Which of the domestic palaces in Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth is established as the titular source of the tragic novel? Each offers clear evidence in its favor. There is the bucolic decadence of Trenor's Bellomont; the old-money severity of Mrs. Peniston's mansion on Fifth Avenue; the exhibitionism of the nouveau riche of Wellington Brys residence; the womanizing intrigues of Sabrina of Dorset; the flamboyant social fringe chez Gormer; the "torrid splendor and indolence" that fills the room of the rootless Mrs. Norma Hatch at the Emporium Hotel; and, of course, the ironic squalidness of Lawrence Selden and Gerty Farish's apartments (289). So where should we look for the place of "cheer" promised by Wharton's title? The answer, as the reader will soon discover, is nowhere and everywhere at the same time, because this house is the one whose roof looms menacingly over the entire world of the novel's characters. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay At the center of this world is Lily Bart, a beautiful but poor young woman, living on a salary from her rich Aunt Peniston and the good humor of her rich friends. Determined to create a financially happy "match", Lily has spent the last decade working her way up the high-society marriage market. He is getting older, his marriage is more and more imperative. As she herself confesses: "I am terribly poor - and very expensive. I must have a large amount of money" (24)But why must Lily have a large amount of money? Quite simply because it has been inculcated into the extravagance of the wealthy. Her tastes range from the fanciful to the opulent, and she acts primarily to gratify "her sense of beauty and her desire for the outward purpose of life" (8). Victim of a decadent and ultimately disastrous education, she feels forced and at the same time rejected by the social world in which she moves. “Well, I suppose the beginning was in my crib,” Lily laments, “in the way I was brought up and the things I was taught to take care of” (237). Wharton never allows her readers to forget that Lily's physical and moral paths follow the order of destiny and not of the novel's heroine. Even in a moment of leisure early in the novel, the author notes of the bejeweled young woman: "she was so obviously a victim of the civilization that had produced her that the links of her bracelet seemed like handcuffs chaining her to her destiny" ( 6 ). Only a little later do we hear the narrator intone about Lily's life that "it was a hateful fate – but how to escape it? What choice did she have?" (25) Indeed, what choice do we readers have if Wharton insists – so early in her novel – on demolishing fin de siècle New York society in an atmosphere of suffocating Calvinist predestination? Lily continues to go about her business with the goal of ensuring fiscal satisfaction, but we sense very quickly that none of her choices will cause happiness to suddenly rise above the dark horizon. And in perceiving this, the reader proves to be perfectly right. After a potential match with the insufferable Percy Gryce fails, Lily asks her friend Judy Trenor's husband, Gus, to help her invest the small sum she has. Through his "speculation" he quickly obtains a small fortune, only to discover that the money comes directly from Gus' pocket. By then, we shouldn't be surprised to learn, it's too late for Lily. Gus attempts to take sexual advantage of Lily's debt to him, only to be reprimanded by the enraged young woman. He vows to repay the debt and put things in orderhis affairs, partly in homage to the scruples of his friend Lawrence Selden, partly under the pressure of his moral imperative. Lily's robust moral fiber is perhaps the most frustrating quality that Mrs. Wharton has bestowed upon her. about his unfortunate heroine. Despite her frivolous and unrelenting attachments, Lily recognizes that society can be reduced to the "...great gilded cage in which they were all huddled for the crowd to gape at" (56). Stripped of its marble halls, its silk robes, its indulgent meals, this world offers little more than its claustrophobic confines; it is, as Lily thinks, a cage occupied by prisoners who, "once flown in, could never regain their freedom" (56). These doubts are strong enough to prevent her from engaging in a social marriage, but too weak to drive her out of society together. Lily also has a sympathetic if passive eye for the two oppressed groups in the novel, namely women and the poor. Her position makes her very aware that both society and marriage subordinate women to her clothes as for her," Lily asserts, "we are expected to be pretty and well-dressed until we drop - and if we can't make it alone, we must enter society" (10). , he continues, is that "a girl must, a man can if he wishes." There are many people, however, who believe that, with enough panache and courage, a girl can choose. This is the belief expressed by Lawrence Selden, who wishes Lily to grasp "that streak of sylvan freedom" which he suspects is in her nature, and by Gerty Farish, who wishes her to follow her "generous impulses" (70, 164). reviewer, who wishes Wharton had also shown the courage to have her heroine eschew the hateful social circuit for a life of thoughtful autonomy since we know from the start that Lily Bart just moves under the compulsion of a “hateful fate,” we can hardly expect him to break free. While Selden's idea of ​​success as a "republic of the spirit" tempts her, her own theory—that it is to "get the most out of life"—tyrannizes her and makes her walk straight down a path to destruction (70). She takes another big step forward on this path by accepting her friend Bertha Dorset's invitation to take a cruise in the Mediterranean. Although she intends the trip as an escape from her miserable debt to Trenor, Lily ends up serving as a distraction for George Dorset while his wife carries out her infidelities with Ned Silverton. When George confronts Bertha about her behavior, the wicked Bertha turns the entire debacle into an accusation against Lily. She is ruined in the eyes of society and, upon returning to New York, disinherited from her recently deceased aunt's estate. Penniless and proud, Lily trudges through the dregs of society rather than abandon her privileged lifestyle. At the same time, however, he clings tightly to his scruples. She refuses to use some incriminating letters to blackmail Bertha (a surefire way to be reinstated in her old social circle) and never loses sight of her intentions to repay Trenor. Lily's grace under humiliating pressure only confirms something we've suspected throughout the novel: she's far better than the society she belongs to. We see it, Selden sees it, why can't Lily see it? Or, the more perceptive reader might ask, why won't Selden work harder to make Lily understand? Even Mrs. Wharton seems to be silently begging him to step in and sweep Lily away. True, she disappointed him. "He saw himself definitively divided from her", notes Selden's author, "by the crudeness of a choice that seemed to deny the very difference he felt in;.