Comments on: The Magnificant Ambersons: George, you dumb bastard.

By: Dreadful Penny

Dreadful Penny — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 19:42:08 +0000

Hey jwrosenzweig, thanks for your comments! I love that you say that we’re “much farther along” than we are when it has taken us the better part of two years to get through the 1920s, so I hope you don’t get mired down in the dark early Pulitzer decades too. We’re hoping to pick up some steam as we enter the 1930s, which appear to be marginally (MARGINALLY!) better. Or at least feature a blockbuster movie. And a dead deer. Which enlivens any decade, really.

By: jwrosenzweig

jwrosenzweig — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 20:17:49 +0000

Oh, in case my name doesn’t link back to my blog (I thought it would, but the dashboard is still confusing to me), I’m at followingpulitzer.wordpress.com Thanks again for the depth and intelligence of your posts on the novel–they were a lot of fun to read!

By: jwrosenzweig

jwrosenzweig — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 20:02:23 +0000

I know I’m over a year late to comment, but I have to say I really agree with you. I’m starting on the same project you’re clearly much farther along with, and one of my biggest frustrations with this book is that Tarkington puts Georgie, an unpleasant arrogant child, in sole possession of what is clearly Tarkington’s attitude about the modern era. What, then, does he want us to make of the book? I find it baffling…the best I can do is agree with the idea that he thought he was writing the Great American Novel (trilogy, really, of which this is apparently book 2?) and that the characters were incidental to the story of the town. Only he didn’t write the book in such a way that I could read it that way.

The deus ex machina of the seance at the end was really irritating, and the ending leaves me with no other conclusion than that, somehow, in Tarkington’s mind it’s Eugene, of all people, who needs the moment of epiphany, and not George. At the very least, Tarkington doesn’t realize that, for us to feel any sense of gladness at that final moment, we the readers have to see George’s moment of realization that he’s been a real asshole to most of the people in his life. But instead we are left to infer it from a variety of moments, while we’re there to see every step of Eugene acknowledging the errors of his ways (when, frankly, I don’t think there was much, if anything, for him to regret).

I’m glad to see your insights into these books…if it’s not too much a nuisance, I think you’ll find me popping over here after every book to look at the conclusions you reached (you’d be very welcome at mine, if you happen to drop by!) and comment belatedly.

By: Dreadful Penny

Dreadful Penny — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 14:35:23 +0000

At this point (as I kinda say in my post today), I have to chalk it up to Tarkington’s ambitions for his novel running aground on his ability as an author. And we have Alice Adams to look forward to, to see if he gets any better…

By: Diablevert

Diablevert — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 01:43:46 +0000

I guess what gets me then, is: Is that what Tarkington thought? It’s got all these great-novel trappings, the subject matter, the scene, the era, but then you have George as a central character, and it seems clear Tarkington knows he’s a dink. So are we supposed to like him more than we do, by the end? And if we’re not, how weird is that?

(I love, by the way, how I’ve just written a 50 word comment which is basically my whole post. Sigh.)

By: Dreadful Penny

Dreadful Penny — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 00:57:56 +0000

I don’t think that George can be a tragic character, in the classical sense, because he’s never truly great. His magnanimity only applies to his own family and, to a lesser degree, Lucy; he’s all character flaw, not mostly noble or good with a single fatal flaw. I think Tarkington would have to have made a stronger case for his virtues to turn his main character into a true tragic figure. Also, I don’t see George as a victim of fate–he makes so many boneheaded decisions on his own that contribute to the decline of the Ambersons that I just can’t justify crying “O cruel world!” when the shit hits the fan.

I can possibly see making a case for the book as a tragedy, but it’s a stretch. For me, that implies an allegiance to a more European sense of aristocracy than I would guess Tarkington supported. So, d.v., I would agree with your very astute assessment of what is probably this book’s most frustrating flaw.