Podcast appearances and mentions of lily bart

Immerse yourself in the opulent yet tragic world of Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth," brought to you by Vintage Classic Radio's "Sunday Night Playhouse." This captivating radio adaptation, originally presented by The Theater Guild on the Air and sponsored by US Steel, first graced the Broadway stage at the Guild Theatre on December 14, 1952. This week, journey back in time to explore the rise and fall of Lily Bart, a woman caught in the whirlwind of New York's high society at the turn of the century. As Lily navigates through social scandals and financial precarity, her pursuit of happiness leads to unforeseen consequences. This production features a stellar cast including Joan Fontaine delivering a poignant performance as Lily Bart, Sidney Greenstreet's commanding presence as Gus Trenor, and Martha Sleeper's compelling portrayal of Judy Trenor. Franchot Tone joins as Laurence Selden, adding depth and nuance to this complex tale. Also featuring Anne Revere as Bertha Dorset, each member of the cast adds emotional gravity to this classic drama. Tune in to Vintage Classic Radio this Sunday evening to experience the poignant elegance and dramatic intricacies of "The House of Mirth."

The House of Mirth tells the story of Lily Bart, a woman who is torn between her desire for luxurious living and a relationship based on mutual respect and love. She sabotages all her possible opportunities for a wealthy marriage, loses the esteem of her social circle, and dies young, poor, and alone. (From Wikipedia.)Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The House of Mirth tells the story of Lily Bart, a woman who is torn between her desire for luxurious living and a relationship based on mutual respect and love. She sabotages all her possible opportunities for a wealthy marriage, loses the esteem of her social circle, and dies young, poor, and alone. (From Wikipedia.)Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The House of Mirth tells the story of Lily Bart, a woman who is torn between her desire for luxurious living and a relationship based on mutual respect and love. She sabotages all her possible opportunities for a wealthy marriage, loses the esteem of her social circle, and dies young, poor, and alone. (From Wikipedia.)Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The House of Mirth tells the story of Lily Bart, a woman who is torn between her desire for luxurious living and a relationship based on mutual respect and love. She sabotages all her possible opportunities for a wealthy marriage, loses the esteem of her social circle, and dies young, poor, and alone. (From Wikipedia.)Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The House of Mirth tells the story of Lily Bart, a woman who is torn between her desire for luxurious living and a relationship based on mutual respect and love. She sabotages all her possible opportunities for a wealthy marriage, loses the esteem of her social circle, and dies young, poor, and alone. (From Wikipedia.)Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The House of Mirth tells the story of Lily Bart, a woman who is torn between her desire for luxurious living and a relationship based on mutual respect and love. She sabotages all her possible opportunities for a wealthy marriage, loses the esteem of her social circle, and dies young, poor, and alone. (From Wikipedia.)Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The House of Mirth tells the story of Lily Bart, a woman who is torn between her desire for luxurious living and a relationship based on mutual respect and love. She sabotages all her possible opportunities for a wealthy marriage, loses the esteem of her social circle, and dies young, poor, and alone. (From Wikipedia.)Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Tonight, we'll read the opening to “The House of Mirth,” a 1905 novel by American author Edith Wharton. Snoozecast first aired this story in 2021. It tells the story of Lily Bart, a beautiful but impoverished New York City socialite. The commercial and critical success of “The House of Mirth” solidified Wharton's reputation as a major novelist. The central theme of “The House of Mirth” is essentially the struggle between who we are and what society tells us we should be. Thus, it is considered by many to be as relevant today as it was in 1905. — read by 'N' — Sign up for Snoozecast+ to get expanded, ad-free access by going to snoozecast.com/plus! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Aujourd'hui, nous allons parler "amitié toxique" avec le roman d'Edith Wharton Chez les heureux du monde (The House of Mirth ; 1905).Notre héroïne, la charmante Lily Bart, est à la recherche d'un mariage avantageux pour ne plus dépendre de ses soi-disant amis. Lily est entourée d'une ribambelle de personnes qui prétendent l'aimer, mais comme nous allons le voir, la réalité est tout autre.Malgré tous les cadeaux somptueux et les invitations à de luxueuses croisières, Lily ne reçoit pas de vrais témoignages d'amitié de la part de ses riches amis. Au contraire, ils n'hésiteront pas à la rejeter quand cela servira leurs intérêts. Chez les Heureux du Monde nous offre de précieuses leçons sur les mirages de l'amitié et sur la nature intéressée et factice des relations dans le “grand monde”.Lily Bart m'a inspirée une méthode aussi incroyable qu'extraordinaire qui va t'aider à détecter et à te libérer des amitiés toxiques.C'est une méthode en 3 étapes que j'ai appelée LILYGO. et que je suis très heureuse de partager avec toi pour l'épisode 4 de Thérapirama.Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

It's time to discuss Lily Bart and her decline from upper-class society in the 19th Century. — Show Notes: relevanceofliterature.com/notes/ etsy.com/shop/theelaineedit patreon.com/relevanceofliterature — Music by Leo Discenza Our Show: relevanceofliterature.com Our old (and yes, still functioning) blog: didionandhawthorne.blubrry.net

The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton audiobook. The House of Mirth (1905), by Edith Wharton, is a novel about New York socialite Lily Bart attempting to secure a husband and a place in rich society. It is one of the first novels of manners in American literature, and one of the first to openly explore how American Victorian society offered little social mobility for women. 

