Synopsis:

In these chapters, 24 - 33, Newland Archer seems to be heading towards a crisis. He loves Ellen and hates his life, yet he is absolutely unwilling to risk shame and expulsion from his comfortable world. May seems to be guessing something is amiss; Manson Mingott apparently has figured out that he loves Ellen -- but he continues to hope for a better solution, a way out.

New York society also seems to be heading for the worse in these chapters: Beaufort is ruined and his reputation dashed; Manson Mingott has a stroke.

Slowly Newland realises that Ellen's family wants her to return to her husband. He and Manson Mingott seem to be her only allies, intent on keeping her away from that cruel man. Newland begins to resolve to risk everything, plotting a flight to Japan with Ellen...

Craft lesson: a plot of minor characters

I will confess: these chapters seemed slower paced to me. I think this is because Newland is not really working on something in this part of the book. He is suffering, for sure. But he is not exactly pursuing a reluctant Ellen, or planning a set of lies to trick the Wellands, or investigating a mystery involving the husband. Much of his anguish comes from not doing anything, and -- on one hand -- Wharton's depiction of his descent is fantastic...

... he had built up within himself a kind of sanctuary in which [Ellen] throned among his secret thoughts and longings. Little by little it became the scene of his real life, of his only rational activities; thither he brought the books he read, the ideas and feelings which nourished him, his judgments and his visions. Outside it, in the scene of his actual life, he moved with a growing sense of unreality and insufficiency, blundering against familiar prejudices and traditional points of view as an absent-minded man goes on bumping into the furniture of his own room. Absent—that was what he was: so absent from everything most densely real and near to those about him that it sometimes startled him to find they still imagined he was there.

... but on the other hand, his outward inactivity, punctured by erratic choices to meet Ellen, makes for an awkward plot.

Wharton solves this problem, to some extent, by creating drama in the supporting characters. The husband's secretary appears; Beaufort's business crisis causes a stir; Manson Mingott grows ill; May seems to be suspicious. On the one hand, this is satisfying because it gives the social world of the novel its due. The side characters come to life in this section of the book.

And yet the pace still feels slow, because there isn't a clear through line for the plot, an internal engine. Or more precisely, there is a way in which each chapter opens with a concern that is not the reader's highest concern. We begin a chapter learning about Beaufort, or the Wellands' new worry, or that odd tutor fellow from Europe... in time, each of these mini-dramas brings us back to the Ellen question, but we have to wait / read on to reach that point, even if they are deepening and complicating that question.

Ultimately, I believe, we care about our person -- Newland -- and we want resolution on the things he cares about -- being with Ellen -- so we read about side characters and side plots with a certain distance. There is an effort to remember what these other figures were up to the last time we saw them; the novel seems to feature a large amount of "the Count sends Ellen messages" scenes, none of which strike me as very compelling... while Newland's anguish over Ellen, and Ellen's apparent love for him in return, are always gripping.

As a craft concept, then, the idea is to be careful about long stretches of your book where your side characters seem to be pushing forwards the plot, especially in the second half of the novel, where there is more than enough "story material" to make them seem very real to you and to easily suggest more sub-plot-like events for those side characters. Such passages may be easy to write -- you may find those scenes inspiring themselves to you without conscious effort -- but they can also harm the pacing of the story, as the reader still has a main allegiance -- to the main character (s) and their central dramatic questions.

In Wharton's novel, what keeps the story compelling, I think, is Archer's desperation. He sees his whole life ruined in front of him, but he does not know how to escape; he sees the woman he loves right in front of him, but he does not know how to get to a place where they can be together.

Great stuff!

(In our final newsletter for this novel, and in a Zoom session afterwards, we'll discuss the ending and whether Newland is able to find a way out of his problem.)

What do you think about this?

Share your thoughts below.

Yours,

Daniel

To chapter thirty three of TAOI

This course is only available for enrolled students only.

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