Sister Carrie (Barnes & Noble Classics S - Theodore Dreiser [224]
—from Seven Arts (August 1917)
SINCLAIR LEWIS
Now to me, as to many other American writers, Dreiser more than any other man, marching alone, usually unappreciated, often hated, has cleared the trail from Victorian and Howellsian timidity and gentility in American fiction to honesty and boldness and passion of life.
—from “The American Fear of Literature” (1930)
FORD MADOX FORD
And Dreiser has the gift of universality.... If you like to call it Americanness you can—in the sense that a sort of uniform spirit has overrun the Western world so that they are eating nearly as many and nearly as filthy indigestible canned products in Paris and London today as they are in Chicago.
—from Portraits From Life (1937)
MALCOLM COWLEY
Sister Carrie had the appearance of being a naturalistic novel and would be used as a model for the work of later naturalists. Yet it was, in a sense, naturalistic by default, naturalistic because Dreiser was writing about the life he knew best in the only style he had learned. There is a personal and compulsive quality in the book that is not at all naturalistic. The book is felt rather than observed from the outside, like McTeague; and it is based on dreams rather than documents. Where McTeague had been a conducted tour of the depths, Sister Carrie was a cry from the depths, as if McTeague had uttered it.
—from New Republic (June 23, 1947)
LIONEL TRILLING
Mr. Hicks knows that Dreiser is “clumsy” and “stupid” and “bewildered” and “crude in his statement of materialistic monism”; he knows that Dreiser in his personal life—which is in point because [Henry] James’s personal life is always supposed to be so much in point—was not quite emancipated from “his boyhood longing for crass material success,” showing “again and again a desire for the ostentatious luxury of the successful business man.” But Dreiser is to be accepted and forgiven because his faults are the sad, lovable, honorable faults of reality itself, or of America itself—huge, inchoate, struggling toward expression, caught between the dream of raw power and the dream of morality.
—from The Liberal Imagination (1950)
SAUL BELLOW
I often think the criticisms of Dreiser as a stylist at times betray a resistance to the feelings he causes readers to suffer. If they can say that he can’t write, they need not experience these feelings.
—from Commentary (May 1951)
ROBERT PENN WARREN
Sister Carrie was different from anything by [William Dean] Howells or [Frank] Norris. What was shocking here was not only Dreiser’s unashamed willingness to identify himself with morally undifferentiated experience or his failure to punish vice and reward virtue in his fiction, but the implication that vice and virtue might, in themselves, be mere accidents, mere irrelevances in this process of human life, and that the world was a great machine, morally indifferent. Ultimately, what shocked the world in Dreiser’s work was not so much the things that he presented as the fact that he himself was not shocked by them.
—from Homage to Theodore Dreiser (1971)
Question
1. Does Dreiser imply or describe an underlying cause for the economic disparities described in Sister Carrie— something beyond individual fear and desire, something systematic? Does Dreiser imply or advocate a cure for these economic problems? If he offers no solution, does that diminish the power of his description or his criticism?
2. If you were a good friend of Carrie’s, someone who could speak to her frankly, what advice would you give her?
3. Is Dreiser a good psychologist? Do his characters’ motives, their responses to their situations, their thoughts, seem plausible or insightful?
For Further Reading
Biographies
Dreiser, Theodore. Dawn: An Autobiography of Early Youth. 1931. Santa Rosa, CA: Black Sparrow Press, 1998.
———. Theodore Dreiser: Interviews. Edited by Frederic E. Rusch and Donald Pizer. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2004.
Eastman, Yvette Szekely. Dearest Wilding: A Memoir, with Love Letters from Theodore Dreiser. Edited by Thomas P. Riggio. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995.