Confessions of a Summer Colonist (from Literature and Life) E-Book

William Dean Howells

• Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

William Dean Howells'Äôs "Confessions of a Summer Colonist" is an incisive exploration of the complexities and contradictions inherent in the American summer retreat experience. Written in Howells's signature conversational style, the text reflects the social and cultural dynamics that define the lives of those who flock to idyllic settings, juxtaposing the romanticism of nature with the artificiality of social constructs. Through keen observation and a touch of irony, Howells addresses issues of class, identity, and the longing for authenticity, drawing readers into the tension between reality and aspiration in the late 19th century. Howells, often regarded as the 'ÄòDean of American Letters,'Äô was a pivotal figure in the literary realism movement. His own experiences as a summer resident shaped his perspectives, as he grappled with the tensions between artistic integrity and societal expectations. Growing up in modest circumstances and later mingling with the upper class, Howells'Äôs insights into human behavior and preoccupations reflect a nuanced understanding of the American psyche, enabling him to craft a narrative that resonates with both humor and depth. "Confessions of a Summer Colonist" is highly recommended for readers interested in the intersections of class, culture, and leisure in American literature. Howells'Äôs observations invite reflections on contemporary society while offering a rich historical context, making this work a timeless mirror for anyone fascinated by the quest for belonging amidst societal frameworks.

Leseprobe

William Dean Howells

Confessions of a Summer Colonist (from Literature and Life)

Published by Good Press, 2019

[email protected]

EAN 4064066173760

Table of Contents

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PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS

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In a certain sort fragile is written all over our colony; as far as the visible body of it is concerned it is inexpressibly perishable; a fire and a high wind could sweep it all away; and one of the most American of all American things is the least fitted among them to survive from the present to the future, and impart to it the significance of what may soon be a "portion and parcel" of our extremely forgetful past.

It is also in a supremely transitional moment: one might say that last year it was not quite what it is now, and next year it may be altogether different. In fact, our summer colony is in that happy hour when the rudeness of the first summer conditions has been left far behind, and vulgar luxury has not yet cumbrously succeeded to a sort of sylvan distinction.

The type of its simple and sufficing hospitalities is the seven-o'clock supper. Every one, in hotel or in cottage, dines between one and two, and no less scrupulously sups at seven, unless it is a few extremists who sup at half-past seven. At this function, which is our chief social event, it is 'de rigueur' for the men not to dress, and they come in any sort of sack or jacket or cutaway, letting the ladies make up the pomps which they forego. From this fact may be inferred the informality of the men's day-time attire; and the same note is sounded in the whole range of the cottage life, so that once a visitor from the world outside, who had been exasperated beyond endurance by the absence of form among us (if such an effect could be from a cause so negative), burst out with the reproach, "Oh, you make a fetish of your informality!"

"Fetish" is, perhaps, rather too strong a word, but I should not mind saying that informality was the tutelary genius of the place. American men are everywhere impatient of form. It burdens and bothers them, and they like to throw it off whenever they can. We may not be so very democratic at heart as we seem, but we are impatient of ceremonies that separate us when it is our business or our pleasure to get at one another; and it is part of our splendor to ignore the ceremonies, as we do the expenses. We have all the decent grades of riches and poverty in our colony, but our informality is not more the treasure of the humble than of the great. In the nature of things it cannot last, however, and the only question is how long it will last. I think, myself, until some one imagines giving an eight-o'clock dinner; then all the informalities will go, and the whole train of evils which such a dinner connotes will rush in.

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