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129 pages

English

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The collaborative efforts of twelve different authors writing a chapter each, The Whole Family is a 1908 novel conceived of by writer William Dean Howells and directed by Elizabeth Jordan, the editor Harper's Bazaar at the time. Howells' wished to explore how an entire family might both affect and be affected by a marriage. The narrative became somewhat of a mirror for the at-times contentious relationships between its various authors. The chapters and their authors are: The Father by William Dean Howells The Old-Maid Aunt by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman The Grandmother by Mary Heaton Vorse The Daughter-in-Law by Mary Stewart Cutting The School-Girl by Elizabeth Jordan The Son-in-Law by John Kendrick Bangs The Married Son by Henry James The Married Daughter by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps The Mother by Edith Wyatt The School-Boy by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews Peggy by Alice Brown The Friend of the Family by Henry Van Dyke

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 mai 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775410782
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0164€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE WHOLE FAMILY
A NOVEL BY TWELVE AUTHORS
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VARIOUS

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The Whole Family A Novel By Twelve Authors First published in 1908.
ISBN 978-1-775410-78-2
© 2009 THE FLOATING PRESS.
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Authors I - The Father — By William Dean Howells II - The Old-Maid Aunt — By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman III - The Grandmother — By Mary Heaton Vorse IV - The Daughter-In-Law — By Mary Stewart Cutting V - The School-Girl — By Elizabeth Jordan VI - The Son-In-Law — By John Kendrick Bangs VII - The Married Son — By Henry James VIII - The Married Daughter — By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps IX - The Mother — By Edith Wyatt X - The School-Boy — By Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews XI - Peggy — By Alice Brown XII - The Friend of the Family — By Henry Van Dyke
Authors
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William Dean Howells Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Mary Heaton Vorse Mary Stewart Cutting Elizabeth Jordan John Kendrick Bangs Henry James Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Edith Wyatt Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews Alice Brown Henry Van Dyke
I - The Father — By William Dean Howells
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As soon as we heard the pleasant news—I suppose the news of anengagement ought always to be called pleasant—it was decided that Iought to speak first about it, and speak to the father. We had not beena great while in the neighborhood, and it would look less like a bidfor the familiar acquaintance of people living on a larger scale thanourselves, and less of an opening for our own intimacy if they turnedout to be not quite so desirable in other ways as they were in theworldly way. For the ladies of the respective families first to offerand receive congratulations would be very much more committing on bothsides; at the same time, to avoid the appearance of stiffness, some oneought to speak, and speak promptly. The news had not come to usdirectly from our neighbors, but authoritatively from a friend oftheirs, who was also a friend of ours, and we could not very well holdback. So, in the cool of the early evening, when I had quite finishedrasping my lawn with the new mower, I left it at the end of the swath,which had brought me near the fence, and said across it,
"Good-evening!"
My neighbor turned from making his man pour a pail of water on theearth round a freshly planted tree, and said, "Oh, good-evening! Howd'ye do? Glad to see you!" and offered his hand over the low coping socordially that I felt warranted in holding it a moment.
"I hope it's in order for me to say how very much my wife and I areinterested in the news we've heard about one of your daughters? May Ioffer our best wishes for her happiness?"
"Oh, thank you," my neighbor said. "You're very good indeed. Yes, it'srather exciting—for us. I guess that's all for to-night, Al," he said,in dismissal of his man, before turning to lay his arms comfortably onthe fence top. Then he laughed, before he added, to me, "And rathersurprising, too."
"Those things are always rather surprising, aren't they?" I suggested.
"Well, yes, I suppose they are. It oughtn't be so in our case, though,as we've been through it twice before: once with my son—he oughtn't tohave counted, but he did—and once with my eldest daughter. Yes, youmight say you never do quite expect it, though everybody else does.Then, in this case, she was the baby so long, that we always thought ofher as a little girl. Yes, she's kept on being the pet, I guess, and wecouldn't realize what was in the air."
I had thought, from the first sight of him, that there was somethingvery charming in my neighbor's looks. He had a large, round head, whichhad once been red, but was now a russet silvered, and was not too largefor his manly frame, swaying amply outward, but not too amply, at thegirth. He had blue, kind eyes, and a face fully freckled, and the girlhe was speaking of with a tenderness in his tones rather than hiswords, was a young feminine copy of him; only, her head was little,under its load of red hair, and her figure, which we had lately noticedflitting in and out, as with a shy consciousness of being stared at onaccount of her engagement, was as light as his was heavy on its feet.
