
Another classic for my American lit class that did not sit well with me. The first 100-150 pages centers on a couple's apartment shopping in New York. The rest of the book perhaps delves into social commentary on capitalism and class structure and commercialism, but the sheer inundation of unnecessary detail made it difficult to wade through the moss to get to the meat of the story. Maybe A Hazard of New Fortunes deserves to have several academic essays and commentaries written about it, though I would recommend skipping it as a leisure read unless you want to pick up a dense classic for the sake of reading a dense classic.
(I blame my finals-overloaded brain for the harshness of this review. I still got insight from class discussion, just not enough insight to compensate for the time I spent reading the book itself. A hazardous read with not enough fortune, one might say.)
Classic example of why integrating politics into art is such a tough balancing act... ironic how an exemplary "realist" novel is basically propaganda for a political ideology.
Howells--or rather his books--haven't aged well. Despite attempts to show a panorama of New York life, his perspective is blinkered by middle class, middle range male values and experiences. And his writing is so fussy and over detailed I put this short book down feeling suffocated, headachey and desperate for something cleanly minimalist (Any suggestions?)
It's interesting to compare Howells with Henry James (contemporaries bracketed them together as the great social realists of their generation). Where Howells retreats into provincial pieties--for example in having his protagonist refuse to countenance anything but a tourist-picturesque view of the slums--James dives in, obscurely and uncomfortably and dramatically, even if not always successfully. I got the feeling that Howells was taking no chances, that he was never straying from his comfort zone or from his mapped-out ideas of character, plot and setting. It may have made for a serene inner life for Mr. H., but it makes for a snory read for the rest of us.
A Hazard of New Fortunes is a novel by William Dean Howells first published in the U.S. by Harper & Bros. in 1890. It has been called one of the first major novels about New York City and many critics considered it his best novel.
I'd have to re-read a few to decide if I thought it was his "best" novel", but I did enjoy it. I was thoroughly entertained the entire time I was reading it. Because he portrays so many different characters from so many different backgrounds the novel has been called one of the most important examples of American realism. Is it one of the most important examples of American realism? Beats me, but it certainly had its share of enjoyable, wide ranging characters. We had businessmen, millionaires, society girls, artists, editors, a German born advocate for Socialism, and a publisher who really wants to be an Episcopalian priest.
The book takes place in late 19th century New York City it tells the story of Basil March, who finds himself in the middle of a dispute between his employer, a self-made millionaire Mr. Dryfoos, and Berthold Lindau, an advocate for workers' rights and March's old friend and German teacher. The main character of the novel is Basil March. He resides in Boston with his wife and children, and working as an insurance man, a job he hates. He is persuaded by his friend Fulkerson to move to New York to help him start a new magazine called "Every Other Week" (any guesses why?). The writers for the magazine would benefit from a form of profit sharing, the more the magazine sells the more money you make kind of thing. The Marches who would never dream of leaving Boston under any circumstances, especially to move somewhere like New York City, move to New York City. They have a long and very entertaining search for the perfect apartment, it must have "steam heat, an elevator and be on the third floor". I didn't know there were elevators in 1890. Mrs. March finally gives up and goes back to the children in Boston and Mr. March ends up picking one of the first apartments they saw and rejected, an apartment full of "gimcrackery"—trinkets and decorations that do not appeal to their upper-middle-class tastes.
Now that the apartment is picked and the Marches are settled, work at the new magazine begins. The magazine is bankrolled by a millionaire named Dryfoos, who became wealthy after discovering natural gas on his farm in the Midwest, and moved to New York to make more money on Wall Street. Dryfoos gives his son, Conrad, the job of business manager for the magazine in order to try to stop him from becoming an Episcopalian priest. This is all Conrad ever dreamt of doing. Conrad has two sisters; Christine, a superficial, self-centered woman who expects to be admired because of her father's wealth, and younger sister Mela, much more likable, but still expecting everyone to look up to her family because of all the money they have.
An annoying artist by the name of Angus Beaton is chosen to head the art department. Beaton is good looking, at least he thinks so; and so selfish I spend most of the book wanting to slap him. He eventually falls in love, or thinks he's in love with a young woman, Alma Leighton who is an aspiring artist. I don't think Beaton ever really loves her, he's too busy loving himself. It would serve both of them right if Beaton would wind up marrying Christine, but I'm not going to tell you if that happens.