Need help drifting off to sleep? Settle in with tonight's bedtime story - The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. Published in 1905, it follows Lily Bart, a beautiful but poor woman in New York's high city. In this episode, Lily misses her train and decides to spend some time with Selden. Certain that no one will see her, she takes the risk. Will she regret it?Our Black Friday Offer on Just Sleep Premium is almost here!Interested in more sleepy content or just want to support the show? Join Just Sleep Premium here: https://justsleeppodcast.com/supportAs a Just Sleep Premium member you will receive:Ad-free and Intro-free episodesThe entire audiobook of the Wizard of OzA collection of short fairy tales including Rapunzel and the Frog PrinceAn additional 2 episodes every monthThe chance to vote on the next story that you hearThe chance to win readings just for youThe entire back catalogue of the podcast, ad and intro-free (coming soon!)Thanks for your support!Sweet Dreams...Intro Music by the Psychedelic Squirrel Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

We're back with an author who's rapidly becoming one of my twentieth century favorites, Edith Wharton. In this early novel of hers, The House of Mirth, we follow the tragic demise of socialite Lily Bart and how her decline represents the decline of an era itself, and also shows us how precarious it is to be a woman of reputation. Somehow, Sara and I find plenty of laughs. Sara is a YA novelist whose most recent novel, Grave Things Like Love, is a contemporary romance with a ghost hunting twist, and is perfect for the Halloween season. Buy Sara's book: https://bookshop.org/books/grave-things-like-love-9780593703557/9780593703557 Follow the podcast on instagram and twitter @yfbpodcast

This week we're discussing the Edith Wharton classic novel, "The House of Mirth." A novel that is still relevant, relatable, and insightful. We discuss the memorable, tragic, and complex lead character, Lily Bart. A character who struggles to navigate the Gilded Age society of New York City. Definitely, a classic that lives up the billing. Enjoy! Contact Us: Instagram @therewillbbooks Twitter @therewillbbooks Email willbebooks@gmail.com Goodreads: Therewillbebooks ko-fi.com/therewillbbooks patreon.com/therewillbbooks

Witty socialite Lily Bart has expensive tastes. Unfortunately, she does not have the social status to match...Uitgegeven door SAGA EgmontSpreker(s): Jan Moorehouse

This week, we are looking at the work of director Terence Davies and his 2000 literary adaptation of The House of Mirth. Based on the classic Edith Wharton novel, the film casts Gillian Anderson as Lily Bart, a woman who tragically fails to navigate the cruelties of New York high society at the turn of … Continue reading "159 – The House of Mirth"

Chelsey and Sara discuss The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton*, a glittering Gilded Age classic that feels particularly relevant today. We chat about our experiences rereading one of Wharton's early novels, how we felt about the divisive character Lily Bart, and our recommendations for contemporary pairings—including one of our favorite essay collections and a coming of age novel set at a boarding school.  *This episode does include spoilers, so listen carefully for spoiler warnings if you haven't read The House of Mirth yet. For more bonus episodes, nerdy classes, and extra book talk,  join our Classics Club: patreon.com/novelpairings.com. Connect with us  on Instagram or Twitter. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter to get updates and behind-the-scenes info. Get two audiobooks for the price of one from Libro.fm. Use our Libro.fm affiliate code NOVELPAIRINGS and support independent bookstores.   Listen to our pairings: [45:58]   Books mentioned: Thank you for supporting us by shopping our affiliate links! Chelsey The Rogue of Fifth Avenue (Uptown Girls series) by Joanna Shupe (Amazon) Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self-Delusion by Jia Tolentino (Amazon) Rules of Civility by Amor Towles (Amazon) Sara The Beautiful Ones by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (Amazon) The Party Upstairs by Lee Conell (Amazon) Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld (Amazon) Also mentioned: The Gilded Age Girls Club series (Duchess by Design #1) by Maya Rodale The Gossip Girl of Her Time: On the Pleasures of Edith Wharton

Tonight, we’ll read the opening to “The House of Mirth,” a 1905 novel by American author Edith Wharton. It tells the story of Lily Bart, a beautiful but impoverished New York City socialite.The commercial and critical success of “The House of Mirth” solidified Wharton's reputation as a major novelist.The central theme of “The House of Mirth” is essentially the struggle between who we are and what society tells us we should be. Thus, it is considered by many to be as relevant today as it was in 1905.— read by 'N' —

Louise and Virginia dive deep into Edith Wharton’s 1905 House of Mirth and examine the social conventions and contradictions of the Gilded Age amongst New York high society and the fate of her beautiful flawed protagonist Lily Bart.Email hello@divinginpodcast.comInstagram @diving_in_podcastVirginia’s Instagram @virginia_readsLouise’s Instagram @louise_cooks_and_readsSong ‘Diving In’ – original music and lyrics written and performed by Laura Adeline – https://linkt.ree/llauraadelinePodcast sound production and editing by Andy Maher.Graphics by Orla Larkin - create@werkshop.com.auBooksThe House of Mirth, 1905, Edith WhartonTelevisionThe Queens Gambit, 2020, NetflixPodcastsYou and Me Both, Hilary Clinton, episode 8 December 2020, interview with Louise Penny, Stacey Abrams and Marley Dias.The Crown Official podcast, Netflix

