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My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write. Options
Daemon
Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2017 12:00:00 AM
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My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write.

Edith Wharton (1862-1937)
KSPavan
Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2017 12:55:56 AM

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Quotation of the Day

My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write.

Edith Wharton (1862-1937)
pedro
Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2017 6:59:31 AM

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Daemon wrote:
My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write.

Edith Wharton (1862-1937)


Either seek help or stop writing.



All good ideas arrive by chance- Max Ernst
raghd muhi al-deen
Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2017 9:16:16 AM

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Wharton, Edith Newbold Jones
Also found in: Dictionary, Thesaurus.
Wharton, Edith Newbold Jones, 1862–1937, American novelist, b. New York City, noted for her subtle, ironic, and superbly crafted fictional studies of New York society at the turn of the 20th cent. The daughter of a socially elect family, she was educated privately in New York and in Europe. In 1885 she married Edward Wharton, a Boston banker; after the first few years of marriage Edward Wharton became mentally ill, and the burden of caring for him fell upon his wife. Finally, in 1913, after she had settled permanently in France, Edith Wharton terminated the marriage by divorce.

Her early stories and tales were collected in The Greater Inclination (1899), Crucial Instances (1901), and The Descent of Man (1904); somewhat narrow in scope, they nevertheless show the unity of mood and the lucid, polished prose style of her more mature works. Much of her writing bears a resemblance to the fiction of Henry James, who was her close friend. However, the similarities are superficial, and in her best and most characteristic novels—The House of Mirth (1905) and The Age of Innocence (1920; Pulitzer Prize)—she asserts herself as a distinctive artist. Recreating the atmosphere of the unadventurous, ceremonious upper-class society of New York, she depicts in these and other works the cruelty of social convention, the changing fashions in morality, and the conflicts that arise between money values and moral values.

In the novella Ethan Frome (1911)—one of her best-known, most successful, and least characteristic works—Wharton evokes the tragic fate of three people against the stark background of rural New England. Among her many other novels are The Valley of Decision (1902), a historical novel of 18th-century Italy; The Custom of the Country (1913); Hudson River Bracketed (1929) and its sequel, The Gods Arrive (1932); and an unfinished work, The Buccaneers (1938). Collections of her short stories include Xingu and Other Stories (1916), Certain People (1930), and Ghosts (1937). Wharton also wrote travel books (e.g., Italian Backgrounds, 1905), books on interior design and architecture (e.g., The Decoration of Houses, 1897; Italian Villas and Their Gardens, 1904), literary criticism, and poetry. In 1915 she was awarded the Cross of the Legion of Honor by the French government for her services during World War I.
Bibliography

See her collected stories (2 vol., 2001); her autobiography, A Backward Glance (1934, repr. 1998); her letters, ed. by R. W. B. Lewis (1988); biographies by L. Auchincloss (1971), R. W. B. Lewis (1975, repr. 1985), S. Benstock (1994), E. Dwight (1994), and H. Lee (2007); studies by M. B. McDowell (1976, repr. 1991), C. G. Wolff (1977, repr. 1995), E. Ammons (1980), G. Walton (rev. ed. 1982), G. S. Rahi (1983), D. Holbrook (1991), B. A. White (1991), K. A. Fedorko (1995), C. J. Singley

with my pleasure
FX2
Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2017 10:49:32 AM
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Boo hoo!

Born: January 24, 1862
Died: August 11, 1937 (aged 75)
Bio: Edith Wharton was a Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist, short story writer, and designer. She was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1927, 1928 and 1930.
monamagda
Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2017 12:49:57 PM

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Context from:Confessions of a Novelist

APRIL 1933 ISSUE


The novel was already promised to Scribner’s Magazine, but no date had been fixed for its delivery, and between my critical dissatisfaction with the work, and the distractions of a busy and hospitable life, full of friends and travel, reading and gardening, I had let the months drift by without really tackling my subject. And then, suddenly, my friend Mr. Burlingame, then the editor of Scribner’s, came to my rescue by asking me to come to his. It was found that a novel which was to have preceded mine would not be ready in time, and I was asked to replace it. The first chapters of my tale would have to appear almost at once, and it must be completed within four or five months! I have always been a slow worker, and was then a very inexperienced one, and I was to be put to the severest test to which a novelist can be subjected: my novel was to appear in print, and be exposed to public comment, before I had worked it out to its climax. What that climax was to be I had known before I began; nor have I ever understood the mental state of the novelist who starts out without knowing where or how he will end. To me the last page is always latent in the first, but the intervening windings of the way, become clear only as I write; and now I was asked to gallop over them before I had even traced. them out! I had expected to take at least another year or eighteen months to complete my tale, instead of which I was asked to have it ready within six months, and nothing short of ‘ the hand of God’ must be suffered to interrupt my labors, since my first chapters would already be in print!

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1933/04/confessions-of-a-novelist/385504/

Bully_rus
Posted: Saturday, September 02, 2017 1:33:03 PM
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Daemon wrote:
My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write.

Edith Wharton (1862-1937)


Birth, death and some windings between… That’s it.
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