Berthold Lindau, an old friend of Basil March's and a veteran of the American Civil War, becomes the translator for the magazine. Lindau knows many languages, so he selects and translates Russian, French, and German stories to publish in the magazine. Lindau lost his hand in a Civil War battle, fighting for the North because he was a strong abolitionist and an idealistic American immigrant. He advocates for workers' rights and socialism and clashes with Dryfoos because of it.
The book changes for me and goes from being light hearted entertainment, mostly from the sarcastic comments that March makes or the silly situations involving the Dryfoos women, but then it turns sad. In fact I'm sitting there feeling sad for some of the characters before I even realize the book has changed. That's OK with me too. If you want to know what changes the mood of the novel for me, read the book, I'm not telling.
Now here's a part of the book that I found extremely interesting:
Miss Mela explained to the Marches: "Mother was raised among the Dunkards, and she thinks it's wicked to wear anything but a gray silk even for dress-up."
"You hain't never heared o' the Dunkards, I reckon," the old woman said to Mrs. March. "Some folks calls 'em the Beardy Men, because they don't never shave; and they wash feet like they do in the Testament. My uncle was one. He raised me."
"I guess pretty much everybody's a Beardy Man nowadays, if he ain't a Dunkard!"
Miss Mela looked round for applause of her sally, but March was saying to his wife: "It's a Pennsylvania German sect, I believe” something like the Quakers. I used to see them when I was a boy."
"Aren't they something like the Mennists?" asked Mrs. Mandel.
"They're good people," said the old woman, "and the world 'd be a heap better off if there was more like 'em."
Now, I was born in Pennsylvania, I was raised in Pennsylvania, and I'm still in Pennsylvania and I never heard of the Dunkards. From the description I thought maybe they meant the Amish although it didn't exactly fit and I never heard the Amish called Dunkards; so I looked it up and there they were; the "Dunkard Brethern" , the name being derived from the Pennsylvania German word dunke, which comes from the German word tunken, meaning "to immerse" or "to dip". The majority of the churches are located in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Ohio". And I didn't know who they were! So my husband came into the room and I asked him if he ever heard of the Dunkards and he replied something like, "sure there are pretty many of them down around Lancaster, they are alot like the Mennonites". So I'm starting to think I'm the only central Pennsylvanian who didn't know of the Dunkards.
Here are some of my favorite lines:
"I don't see how you could talk to that girl so long, Basil, and make her laugh so."
"Why, there seemed no one else to do it, till I thought of Kendricks."
"Yes, but I kept thinking, Now he's pleasant to her because he thinks it's to his interest. If she had no relation to 'Every Other Week,' he wouldn't waste his time on her."
"Isabel," March complained, "I wish you wouldn't think of me in he, him, and his; I never personalize you in my thoughts: you remain always a vague unindividualized essence, not quite without form and void, but nounless and pronounless. I call that a much more beautiful mental attitude toward the object of one's affections. But if you must he and him and his me in your thoughts, I wish you'd have more kindly thoughts of me."
and also:
"I suppose," said March, "that nothing is put on us that we can't bear. But I should think," he went on, musingly, "that when God sees what we poor finite creatures can bear, hemmed round with this eternal darkness of death, He must respect us."
"Basil!" said his wife. But in her heart she drew nearer to him for the words she thought she ought to rebuke him for.
"Oh, I know," he said, "we school ourselves to despise human nature. But God did not make us despicable, and I say, whatever end He meant us for, He must have some such thrill of joy in our adequacy to fate as a father feels when his son shows himself a man. When I think what we can be if we must, I can't believe the least of us shall finally perish."
OK, one more and I'm done:
Children," said March, turning to them, "death is an exile that no remorse and no love can reach. Remember that, and be good to every one here on earth, for your longing to retrieve any harshness or unkindness to the dead will be the very ecstasy of anguish to you. I wonder," he mused, "if one of the reasons why we're shut up to our ignorance of what is to be hereafter isn't because if we were sure of another world we might be still more brutal to one another here, in the hope of making reparation somewhere else. Perhaps, if we ever come to obey the law of love on earth, the mystery of death will be taken away."
I liked the book. I'll read it again. Maybe I'll read all Howells in order so I can decide if I think that "A Hazard Of New Fortunes" was his best. It gets four stars anyway.
When I first began A Hazard of New Fortunes, I got the sinking feeling that it would not have much to offer my tastes. Realism has never appealed much to me, and a novel so wholly devoted to exploring the types of a bygone urban society might prove only of historical interest. The Marches are not the most gripping characters ever, even if they are witty and well-drawn. Even the famous apartment-hunting scene, while undeniably clever, awoke in me nothing deeper than passing admiration.