La casa de la alegría, de Edith Wharton, es una novela de principios del siglo XX donde acompañaremos a la señorita Lily Bart en su búsqueda de marido. Puede parecer el argumento de una novela frívola y superficial, pero en modo alguno. Wharton dibuja unos personajes geniales, especialmente la protagonista, que evolucionará a lo largo de las 380 páginas de la novela de forma increíble. Una lectura muy recomendable, e imprescindible si os gusta la novela romántica. Espero os guste. Quedo atentos a vuestros comentarios. Clickar en me gusta y suscribiros no cuesta nada y ayuda a saber si os gusta el programa :) Sígueme en otras redes sociales: YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMdpWnPAwbM&;;; Twitter: https://twitter.com/Braknt_ GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/63777921-pablo74

Gillian Leigh Anderson, OBE (born August 9, 1968) is an American actress. Her credits include the roles of FBI Special Agent Dana Scully in the long-running series The X-Files, ill-fated socialite Lily Bart in Terence Davies' film The House of Mirth (2000), DSU Stella Gibson on the BBC crime drama television series The Fall, and sex therapist Jean Milburn in the Netflix comedy-drama Sex Education. Among other honors, Anderson has won a Primetime Emmy Award, a Golden Globe Award and two Screen Actors Guild Awards. She has resided in London since 2002, after earlier years divided between the United Kingdom and the United States.

Gillian Leigh Anderson, OBE (born August 9, 1968) is an American actress. Her credits include the roles of FBI Special Agent Dana Scully in the long-running series The X-Files, ill-fated socialite Lily Bart in Terence Davies' film The House of Mirth (2000), DSU Stella Gibson on the BBC crime drama television series The Fall, and sex therapist Jean Milburn in the Netflix comedy-drama Sex Education. Among other honors, Anderson has won a Primetime Emmy Award, a Golden Globe Award and two Screen Actors Guild Awards. She has resided in London since 2002, after earlier years divided between the United Kingdom and the United States.

