On “The Age of Innocence” by Edith Wharton *****

Another work about the hypocrisy and shallowness of New York high society in the Gilded Age. This time the main character is Newland Archer, a young man born into wealth who is tired of the stodginess and predictability of the New York scene and its close-minded and often superficial morality. He is engaged to May Welland, but as the novel opens he finds himself drawn to her cousin Ellen Olenska, a gal of uncertain means who married a rich European count and who has left him and returned to New York. She is, as such, due to be shunned by most, but Archer shows her favor and gets her integrated into the New York society, despite being a near divorcee (she never does actually divorce the man).

Men, in turn, are drawn to her and spend much time with her. Archer is himself drawn to her as well, and she to him. But Archer is engaged, and when given the chance to break off the engagement, as his soon-to-be wife suspects his heart lies elsewhere, he insists that is not the case and goes through with the marriage—ahead of schedule. And then the dalliances with Olenska begin and continue.

I cannot much stand Archer. He is a rogue. And the more he falls “in love” with Olenska, the more respect for him I lose. I have a hard time seeing what Ellen sees in him. He seems a desperate man, one so certain of what he wants that he schemes various ways to desert his devoted but dull and dull-thinking wife. Olenska represents both a debauched old Europe and new ways of thinking, and Archer wants that.

May is not without knowledge of what's going on, and she schemes various ways to keep her husband.

Spoilers from here: Eventually May becomes a mom, which puts a death knell on Archer's plans to run away. Ellen, though she “loves” Archer seems to be doing her best, in the later parts of the novel, to stay away from him out of duty to her cousin, even as Archer continues to thrust himself at her.

Who are we to sympathize with? One feels like Archer is supposed to represent some new and better and more genuine way of thinking, but if that is actually better, it seems awfully selfish. Ellen, by contrast, comes across as a decent but flawed woman. May, to me, seems the genuine hero. Like all three characters, she's trapped by and in the moorings of the society of her day, but even so, she does her best to be loyal. Archer eventually succumbs also, becoming a family man and giving up his dream of Ellen. In the end, after his wife dies, while he is still relatively young (fifty-seven), he returns to Europe and has a chance to reunite with Ellen. There's a passage where the narrator says that Ellen is waiting for him and has been. Since most of the novel is from Archer's point of view, it's a bit uncertain whether this is his viewpoint or a third-person omniscient voice intruding (as it does from time to time). The important thing, however, is that Archer opts not to pursue her. He's “old fashioned.” He can't have his great love. Or maybe, he has it—because he notes that he'd rather have the dream and memories than the reality, which of course may not prove to be as great. But if that is an omniscient narrator, Archer is once more focusing on his own wishes and desires more than any other person's needs.

On "Jewish New Testament" edited by David H. Stern ****

I purchased David Stern's Jewish commentary on the New Testament years ago, curious about it after my dad himself had purchased a copy. He bought the complete set, with the New Testament also, in hardcover, so when he died, it was one of the items I inherited. I don't think otherwise that I'd have bothered with the Bible--it's a Jewish translation, really, a paraphrase, of the New Testament. The commentary at times is very handy; the New Testament, I figured, well, I have plenty of other translations.

But this was a good read, insofar as Stern's choice of using Jewish words for various concepts in the New Testament, makes the New Testament unfamiliar in some ways, which made me pay a bit more attention, especially to common scriptures that I know so well by heart that I otherwise would pass over at this point without really rethinking. In this sense, the Jewish New Testament was a great aid in in meditation, which in turn makes me think about how I probably should venture out from the few translations I tend to favor more often.

On "Candide" by Voltaire ****

I first/last read this back around 1991, as part of a world literature class. I must have thought well enough of it to have kept the book all these years. Periodically, now, I go back and read books in my personal library, in part as an effort to weed materials out and shrink my library and also give space to newer books, for which there is no room. This one will probably be one I jettison, but not because I did not like it. I'd be keeping it, I suppose, if the work were not in the public domain, but because I can pull it from the Internet, there seems little reason to keep a hard copy, especially when the version I have is pocket sized and not terribly condusve to easy functionality.

The book is interesting enough that I am tempted to try something else of Voltaire's, even if it's unlikely another work is as good as this one. The story is a satire, and the characters are drawn in large strokes. I don't suppose we are to take anything too serious or care too much about anything that's going on.

I long though my world lit professor, who liked to spend most class periods talking about contemporary California politics, didn't really have much to offer. He probably wasn't the greatest professor, but as I reread this, I was reminded that he actually did provide some philosophical context, context I would have loved to have had on this go around. I know that Voltaire was reacting to Leibniz and some other recent thinkers of his time in his account, but I don't remember much of what those folks said or who they were.

The gist of the story, however, involves the travels of Candide, who is greatly under the influence of his teacher Pangloss, who believes that everything always is for the best. Candide is in love with a gal from a rich family, and his impertinence one day in pursuing said gal gets him kicked out of the estate. It's for the best, however, because the land is soon invaded and the gal's family is most all killed off. Luckily, though raped, the gal survives, and Candide is not free to pursue her, as soon as he can get free from his army service.

Travels take them across the ocean, where an important man falls for the same gal and takes her, as poor and young Candide can do nothing to stop him.

Here, the story moves into the territory that I remember, a utopia called Eldorado. (I remembered this tale as similar to Samuel Johnson's Rabelais but now see that this portion of the story falls in its center and is really only a very small section.) Anyway, Candide still pines for his gal, so he leaves utopia--but he's given plenty of money for his journey. This now lets him do things he could not do before, but it also sets him up for constant con games.

In the end, he meets many of the characters from the early portions of the book and finds out all the bad things that have happened to them. Is it really the best of all possible worlds? When Candide finally gets his gal she is washed up. The focus switches then from seeking the best to simply working in one's garden. The ending seems rather stoic.