By the middle of the book, I was more favorably inclined. Howells's psychological portraits are often insightful, and he seems to follow the maxim of a creative writing professor of mine—"You don't have to like all your characters, but you do have to love them." There are all kinds here, and the good humor and affection with which Howells detailed the lives and relationships of his characters started to win me over. Even the most unpleasant members of this literary universe are offered sympathy and display eccentricities that make them individual, even endearing.
By the end, however, I had returned to a feeling of ambivalence. Part of this was my dissatisfaction with how he disposed of some of his characters; there is a strangely contrived turn at the climax—I thought it too predictable to actually happen until it did. But it was also my recognition of the book's deeper weaknesses. For one thing, the whole narrative lacks sustained tension. The main action is driven by the characters, which is well enough, but not only is the book in no hurry, it gives the reader little encouragement to think it is going anywhere in particular. Tense situations, of which there are a few, are usually resolved in a few chapters; some of the secondary characters (notably the self-made millionaire Dryfoos) do change suddenly and dramatically, but the characters through whose eyes most of the action is seen—March, Fulkerson, Beaton—conclude their stories close to where they started, with only a few of their circumstances changed. Perhaps this is realistic, but it also means the reader’s continuing investment is pinned almost entirely on his or her desire at a given moment to see more of Howells’s characters.
There are also aspects of Howells’s authorial voice that have not aged well. All his characters may be highly individual, but he also clearly intends them to be types that reflect on their society. At first I thought Basil March’s pontifications were no more than expressions of character, but by the end I had to conclude that Howells was at least to some extent using March as a mouthpiece for his own views. Fortunately, this never comes across as propagandistic—March is allowed ample fallibility and perplexity—but it seems a little heavy-handed toward the novel’s denouement, when March appears to embody the author’s perspective on events.
Howells elevates the gentle-hearted, socially-aware Christianity of Conrad Dryfoos as an alternative to Lindau’s radicalism and the indifference of certain other characters. His socialism would seem a rather bourgeois affair; he obviously admires the devotion of Lindau, against whose ideals the other characters protest a little too much, but by heaping special praise on the meek righteousness of Conrad, and by centering his novel on a man (March) who sees the sense of socialist equality but is too pragmatic to be an agitator, he defuses the revolutionary threat for his readers. If this book was written consciously in the shadow of the recent Haymarket affair, as it surely must have been, it is a rebuke to those who deplore the strikers but also a denunciation of the grim methods of the radicals. Or perhaps Howells really is a closet Marxist, as at least one critic has suggested, and he is playing a subtler game than I give him credit.
In the end, I do think A Hazard of New Fortunes is worth reading, and not simply for historical interest, though mileage will vary. Howells’s craftsmanship in producing sympathetic portraits of many different kinds of people is undeniable, and that on its own is worth a look.
Overall this is an excellent novel. The gradual expansion of the narrative to follow more and more characters allows the complexity of the story to grow alongside the number and diversity of ideas presented and considered, generally very effectively (though the pacing of perspective switches was one of the few things I noticed as sometimes a little off). The distances between the characters and the narrator, reader, and other characters (not entirely unlike those set up in The Heart is a Lonely Hunter) allow the characters to be sure of themselves and the reader to see where and why they are wrong, even while the reader (or, at least this one, and probably any person likely to be one) is forced to acknowledge their own failure to see what Howells presents in real life's day-to-day. There's a bit of a feel of a Russian novel (of which I'm told Howells was an appreciator) here, in a way that works pretty well: a slow buildup culminates rather quickly and with some aggressive shifts and unexpected turns. The entire book more or less exists to support the ideological dialogue it contains, but, unlike many politically/ideologically motivated art, it manages to handle issues with nuance and keep its motive from interfering where it shouldn't. While the overall plot is generally mundane in many of its features, tension is maintained well (both in terms of story and ideas), the climax pushes the main cast into conclusions at once fulfilling and frustrating, and the everydayness of it all makes for a harsh, compelling applicability. Besides the sometimes uneven-feeling pacing, there's not much cause for complaint, though some might find it slow or dull, with its occasional heavy-handedness (an often-forgiven trait) and maybe a slight rushing of bringing all of the characters together being the only things that come to mind. I think I would describe it on whole as "quietly excellent"; I am not sure I feel strongly about it for it to get five stars, but I can't find much of a reason to bring it down to four.