This week on StoryWeb: Edith Wharton’s novel The House of Mirth. I want to close out my multi-week focus on the Gilded Age with a consideration of Edith Wharton’s novel The House of Mirth. Where Jacob Riis, Alfred Stieglitz, Stephen Crane, and Theodore Dreiser look at the grimier side of this famed period in New York City history, at the underbelly that the working class and poor, the immigrants, and the homeless faced as they made their way through daily life, Edith Wharton focuses her attention on the world she knew best: that of the privileged, moneyed class. It seems odd in a way to say I “love” The House of Mirth. After all, the main character, Lily Bart, endures such a difficult downward spiral amid the harsh, judgmental upper-class echelons of New York City. The young, flirtatious, life-loving, aptly named Lily doesn’t stand a chance against high Manhattan society, whether it is those with old money, such as her Aunt Peniston, or those with new money, such as the Trenors and Dorsets. Lily’s story – as hard as it is to witness – is told fully, drawn exquisitely against the backdrop of Fifth Avenue mansions. Written in 1905 – first as a serialized series in Scribner’s Magazine and then published as a book – The House of Mirth brings to life a New York that most of Wharton’s readers would not have had the privilege to know. But it is a world Edith Wharton knew intimately. Born Edith Newbold Jones, she came from the uber-rich family that gave rise to the saying “keeping up with the Joneses.” Wharton spent her whole life in that rarified, upper-crust elite. She knew firsthand its luxuries and privileges. She also saw the ways in which it was stultifying, demanding strict adherence to a rigid set of mores and ostracizing anyone who dared to go against those mores. Lily Bart is an interesting case in point. A poor relation, orphaned and without an income, Lily is forced to rely on her aunt, Mrs. Julia Peniston, one of the so-called Knickerbockers who hailed from old New York money. Thus, Lily is a kind of stepchild, a pampered beggar at the very altar of wealth. She has been raised in this world, but she doesn’t have a firm foothold in it, much less a steady stand in it. In her late twenties, the beautiful Lily is beginning to lose her bloom, and the pressure is on her to marry. But Lily can’t seem to make a match. She is still full of youth, life, energy – and she is also frivolous and flirtatious, too much for her own good according to the moneyed society in which she lives. Through a scandal involving money and sexual harassment, Lily falls precipitously from the tenuous grace she inhabits at the beginning of the novel. By novel’s end, she’s had a rough go indeed. Indeed, The House of Mirth virtually epitomizes The Gilded Age. At the novel’s opening, Lily Bart lives in that gilded world – a world dipped in a shining gilding of gold. The era gets its name from Mark Twain’s 1873 novel, The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today, in which the venerated social satirist makes clear that all that glitters is not gold. What appears to be gold – the lush luxuries of the moneyed class in Manhattan – is actually just thin gold gilding masking serious social problems. Scratch the gilding a bit, and you’ll see the rot, destruction, corruption, and despair underneath. So, too, with Lily and her downfall. Wharton scrapes the gilding off, shows the dirty reality of the world in which Lily lives. Wharton broke astonishingly new ground in The House of Mirth. Writing in the 1936 reprint of her novel, she said: When I wrote House of Mirth I held, without knowing it, two trumps in my hand. One was the fact that New York society in the nineties was a field as yet unexploited by a novelist who had grown up in that little hot-house of tradition and conventions; and the other, that as yet these traditions and conventions were unassailed, and tacitly regarded as unassailable. To learn more about The House of Mirth, check out Daily Kos’s take on it as well as “The Portrait of Miss Bart” in the New York Review of Books. You can view the illustrations from the original 1905 edition at the Edith Wharton Society website. If you want to explore Wharton in depth, you’ll want to read Hermione Lee’s biography of her. The website for Wharton’s home, The Mount, includes a biography and a consideration of her legacy, which inspired Julian Fellowes, the creator of Downton Abbey. You can take a virtual tour of Wharton’s estate, the main house, the stable, and the gardens. C-SPAN’s two-and-a-half-hour special on Edith Wharton – broadcast from The Mount – is well worth viewing. You can read The House of Mirth for free online at Project Gutenberg – but if you’re like me, you’ll want to curl up in your favorite armchair with a hard copy of this delightfully long novel. One last resource is fascinating indeed – a 2007 article in the New York Times – but it reveals the ending of the novel. So wait until you’ve read The House of Mirth before you read “Wharton Letter Reopens a Mystery.” Visit thestoryweb.com/Wharton for links to all these resources. Listen now as I read Chapter 1 of Edith Wharton’s 1905 novel, The House of Mirth.   Selden paused in surprise. In the afternoon rush of the Grand Central Station his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Bart. It was a Monday in early September, and he was returning to his work from a hurried dip into the country; but what was Miss Bart doing in town at that season? If she had appeared to be catching a train, he might have inferred that he had come on her in the act of transition between one and another of the country-houses which disputed her presence after the close of the Newport season; but her desultory air perplexed him. She stood apart from the crowd, letting it drift by her to the platform or the street, and wearing an air of irresolution which might, as he surmised, be the mask of a very definite purpose. It struck him at once that she was waiting for some one, but he hardly knew why the idea arrested him. There was nothing new about Lily Bart, yet he could never see her without a faint movement of interest: it was characteristic of her that she always roused speculation, that her simplest acts seemed the result of far-reaching intentions. An impulse of curiosity made him turn out of his direct line to the door, and stroll past her. He knew that if she did not wish to be seen she would contrive to elude him; and it amused him to think of putting her skill to the test. "Mr. Selden—what good luck!" She came forward smiling, eager almost, in her resolve to intercept him. One or two persons, in brushing past them, lingered to look; for Miss Bart was a figure to arrest even the suburban traveller rushing to his last train. Selden had never seen her more radiant. Her vivid head, relieved against the dull tints of the crowd, made her more conspicuous than in a ball-room, and under her dark hat and veil she regained the girlish smoothness, the purity of tint, that she was beginning to lose after eleven years of late hours and indefatigable dancing. Was it really eleven years, Selden found himself wondering, and had she indeed reached the nine-and-twentieth birthday with which her rivals credited her? "What luck!" she repeated. "How nice of you to come to my rescue!" He responded joyfully that to do so was his mission in life, and asked what form the rescue was to take. "Oh, almost any—even to sitting on a bench and talking to me. One sits out a cotillion—why not sit out a train? It isn't a bit hotter here than in Mrs. Van Osburgh's conservatory—and some of the women are not a bit uglier." She broke off, laughing, to explain that she had come up to town from Tuxedo, on her way to the Gus Trenors' at Bellomont, and had missed the three-fifteen train to Rhinebeck. "And there isn't another till half-past five." She consulted the little jewelled watch among her laces.     "Just two hours to wait. And I don't know what to do with myself. My maid came up this morning to do some shopping for me, and was to go on to Bellomont at one o'clock, and my aunt's house is closed, and I don't know a soul in town." She glanced plaintively about the station. "It IS hotter than Mrs. Van Osburgh's, after all. If you can spare the time, do take me somewhere for a breath of air." He declared himself entirely at her disposal: the adventure struck him as diverting. As a spectator, he had always enjoyed Lily Bart; and his course lay so far out of her orbit that it amused him to be drawn for a moment into the sudden intimacy which her proposal implied. "Shall we go over to Sherry's for a cup of tea?" She smiled assentingly, and then made a slight grimace. "So many people come up to town on a Monday—one is sure to meet a lot of bores. I'm as old as the hills, of course, and it ought not to make any difference; but if I'M old enough, you're not," she objected gaily. "I'm dying for tea—but isn't there a quieter place?" He answered her smile, which rested on him vividly. Her discretions interested him almost as much as her imprudences: he was so sure that both were part of the same carefully-elaborated plan. In judging Miss Bart, he had always made use of the "argument from design." "The resources of New York are rather meagre," he said; "but I'll find a hansom first, and then we'll invent something." He led her through the throng of returning holiday-makers, past sallow-faced girls in preposterous hats, and flat-chested women struggling with paper bundles and palm-leaf fans. Was it possible that she belonged to the same race? The dinginess, the crudity of this average section of womanhood made him feel how highly specialized she was. A rapid shower had cooled the air, and clouds still hung refreshingly over the moist street. "How delicious! Let us walk a little," she said as they emerged from the station. They turned into Madison Avenue and began to stroll northward. As she moved beside him, with her long light step, Selden was conscious of taking a luxurious pleasure in her nearness: in the modelling of her little ear, the crisp upward wave of her hair—was it ever so slightly brightened by art?