I’ve been re-reading Edith Wharton’s Summer over the past few days, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Wharton’s writing in Summer is clear and elegant, as always, but the subject matter is surprisingly frank and dark for 1917. The story takes place in a desolate small town in rural Massachusetts, where a young woman’s romance with a more worldly man plays out (to a heart-rending conclusion) against the background of a summertime Berkshires landscape.
TINSEL CREATION 