Loosely, A Hazard of New Fortunes is about the founding of a new literary periodical in late nineteenth-century New York City. The book begins with Basil March, a middle-aged insurance man in Boston who quits the company to pursue his old dream of a career in letters. March and his wife and children let a cluttered Manhattan apartment, and as they make their way in the bustling, alien metropolis, the author's scope opens and makes way for a legion of turn-of-the-century city types, amongst them the publicity man Fulkerson, the brooding, dandyish artist Beaton, the family of the lucky Indianan gas miner Dryfoos, the one-armed German immigrant Lindau, and so on. The periodical, which is financed by Dryfoos, managed by Fulkerson, and edited by March, is on a smaller scale very much the same kind of multicultural laboratory that New York City is, itself, and Howells writes a detailed and gripping slice of city life. Unfortunately, the corruption and social ills March and others note in their flâneurie around town are just as present in any American city now, a century and quarter later, as in 1890. A few bits I've read about William Dean Howells have conceded that he's not often read these days and rebutted this sad fact by acknowledging that he is, nevertheless, the father of American realism. Whatever the state of Howells's literary reputation, A Hazard of New Fortunes is a hell of a book.
The last 100 pages of this book are actually pretty good. The characters are well-developed and the drama raises interesting questions about status and class. However, the first 300 pages are dreadfully boring and most of it feels wholly unnecessary. I found myself losing my attention constantly (this book is particularly known for dedicating something like 50 pages just to the Marches’ experience visiting potential apartments). This completely cheapens the experience, leading me to wonder how many people never even came close to finishing the book (I only did because I was examined on it and had to do passage identifications for class) because the majority of it is so painful. Additionally, several characters speak in accents that are reflected through the spelling of your lines and is frustrating to interpret when they are discernible at all.
However, Howells deserves credit for his interesting female characters and genuinely emotional moments at the end of the novel, although basically nothing is learned and those who advocated for change face the worst outcomes.
Skimming a lot of the middle would probably have the same result.
This book was one of the most dense I have ever read. The complexities of the characters coupled with a story line rife with social commentary made it difficult, at times, to read. But, despite this, I found it to be enjoyable and at times very compelling. It is important to note that this book was Howells's answer to the Haymarket Riots of Chicago in 1886. While Howells agreed with the striking workers, he did not agree with how they handled the affair. And how the workers were subsequently treated was even worse in his eyes. He wrote The Hazard of New Fortunes as an answer to it all. So, in his Realistic style, he portrayed each side, from Capitalist to Socialist; from anti-abolitionist to humanitarian, drawing upon the recent happenings to guide him. When the historical significance is understood, it is far easier to see why his book was so complex and dense, and why I feel it is one of his best works.
This is more or less a decent Americanization of a Trollope novel (though I'd hazard--har har--to say Howells is more heavy-handed in his social critique and not as subtle or, well, good a writer as Trollope). Inspires nostalgia, sometimes laughter, and a great deal of investment in the characters, who come to feel more like friends than fiction. I effing hated the German dude, though--plus, Howells wrote out his accent as if he were Polish or Russian & not at all German. Also his idea of the "country bumpkin" accent read like someone doing a hammy impersonation of Scarlett O'Hara. But all in all, this was a really cozy, enjoyable read. Not sure if I'd read more Howells, but who knows?
The end is rather abrupt and doesn't quite work; there are aspects that were probably socially appropriate in 1890 that make us cringe today...which is of course to be expected in period literature. Still a rather engrossing urban novel, inhabited by often-archetypal but interesting characters. It is absolutely a study of the middle class, perhaps a bit too sunny and sentimental, though the echoes of the Haymarket Affair toward the end temper that a bit. Rather enjoyable. Probably an author that deserves to be read more than he is.
kinda based. besides as historical document of industrialism and the gilded age, there was not a lot formally going on that interested me. periodic little paragraphs that had nuggets of social insight. red-blooded american realism--not my thing really.
2.5. About halfway through this book, I accepted that I just found it extremely dull and I was not enjoying reading it. There's a reason I've never read (or known anyone who has read) Howells before. I own one more short book by him, but other than that, I don't foresee ever reading him again. He was mostly concerned with moralizing and social commentary, and it was just blatantly clear how he invented characters and storylines to give himself an excuse to do so, and they had no greater depth. Got slightly more interesting at the end.
pretty fantastic until the last 60 pages where it breaks down into a weird (and bordering on disgusting) apologia for bourgeoise apathy for the poor and a defense of electoralism. takes a lot of the interesting social webs it weaves and collapses them into boring moralizing. still on the whole good though.