—and the thick planting of her straight black lashes. Everything about her was at once vigorous and exquisite, at once strong and fine. He had a confused sense that she must have cost a great deal to make, that a great many dull and ugly people must, in some mysterious way, have been sacrificed to produce her. He was aware that the qualities distinguishing her from the herd of her sex were chiefly external: as though a fine glaze of beauty and fastidiousness had been applied to vulgar clay. Yet the analogy left him unsatisfied, for a coarse texture will not take a high finish; and was it not possible that the material was fine, but that circumstance had fashioned it into a futile shape? As he reached this point in his speculations the sun came out, and her lifted parasol cut off his enjoyment. A moment or two later she paused with a sigh. "Oh, dear, I'm so hot and thirsty—and what a hideous place New York is!" She looked despairingly up and down the dreary thoroughfare. "Other cities put on their best clothes in summer, but New York seems to sit in its shirtsleeves." Her eyes wandered down one of the side-streets. "Someone has had the humanity to plant a few trees over there. Let us go into the shade." "I am glad my street meets with your approval," said Selden as they turned the corner. "Your street? Do you live here?" She glanced with interest along the new brick and limestone house-fronts, fantastically varied in obedience to the American craving for novelty, but fresh and inviting with their awnings and flower-boxes. "Ah, yes—to be sure: THE BENEDICK. What a nice-looking building! I don't think I've ever seen it before." She looked across at the flat-house with its marble porch and pseudo-Georgian facade. "Which are your windows? Those with the awnings down?" "On the top floor—yes." "And that nice little balcony is yours? How cool it looks up there!" He paused a moment. "Come up and see," he suggested. "I can give you a cup of tea in no time—and you won't meet any bores." Her colour deepened—she still had the art of blushing at the right time—but she took the suggestion as lightly as it was made. "Why not? It's too tempting—I'll take the risk," she declared. "Oh, I'm not dangerous," he said in the same key. In truth, he had never liked her as well as at that moment. He knew she had accepted without afterthought: he could never be a factor in her calculations, and there was a surprise, a refreshment almost, in the spontaneity of her consent. On the threshold he paused a moment, feeling for his latchkey. "There's no one here; but I have a servant who is supposed to come in the mornings, and it's just possible he may have put out the tea-things and provided some cake." He ushered her into a slip of a hall hung with old prints. She noticed the letters and notes heaped on the table among his gloves and sticks; then she found herself in a small library, dark but cheerful, with its walls of books, a pleasantly faded Turkey rug, a littered desk and, as he had foretold, a tea-tray on a low table near the window. A breeze had sprung up, swaying inward the muslin curtains, and bringing a fresh scent of mignonette and petunias from the flower-box on the balcony. Lily sank with a sigh into one of the shabby leather chairs. "How delicious to have a place like this all to one's self! What a miserable thing it is to be a woman." She leaned back in a luxury of discontent. Selden was rummaging in a cupboard for the cake. "Even women," he said, "have been known to enjoy the privileges of a flat." "Oh, governesses—or widows. But not girls—not poor, miserable, marriageable girls!" "I even know a girl who lives in a flat." She sat up in surprise. "You do?" "I do," he assured her, emerging from the cupboard with the sought-for cake. "Oh, I know—you mean Gerty Farish." She smiled a little unkindly. "But I said MARRIAGEABLE—and besides, she has a horrid little place, and no maid, and such queer things to eat. Her cook does the washing and the food tastes of soap. I should hate that, you know." "You shouldn't dine with her on wash-days," said Selden, cutting the cake. They both laughed, and he knelt by the table to light the lamp under the kettle, while she measured out the tea into a little tea-pot of green glaze. As he watched her hand, polished as a bit of old ivory, with its slender pink nails, and the sapphire bracelet slipping over her wrist, he was struck with the irony of suggesting to her such a life as his cousin Gertrude Farish had chosen. She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate. She seemed to read his thought. "It was horrid of me to say that of Gerty," she said with charming compunction. "I forgot she was your cousin. But we're so different, you know: she likes being good, and I like being happy. And besides, she is free and I am not. If I were, I daresay I could manage to be happy even in her flat. It must be pure bliss to arrange the furniture just as one likes, and give all the horrors to the ash-man. If I could only do over my aunt's drawing-room I know I should be a better woman." "Is it so very bad?" he asked sympathetically. She smiled at him across the tea-pot which she was holding up to be filled. "That shows how seldom you come there. Why don't you come oftener?" "When I do come, it's not to look at Mrs. Peniston's furniture." "Nonsense," she said. "You don't come at all—and yet we got on so well when we meet." "Perhaps that's the reason," he answered promptly. "I'm afraid I haven't any cream, you know—shall you mind a slice of lemon instead?" "I shall like it better." She waited while he cut the lemon and dropped a thin disk into her cup. "But that is not the reason," she insisted. "The reason for what?" "For your never coming." She leaned forward with a shade of perplexity in her charming eyes. "I wish I knew—I wish I could make you out. Of course I know there are men who don't like me—one can tell that at a glance. And there are others who are afraid of me: they think I want to marry them." She smiled up at him frankly. "But I don't think you dislike me—and you can't possibly think I want to marry you." "No—I absolve you of that," he agreed. "Well, then—-?" He had carried his cup to the fireplace, and stood leaning against the chimney-piece and looking down on her with an air of indolent amusement. The provocation in her eyes increased his amusement—he had not supposed she would waste her powder on such small game; but perhaps she was only keeping her hand in; or perhaps a girl of her type had no conversation but of the personal kind. At any rate, she was amazingly pretty, and he had asked her to tea and must live up to his obligations. "Well, then," he said with a plunge, "perhaps THAT'S the reason." "What?" "The fact that you don't want to marry me. Perhaps I don't regard it as such a strong inducement to go and see you." He felt a slight shiver down his spine as he ventured this, but her laugh reassured him.     "Dear Mr. Selden, that wasn't worthy of you. It's stupid of you to make love to me, and it isn't like you to be stupid." She leaned back, sipping her tea with an air so enchantingly judicial that, if they had been in her aunt's drawing-room, he might almost have tried to disprove her deduction. "Don't you see," she continued, "that there are men enough to say pleasant things to me, and that what I want is a friend who won't be afraid to say disagreeable ones when I need them? Sometimes I have fancied you might be that friend—I don't know why, except that you are neither a prig nor a bounder, and that I shouldn't have to pretend with you or be on my guard against you." Her voice had dropped to a note of seriousness, and she sat gazing up at him with the troubled gravity of a child. "You don't know how much I need such a friend," she said. "My aunt is full of copy-book axioms, but they were all meant to apply to conduct in the early fifties. I always feel that to live up to them would include wearing book-muslin with gigot sleeves. And the other women—my best friends—well, they use me or abuse me; but they don't care a straw what happens to me. I've been about too long—people are getting tired of me; they are beginning to say I ought to marry." There was a moment's pause, during which Selden meditated one or two replies calculated to add a momentary zest to the situation; but he rejected them in favour of the simple question: "Well, why don't you?" She coloured and laughed. "Ah, I see you ARE a friend after all, and that is one of the disagreeable things I was asking for." "It wasn't meant to be disagreeable," he returned amicably. "Isn't marriage your vocation? Isn't it what you're all brought up for?" She sighed. "I suppose so. What else is there?" "Exactly. And so why not take the plunge and have it over?" She shrugged her shoulders. "You speak as if I ought to marry the first man who came along." "I didn't mean to imply that you are as hard put to it as that. But there must be some one with the requisite qualifications." She shook her head wearily. "I threw away one or two good chances when I first came out—I suppose every girl does; and you know I am horribly poor—and very expensive. I must have a great deal of money." Selden had turned to reach for a cigarette-box on the mantelpiece. "What's become of Dillworth?" he asked. "Oh, his mother was frightened—she was afraid I should have all the family jewels reset. And she wanted me to promise that I wouldn't do over the drawing-room." "The very thing you are marrying for!" "Exactly. So she packed him off to India." "Hard luck—but you can do better than Dillworth." He offered the box, and she took out three or four cigarettes, putting one between her lips and slipping the others into a little gold case attached to her long pearl chain. "Have I time? Just a whiff, then." She leaned forward, holding the tip of her cigarette to his. As she did so, he noted, with