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The Quicksand - Couverture souple

Wharton, Edith

 
9781419179679: The Quicksand

Synopsis

""The Quicksand"" is a novella written by Edith Wharton, an American author known for her insightful and realistic portrayals of upper-class society in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The story follows the life of a young woman named Heloise, who is trapped in a loveless marriage to a wealthy but cruel man named Arnold. Heloise longs for freedom and escape from her unhappy life, but finds herself sinking deeper and deeper into a metaphorical quicksand of despair and hopelessness. As she struggles to find a way out, she is forced to confront the harsh realities of her situation and the limitations of her own power. With its vivid descriptions of New York City's high society and its exploration of themes such as love, marriage, and personal agency, ""The Quicksand"" is a poignant and thought-provoking work of fiction.On the Fenno threshold a sudden sense of the futility of the attempt had almost driven Mrs. Quentin back to her carriage; but the door was already opening, and a parlor-maid who believed that Miss Fenno was in led the way to the depressing drawing-room. It was the kind of room in which no member of the family is likely to be found except after dinner or after death.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

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Présentation de l'éditeur

Her son, who had overtaken her on the door-step, followed her into the drawing-room, and threw himself into an armchair near the fire, while she laid off her furs and busied herself about the tea table. For a while neither spoke; but glancing at him across the kettle, his mother noticed that he sat staring at the embers with a look she had never seen on his face, though its arrogant young outline was as familiar to her as her own thoughts. The look extended itself to his negligent attitude, to the droop of his long fine hands, the dejected tilt of his head against the cushions. It was like the moral equivalent of physical fatigue: he looked, as he himself would have phrased it, dead-beat, played out. Such an air was so foreign to his usual bright indomitableness that Mrs. Quentin had the sense of an unfamiliar presence, in which she must observe herself, must raise hurried barriers against an alien approach. It was one of the drawbacks of their excessive intimacy that any break in it seemed a chasm.

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