The book basically sets two completely different people against one another: a rich self-made man called Dryfoos and Fulkerson, a social revolutionary. We experience the story mostly through the viewpoint of a third, and neutral man called Basil March. We first meet Basil and his family in Boston. A friend of the family, the idealistic Fulkerson, has made himself quite wealthy and has the idea to start a new literary magazine in New York. He wants Basil to come to New York and be the editor for this magazine that he will be leading. The Basils do not jump at the opportunity. Mr and Mrs Basil go to New York where they spent the first few chapters looking for the perfect apartment. Once they've settled for something, Mrs Basil goes back to Boston to prepare the family for the move while Basil stays behind, having decided to take the job as editor of the magazine. Fulkerson, being the idea-man, doesn't really concern himself much with the magazine, named Every Other Week. He is happy to leave it in the capable hands of Basil who used to work in insurance but always had literary ambitions. The publisher of the magazine is Conrad, son of the rich self-made man Dryfoos who is funding this magazine as a way to keep his son out of politics. Dryfoos found gas on his farm and used it to get rich - further ensuring his wealth on Wall Street afterwards. They have also hired an artist to be the artistic director and Lindau, an old friend of Fulkerson and American Civil War veteran, who will be translating German war stories for the literary magazine. The way that they will be funding the magazine is quite ground-breaking: they plan not to pay the writers with huge guaranteed sum, but they let the writers share in the publication's proceeds. March's editorial prowes and the art director's work make the magazine a success and in the beginning everyone is happy.
But then March starts clashing with Dryfoos who, together with his friends, is trying to have a bigger say in what should and should not be published. They interfere in such a way that the original editorial ideas behind the magazine are threatened and things escalate. On top of that, Fulkerson and March start spending more and more on editorial costs in order to attract writers that will make them stand out - which makes the writers earn less and less. Combined with Dryfoos' meddling, the magazine is in trouble.
I give this novel 3 starts because I did, indeed, like it, but it was nothing more than that.
I can easily say that I respect this novel for being so untypical in two main points that stood out to me: 1. The central character is a city rather than a person and 2. Howells gives the people in the novel such distinct and refreshingly realistic views about the world and doesn't give our favorite characters romantic ideals that they claim to live by to please his readers.
Having New York be the central character was a bit weary to me; I couldn't relate to the feeling of a city being the force that moves people's motives and ideas, and it was a bit dense. Sure, people behave based on their surroundings, but the novel seemed to imply that it was New York, and not any other city, that could do this. But I must admit that this was an interesting way to note the realities of the American experience during that time period.
On the other hand, I loved how complex the characters were. Not a single character had only one trait to define them; nobody was just "good" or just "bad" and nobody was only "nice" or only "mean." Characters had realistic motives; some had families to look after while others had the freedom to act on their principles without a care for consequence. (People's principles, of course, was an interesting topic to explore in this novel--to compare what people thought they believed in versus what they acted upon.)
All in all, I'm not sure I would have read this if it hadn't been a class assignment, but I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the complexities of the characters and Howells' originality in examining the central themes of the novel.
I had to read this book for my Realism class at university and safe to say that this is one of my least favourite writing "trends" (sorry, can't think of a better words) These books just ooze boredomness with its long descriptions and unexciting themes. I do see why some people would like this, but it just is not my cup of tea.
This book was actually the one that I could get through without sighing every 10 seconds. In any other context I would have rated it no higher than 2 stars but compared to all the other books I had to read for this class, this one did not bother me as much.
The first part of the story focuses on a family searching for an apartment in New York after our main character has decided he wants to move there for a job opportunity. Even though he is not a very interesting character, you could kind of feel for him and he does meet a lot of other people from every slice of life, so that was a little interesting.
I think this book might have been very interesting at the time it was written since it does describe a lot of the city and makes it appear very modern. Of course, reading this today makes it very dated. In fact you could use these books to learn more about every day life near the turn of the century.
There might be a second reason why I like this book. It helped me answer my main exam question (something about transportation, I don't remember the detail) and since i did pass this classI do attribute my succes partially to this book since it was my main go-to book for the answer ^_^.