a purely impersonal enjoyment, how evenly the black lashes were set in her smooth white lids, and how the purplish shade beneath them melted into the pure pallour of the cheek. She began to saunter about the room, examining the bookshelves between the puffs of her cigarette-smoke. Some of the volumes had the ripe tints of good tooling and old morocco, and her eyes lingered on them caressingly, not with the appreciation of the expert, but with the pleasure in agreeable tones and textures that was one of her inmost susceptibilities. Suddenly her expression changed from desultory enjoyment to active conjecture, and she turned to Selden with a question. "You collect, don't you—you know about first editions and things?" "As much as a man may who has no money to spend. Now and then I pick up something in the rubbish heap; and I go and look on at the big sales." She had again addressed herself to the shelves, but her eyes now swept them inattentively, and he saw that she was preoccupied with a new idea. "And Americana—do you collect Americana?" Selden stared and laughed. "No, that's rather out of my line. I'm not really a collector, you see; I simply like to have good editions of the books I am fond of." She made a slight grimace. "And Americana are horribly dull, I suppose?" "I should fancy so—except to the historian. But your real collector values a thing for its rarity. I don't suppose the buyers of Americana sit up reading them all night—old Jefferson Gryce certainly didn't." She was listening with keen attention. "And yet they fetch fabulous prices, don't they? It seems so odd to want to pay a lot for an ugly badly-printed book that one is never going to read! And I suppose most of the owners of Americana are not historians either?" "No; very few of the historians can afford to buy them. They have to use those in the public libraries or in private collections. It seems to be the mere rarity that attracts the average collector." He had seated himself on an arm of the chair near which she was standing, and she continued to question him, asking which were the rarest volumes, whether the Jefferson Gryce collection was really considered the finest in the world, and what was the largest price ever fetched by a single volume. It was so pleasant to sit there looking up at her, as she lifted now one book and then another from the shelves, fluttering the pages between her fingers, while her drooping profile was outlined against the warm background of old bindings, that he talked on without pausing to wonder at her sudden interest in so unsuggestive a subject. But he could never be long with her without trying to find a reason for what she was doing, and as she replaced his first edition of La Bruyere and turned away from the bookcases, he began to ask himself what she had been driving at. Her next question was not of a nature to enlighten him. She paused before him with a smile which seemed at once designed to admit him to her familiarity, and to remind him of the restrictions it imposed. "Don't you ever mind," she asked suddenly, "not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?" He followed her glance about the room, with its worn furniture and shabby walls. "Don't I just? Do you take me for a saint on a pillar?" "And having to work—do you mind that?" "Oh, the work itself is not so bad—I'm rather fond of the law." "No; but the being tied down: the routine—don't you ever want to get away, to see new places and people?" "Horribly—especially when I see all my friends rushing to the steamer." She drew a sympathetic breath. "But do you mind enough—to marry to get out of it?" Selden broke into a laugh. "God forbid!" he declared. She rose with a sigh, tossing her cigarette into the grate. "Ah, there's the difference—a girl must, a man may if he chooses." She surveyed him critically. "Your coat's a little shabby—but who cares? It doesn't keep people from asking you to dine. If I were shabby no one would have me: a woman is asked out as much for her clothes as for herself. The clothes are the background, the frame, if you like: they don't make success, but they are a part of it. Who wants a dingy woman? We are expected to be pretty and well-dressed till we drop—and if we can't keep it up alone, we have to go into partnership." Selden glanced at her with amusement: it was impossible, even with her lovely eyes imploring him, to take a sentimental view of her case. "Ah, well, there must be plenty of capital on the look-out for such an investment. Perhaps you'll meet your fate tonight at the Trenors'." She returned his look interrogatively. "I thought you might be going there—oh, not in that capacity! But there are to be a lot of your set—Gwen Van Osburgh, the Wetheralls, Lady Cressida Raith—and the George Dorsets." She paused a moment before the last name, and shot a query through her lashes; but he remained imperturbable. "Mrs. Trenor asked me; but I can't get away till the end of the week; and those big parties bore me." "Ah, so they do me," she exclaimed. "Then why go?" "It's part of the business—you forget! And besides, if I didn't, I should be playing bezique with my aunt at Richfield Springs." "That's almost as bad as marrying Dillworth," he agreed, and they both laughed for pure pleasure in their sudden intimacy. She glanced at the clock. "Dear me! I must be off. It's after five." She paused before the mantelpiece, studying herself in the mirror while she adjusted her veil. The attitude revealed the long slope of her slender sides, which gave a kind of wild-wood grace to her outline—as though she were a captured dryad subdued to the conventions of the drawing-room; and Selden reflected that it was the same streak of sylvan freedom in her nature that lent such savour to her artificiality. He followed her across the room to the entrance-hall; but on the threshold she held out her hand with a gesture of leave-taking. "It's been delightful; and now you will have to return my visit." "But don't you want me to see you to the station?" "No; good bye here, please." She let her hand lie in his a moment, smiling up at him adorably. "Good bye, then—and good luck at Bellomont!" he said, opening the door for her. On the landing she paused to look about her. There were a thousand chances to one against her meeting anybody, but one could never tell, and she always paid for her rare indiscretions by a violent reaction of prudence. There was no one in sight, however, but a char-woman who was scrubbing the stairs. Her own stout person and its surrounding implements took up so much room that Lily, to pass her, had to gather up her skirts and brush against the wall. As she did so, the woman paused in her work and looked up curiously, resting her clenched red fists on the wet cloth she had just drawn from her pail. She had a broad sallow face, slightly pitted with small-pox, and thin straw-coloured hair through which her scalp shone unpleasantly. "I beg your pardon," said Lily, intending by her politeness to convey a criticism of the other's manner. The woman, without answering, pushed her pail aside, and continued to stare as Miss Bart swept by with a murmur of silken linings. Lily felt herself flushing under the look. What did the creature suppose? Could one never do the simplest, the most harmless thing, without subjecting one's self to some odious conjecture? Half way down the next flight, she smiled to think that a char-woman's stare should so perturb her. The poor thing was probably dazzled by such an unwonted apparition. But WERE such apparitions unwonted on Selden's stairs? Miss Bart was not familiar with the moral code of bachelors' flat-houses, and her colour rose again as it occurred to her that the woman's persistent gaze implied a groping among past associations. But she put aside the thought with a smile at her own fears, and hastened downward, wondering if she should find a cab short of Fifth Avenue. Under the Georgian porch she paused again, scanning the street for a hansom. None was in sight, but as she reached the sidewalk she ran against a small glossy-looking man with a gardenia in his coat, who raised his hat with a surprised exclamation. "Miss Bart? Well—of all people! This IS luck," he declared; and she caught a twinkle of amused curiosity between his screwed-up lids. "Oh, Mr. Rosedale—how are you?" she said, perceiving that the irrepressible annoyance on her face was reflected in the sudden intimacy of his smile. Mr. Rosedale stood scanning her with interest and approval. He was a plump rosy man of the blond Jewish type, with smart London clothes fitting him like upholstery, and small sidelong eyes which gave him the air of appraising people as if they were bric-a-brac. He glanced up interrogatively at the porch of the Benedick. "Been up to town for a little shopping, I suppose?" he said, in a tone which had the familiarity of a touch. Miss Bart shrank from it slightly, and then flung herself into precipitate explanations. "Yes—I came up to see my dress-maker. I am just on my way to catch the train to the Trenors'." "Ah—your dress-maker; just so," he said blandly. "I didn't know there were any dress-makers in the Benedick." "The Benedick?" She looked gently puzzled. "Is that the name of this building?" "Yes, that's the name: I believe it's an old word for bachelor, isn't it? I happen to own the building—that's the way I know." His smile deepened as he added with increasing assurance: "But you must let me take you to the station. The Trenors are at Bellomont, of course? You've barely time to catch the five-forty. The dress-maker kept you waiting, I suppose." Lily stiffened under the pleasantry. "Oh, thanks," she stammered; and at that moment her eye caught a hansom drifting down Madison Avenue, and she hailed it with a desperate gesture. "You're very kind; but I couldn't think of troubling you," she said, extending her hand to Mr. Rosedale; and heedless of his protestations, she sprang into the rescuing vehicle, and called out a breathless order to the driver.      

