The five yarns in this book, loosely linked, are very engaging and captivating - even seductive. But in the end I hated them. It's just that the first person character is a male who takes liberties in his relationships and then bristles at suggested whiffs of engagement of his partner or partners with other people - even if the implied infidelity is far from established. I find it very hard not to identify the character with Edmund Wilson himself, and then it's so hard to avoid a real repugnance for the man and the hypocrisy displayed by his character.

I have met this feeling before with Paul Theroux, even in his travel stories which are openly autobiographical. I'm sure I could never expose my thinking in the way Mr Theroux does. But, on the other hand there are extenuating circumstances with Mr Theroux and he does recognise the unfairness of his attitude, even regrets it. This doesn't happen with Edmund Wilson's character who seems not to think that his self-centred behaviour should be questioned - he's a man and he can do whatever he wants - not so those who associate with him. His entreaties to the women he seduces seem so [weak] to me - and yet they are successful in the novel - 'You know you're the only woman I've ever wanted to marry!'

And inexcuseable (for me anyway), towards the end of the novel there are pages and pages in French. I understand that multilingual people do sometimes switch between languages but I think this is appalling behaviour by the writer and the publisher when many, if not most, readers will not be able to read these passages. What are we expected to do - go out and hire a translator to translate the text for us?

The stories are engaging, even amusing, perhaps enlightening. But in the end I just didn't like them for the arrogance of the character, the vulnerability of the women he associates with (none of them stand up against him), and the self-indulgence of the author.

On Christmas Day 2001 I was in San Francisco when I began reading this literary collection of six interrelated novelettes. I learned of the book while reading 'THE SCARLET PROFESSOR--Arvin Newton'. I was anxious to read it because the book was banned in 1947 because of its heatedly debated subject matter of descriptive sex, adultery, venereal disease and a mixture of the upper and lower class values of the time. My dear friend, Gloria Weiner-Freiman-Cohen, would surprise me with the gift of this book. While I was pleasantly surprised the author, Edmund Wilson, has encouraged me to write in my journal again as he did nightly in his 'Wilson's Night Thoughts'--(everyone has NIGHT THOUGHTS, right?). I'm sure that is an interesting book as well. This book is written in a very 'twenties style' of literary competence that I truly love. It just sweeps me back to the beauty of words that are often not used in this manner today. I liked the following lines from the book:
-Right is right and wrong is wrong and you have to choose between them!
-...it's the dead...that give life its price, its importance. You feel them under the ground just lying there and never moving.
-Every work of art is a trick by which the artist manipulates appearances so as to put over the illusion that experience has some sort of harmony and order and to make us forget that it's impossible to pluck billard-balls out of the air. ...he had been spurred by no need to make money.
-The only things that were fresh in the streets were the headlines--new words--on the newsstands, and most of these announced dismal events.
-They didn't worry about their social position because the life that an artist leads is outside all the social positions. The artist makes his own position, which is about the nearest thing you can get to being above the classes.
-He really needs somebody to hold his hand!
-...it was all on the kindergarten level.

Edmund Wilson is one of the great literary and social critics of the 20th century. This collection, largely forgotten in his voluminous interpretive texts, is a group of 6 interrelated stories which explore aspects of contemporary society (published in 1946). Wilson's keen analytical mind, gives these tales a penetrating, still relevant, perspective. The venue is upscale Hecate County, New York (Hecate is the Queen of Witches), built of marriages of form, and a social life of formalities. Passion, here, swirls in a cauldron of manners. The matriarchal community is dominated by a self involved, status-seeking, unsatisfied type of woman. These are stories of intrigue, even bewitchment, bound by strictures of guilt or conformity. Pathos mingles with humour and observation to produce a sharp relief of the cultural terrain. His methods include both biting satire and tantalizing insights of intimacy. The elliptical conversations provide a platform for far ranging, not so subtle social criticism. The women are weavers of charms. They form only a spectral presence in some of the stories, but are always a catalyst in the vaguely destructive relationships. In the most ambitious story, Princess With the Golden Hair, oblique sensual imagery imbues an erotic undertone; sexuality itself is portrayed in morally ambiguous, layered contradictions. Wilson is examining conventions which bind people in structures sapped of meaning, while confessing subliminally the need for standards-- and for love. In this way the book reflects both the mid century suburban angst and the more persistent predicaments of the heart.