The Touchstone by Edith Wharton, 1 of 52

Welcome to my first book of 2011. Just what became of 2010 I’ll never know; over in the blink of an eye!
I am typing this review as I lay in bed on a very hot summer eve in Hindmarsh Island; the ceiling fan is up to 5. The weather is quite appropriate for this book, the overwhelming almost suffocating heat that is impossible to escape (and I’ve just been attacked by another flying beetle).
Young Glennard is a man whose emotional spectrum is all about himself. After having a relationship with an older woman, Margaret Aubyn, who appears to have been besotted with him, he goes on to publish letter correspondence between them after her death. This he does anonymously and with the soul purpose of establishing himself financially in order to marry the woman he desires and believes he loves.
Glennard disparages his deceased friends memory through the publication of the letters, but most potently he finds himself trapped within his own personal hell of deceit. This is indeed interesting, he is trapped socializing with those he dislikes and barely tolerates in order to maintain his illusion.
I enjoyed this little book, the language took a few pages to get used to, but I felt very rewarded in the end. Wharton writes with such melody in her prose that you soon find yourself swept away with it’s rhythm.

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