https://soundcloud.com/jillian-livingston of Aspen Real Life interviews Lily and Elana Royer about their family, their card-making business, and living with Cystic Fibrosis. To support the Lily Bart foundation or find out more, head to http://lilybart.com/ Aspen Real Life can be found at http://aspenreallife.com/

A Wife of Noble Character (Henry Holt & Company) Imagine Edith Wharton’s Lily Bart transported from the Gilded Age to present-day Houston. Her world would have less taffeta, more beer. Her search for love would take her to Texas-big parties, not velvet parlors. And the hush-hush small talk of New York’s drawing rooms would be replaced with Lone Star straight talk. This is the reimagined setting writer Yvonne Georgina Puig has created in her debut novel, A Wife of Noble Character, inspired by Wharton’s The House of Mirth. This sparkling novel shifts from Houston to Paris and back while Puig rekindles the perennial conversation on self-worth when it comes to women and marriage, as apt (and fraught) today as it was then.  Vivienne Cally, heiress to the once-mighty Cally Petroleum fortune, is wealthy only in name, and has been raised to marry a wealthy and respectable man to maintain the extravagant lifestyle she’s accustomed to. The problem is finding the right one. There’s Preston Duffin, a rising architect who lacks financial means. There’s Bucky Lawler, who is not lacking for money, but comes packaged with his good-ole-boy and deep Christian beliefs—hardly progressive. Vivienne’s best friends, Waverly and Karlie, juggle being supportive with gossiping, and they don’t understand why their friend won’t settle down. What’s a girl to do? As Vivienne strikes out to set herself on a career path while finding love, she hits bumps in the road that take her to the depths of humiliation, and she is faced with choices and soul searching about what is most important in life. Colorful and cinematic, Puig’s first novel—a true comedy of manners—is true to Houston, where she grew up like her characters. This year, she is one of three participants in the Edith Wharton Writer-in-Residence Program at the Mount, where writers spend two weeks living and working in Wharton’s home in Lenox, MA.  Praise for A Wife of Noble Character "Satire, social commentary, and Texas: just a few of the riches you'll find in A Wife of Noble Character. Inspired by Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth, this sharply drawn novel about Houston's oil-money elite strikes a beautiful balance—rollicking at times while deeply felt at others. It's a comedy of manners about what it's like to be wealthy in name only." ― ELLE.com "A fresh, funny look at what it means to be an adult in the 21st century and a juicy Texan comedy of manners, at its heart, A Wife of Noble Character is a good old fashioned love story." ― Sarah Bird, author ofAbove the East China Sea “A Wife of Noble Character is a wildly unique creation: A social novel that is simultaneously classic and utterly modern. I found it sharply insightful, lyrically written, and often laugh-out-loud funny; and could barely put it down until the last page. Puig is a talented satirist and a breathtakingly astute observer of character." ― Janelle Brown, author ofAll We Ever Wanted Was Everything Yvonne Georgina Puig's fiction and essays have appeared in Salon, Variety,Los Angeles Magazine, and The Texas Observer, among others. She holds a Masters in Professional Writing from USC. She lives in Santa Monica with her husband.