Also, big shocker! I just found out that this is the second book in a series?! Not going to read the other books though :-)
(My ranking of Howells' best novels: https://azleslie.com/posts/howells-ra...) A Hazard of New Fortunes is the great American novel. Its scope is daring; its prose is masterful; its innovations in form and plot are provoking; it engages the reader critically but, perhaps, hopefully. Howells is a master of subtly manipulating plot conventions and reader expectations. Events that seem trivial become, under consumer capitalism, too large; events that seem utterly essential - like the Haymarket-esque event that punctures the and casts a shadow over the narrative - are only visible for an instant. Similarly, the reader is often led to want a character to succeed, or fail, or get married, or decline, only to find the opposite happens, leaving one to wonder why they wanted it to happen in the first place.
A Hazard of New Fortunes is, in a sense, the novel of middle class complacency, which is why it is so great, so American, and remains so relevant. The world seems so much bigger and more complex. How can one do good? Make good art? Help the poor? Defend labor against capital? The novel's characters pose and/or represent a wide array of different responses to these questions, but one is made to feel that each is unsatisfying in some way or another, for reasons that often hit dangerously close to home for the reader, that awkwardly implicate us in culpabilities beyond our control. Howells forces us to chew on an ethical problem but doesn't give us an easy out. It's a powerful hermeneutic, and it continues to haunt me.
Written in 1890, this is generally regarded as one of the best, if not the best, portrayals of middle class life in New York City in the late 19th Century.
What I found most interesting about this novel is Howells' principal female character; they seem quite modern to me. Isabel March is both fully supportive of her husband, and at the same time clearly his intellectual equal and influential in the decisions he makes. Although they clearly love and respect each other, the relationship is not portrayed as dreamily romantic but very much as a modern partnership.
Alma Leighton, a secondary character, is a refreshingly independent young women with artistic talent. Near the end, when her mother frets that she will become an old maid, she responds "Well, mamma, I intend being a young one for a few years yet; and then I'll see. If I meet the right person, all well and good; if not, not. But I shall pick and choose, as a man does; I won't merely be picked and chosen."
I have read very little of American literature from this period, but this book seems to me quite modern in its point of view.
perhaps it does not quite deserve the five star rating, but out of all the gilded age novels we read in my 'American Scene' class, this one was the most enjoyable. the march's are sympathetic middle class characters newly imported into a new york social scene of similarly bewildered (but not quite as bemused) young couples and their children. dryfoos was an ohio farmer made rich by an oil boom, who comes to the city and becomes a fearsome capitalist (and sponsor of march's new literary venture) - but his wife and young daughters find themselves alienated from and by 'polite' society. this book just has a bigger cast of characters and wider scope than most of the gilded age novels i've read - and is thus a little more enjoyable, and a little easier to sympathize with. the climax involves a tense city transportation strike - providing for the little actual 'action' of the novel, but there is enough of the comic whirlings of up and coming society in here to keep you entertained throughout. i need to get my hands back on this.
This novel could be the American retort to Vanity Fair and Howells our Thackery. Like Thackery, he's a skilled ironist who creates a broad social canvass out of a small collection of characters who define an era. Unlike Thackery, Howells is aware of the existence of a working class as something other than the pit you fall into when you make the wrong -- the unvirtuous -- life choices. Howells is also able to give a surprising amount of agency to a new sort of woman, one with skills and talents of her own who is able to survive in the world without either marrying money or sleeping with it. And his handsome cad is no gambling, womanizing army officer but an artist who, in the end, is more destructive to himself than anyone else. Of course, the two novels are separated by a span of about fifty years. But more than anything, it is the American social landscape that that provides Howells' characters with a measure of liberty. Becky Sharp might have thrived here.
I actually didn't even finish this book. It was too painful to get through. The moment of despair came when, in the beginning of the novel, the couple began looking for an appartment in New York, which went on for about 50 dreadfully boring and nearly unbearable pages. The characters annoyed me to no end and the story itself was, in my opinion, presented in a very boring and unappealing way, with dialogues that felt as if each character had an infinite amount of monologue and a plot that seemed like it was going nowhere. Apparently, it did get better and the story got more interesting, but I didn't stick around long enough for that part. If I have to go through 300 pages to get to the possibly better 200 last pages, I'd rather just give up, because, to me, that is not worth the agony.
I read this book (sometimes more like skimmed it) as research for a book I am writing which takes place in the same era and city. The research info was valuable, but I have to say the writing was clunky and the characters not terribly compelling. I think Howells had his eye very firmly set on social issues rather than people, which is why the novel has a heavy handed let-me-tell-you-about-social-issues-and-use-characters-to-illustrate-it feel. When you compare it to other contemporaneous (is that a word or did I just make it up?) authors like Edith Wharton or Henry James, it fails to measure up.