I said, "Naturally," and he seemed glad of the chance to laugh again.
"Well, of course! And her being away at school made it all the more so.If we'd had her under our eye, here—Well, we shouldn't have had herunder our eye if she had BEEN here; or if we had, we shouldn't haveseen what was going on; at least I shouldn't; maybe her mother would.So it's just as well it happened as it did happen, I guess. Weshouldn't have been any the wiser if we'd known all about it." I joinedhim in his laugh at his paradox, and he began again. "What's that aboutbeing the unexpected that happens? I guess what happens is what oughtto have been expected. We might have known when we let her go to acoeducational college that we were taking a risk of losing her; but welost our other daughter that way, and SHE never went to ANY kind ofcollege. I guess we counted the chances before we let her go. What'sthe use? Of course we did, and I remember saying to my wife, who's moreanxious than I am about most things—women are, I guess—that if theworst came to the worst, it might not be such a bad thing. I alwaysthought it wasn't such an objectionable feature, in the coeducationalsystem, if the young people did get acquainted under it, and maybe sowell acquainted that they didn't want to part enemies in the end. Isaid to my wife that I didn't see how, if a girl was going to getmarried, she could have a better basis than knowing the fellow throughthree or four years' hard work together. When you think of the sort ofhit-or-miss affairs most marriages are that young people make after afew parties and picnics, coeducation as a preliminary to domestichappiness doesn't seem a bad notion."
"There's something in what you say," I assented.
"Of course there is," my neighbor insisted. "I couldn't help laughing,though," and he laughed, as if to show how helpless he had been, "atwhat my wife said. She said she guessed if it came to that they wouldget to know more of each other's looks than they did of their minds.She had me there, but I don't think my girl has made out so very poorlyeven as far as books are concerned."
Upon this invitation to praise her, I ventured to say, "A young lady ofMiss Talbert's looks doesn't need much help from books."
I could see that what I had said pleased him to the core, though he puton a frown of disclaimer in replying, "I don't know about her looks.She's a GOOD girl, though, and that's the main thing, I guess."
"For her father, yes, but other people don't mind her being pretty," Ipersisted. "My wife says when Miss Talbert comes out into the garden,the other flowers have no chance."
"Good for Mrs. Temple!" my neighbor shouted, joyously giving himselfaway.
I have always noticed that when you praise a girl's beauty to herfather, though he makes a point of turning it off in the direction ofher goodness, he likes so well to believe she is pretty that he cannothold out against any persistence in the admirer of her beauty. Myneighbor now said with the effect of tasting a peculiar sweetness in mywords, "I guess I shall have to tell my wife, that." Then he added,with a rush of hospitality, "Won't you come in and tell her yourself?"
"Not now, thank you. It's about our tea-time."
"Glad it isn't your DINNER-time!" he said, heartily.
"Well, yes. We don't see the sense of dining late in a place like this.The fact is, we're both village-bred, and we like the mid-day dinner.We make rather a high tea, though."
"So do we. I always want a dish of something hot. My wife thinks cakeis light, but I think meat is."
"Well, cake is the New England superstition," I observed. "And Isuppose York State, too."
"Yes, more than pie is," he agreed. "For supper, anyway. You may havepie at any or all of the three meals, but you have GOT to have cake attea, if you are anybody at all. In the place where my wife lived, awoman's social standing was measured by the number of kinds of cake shehad."
We laughed at that, too, and then there came a little interval and Isaid, "Your place is looking fine."
He turned his head and gave it a comprehensive stare. "Yes, it is," headmitted. "They tell me it's an ugly old house, and I guess if mygirls, counting my daughter-in-law, had their way, they would have thatFrench roof off, and something Georgian—that's what they call it—on,about as quick as the carpenter could do it. They want a kind ofclassic front, with pillars and a pediment; or more the Mount Vernonstyle, body yellow, with white trim. They call it Georgian afterWashington?" This was obviously a joke.
"No, I believe it was another George, or four others. But I don'twonder you want to keep your house as it is. It expresses somethingcharacteristic." I saved myself by forbearing to say it was handsome.It was, in fact, a vast, gray-green wooden edifice, with a mansard-roofcut up into many angles, tipped at the gables with rockets and finials,and with a square tower in front, ending in a sort of lookout at thetop, with a fence of iron filigree round it. The taste of 1875 couldnot go further; it must have cost a heap of money in the depreciatedpaper of the day.
I suggested something of the kind to my neighbor, and he laughed. "Iguess it cost all we had at the time. We had been saving along up, andin those days it used to be thought that the best investment you couldmake was to put your money in a house of your own. That's what we