Sue Lawley's castaway this week is Gillian Anderson, best known for her role as Dana Scully in The X Files. Gillian was born in Chicago, Illinois. When she was two, she moved with her parents to London. At 11, the family moved to Grand Rapids, Michigan which she found deathly dull in comparison to the big city life of London. Gillian began acting in community theatre productions while in high school and decided to study drama at the Goodman Theater School at Chicago's DePaul University. After she finished her degree, she moved to New York City to find work. She performed in a couple of plays, but then was cast as the female lead in a new science fiction TV series. The X Files turned out to be a massive success and in September 1993, Gillian began a nine-year stint in the FOX TV series. For her role she received two Screen Actors Guild awards, an Emmy and a Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Drama Series. In 1999 Gillian wrote and directed her own episode. In 2000, Gillian played Lily Bart in the Terence Davies' feature The House of Mirth and won the British Independent Film Award for Best Actress. This year she debuts on the West End in Michael Weller's What the Night is For.[Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs]Favourite track: Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley Book: The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle Luxury: Recordings of her daughter and "her love" reading self-written stories and poetry

Sue Lawley's castaway this week is Gillian Anderson, best known for her role as Dana Scully in The X Files. Gillian was born in Chicago, Illinois. When she was two, she moved with her parents to London. At 11, the family moved to Grand Rapids, Michigan which she found deathly dull in comparison to the big city life of London. Gillian began acting in community theatre productions while in high school and decided to study drama at the Goodman Theater School at Chicago's DePaul University. After she finished her degree, she moved to New York City to find work. She performed in a couple of plays, but then was cast as the female lead in a new science fiction TV series. The X Files turned out to be a massive success and in September 1993, Gillian began a nine-year stint in the FOX TV series. For her role she received two Screen Actors Guild awards, an Emmy and a Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Drama Series. In 1999 Gillian wrote and directed her own episode. In 2000, Gillian played Lily Bart in the Terence Davies' feature The House of Mirth and won the British Independent Film Award for Best Actress. This year she debuts on the West End in Michael Weller's What the Night is For. [Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs] Favourite track: Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley Book: The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle Luxury: Recordings of her daughter and "her love" reading self-written stories and poetry