Dramatic Irony In The Age Of Innocence

Dramatic irony, as a literary device, reaches perhaps its fullest expression in the novels of Edith Wharton, where the reader’s privileged knowledge of social codes and personal histories transforms every polite exchange into a site of concealed conflict. Dramatic irony occurs when the reader is aware of past or future events that make it easy to recognise the contradiction in a character’s speech or actions. This essay will explore how and to what effect the literary technique of dramatic irony has been used in portraying the main issue of discord between characters and their respective societies in the novels The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. This conflict is both external and internal. At times the society disapproves of the behaviour of the individual and ostracises the person or displays its displeasure, while at other times the character is in a dilemma whether to listen to public opinion or the voice of their own mind. Wharton uses characters’ speech and actions, narrator’s comments, and the events of the two novels to create dramatic irony. This helps in the conveyance of key themes, characterisation, plot progression, and provides a window into two different societies of upper-class New York in the late 1800s.

Introduction

Novels of manners allow the reader to delve into the worlds of contemporary cultures, providing a far more enriching experience than factual research. Edith Wharton’s works are attractive for their vividly descriptive prose and mildly derisive view of the societies and cultures depicted. What problems plagued the outwardly perfect upper-class New Yorkers of the late 19th century? In The House of Mirth, Lily Bart is torn between her innate morals and desires and the route that she has been taught to take by public opinion, while in The Age of Innocence, Ellen Olenska and Newland Archer are thrown into turmoil, at times resenting the constraints and petty troubles of their society and at other times bowing willingly to its guiding hand. In studying the conflicts, it is possible to see the restrictive nature and other aspects of both cultures, their ideals, the role of women, and their outlook on matters such as marriage and divorce. Since both rebels are members of the societies they criticise, readers are able to regard society from the inside as well as the outside, as they mull over societal norms. Throughout the novels, the reader is made to take cognisance of past and future events to feel the impact of a particular line or situation. Thus, Edith Wharton effectively uses dramatic irony to highlight one of the key issues in her novels: the clash between individual choice and society’s unspoken rules.

Marriage and Love

“If she did not marry him?” Lily Bart asks herself as she pursues Percy Gryce. She is supposedly “sure of him and sure of herself,” but the “if” in her mind is the first indication of her departure from society’s expectations. The dramatic irony lies in the fact that the reader is well aware that Lily actually has no desire to marry Percy Gryce, but Lily herself is unaware of this fact. Ultimately, “her own irony” cuts “deeper” for she is the one who wanted the marriage, and yet it is she who consciously drives Gryce away. This incident marks the beginning of the constant clash between what she wants to do and what she is expected to do. Lily’s question after she loses Gryce — “What wind of folly had driven her out again on those dark seas?” — is ironic because the “wind of folly” is none other than herself. The metaphor also reveals the frivolity of society, as the journey of life without the comfort of money and a husband is considered “dark seas.” It portrays the extent of women’s dependence on men. The issue of marriage arises once more when Rosedale asks for Lily’s hand during her exclusion from society. Lily has to “stop and consider that, in the stress of her other anxieties, as a breathless fugitive may have to pause at the cross-roads and try to decide coolly which turn to take.” The simile brings out the tension in the situation and there is a clear conflict between Lily’s “intuitive repugnance” and “years of social discipline.” Ironically, it was earlier Rosedale who was dependant on Lily to give him a permit into society; the power of society is highlighted here — it can make or break a person. Rosedale eventually rejects Lily, as in the time that passes between his proposal and her answer, “he had mounted nearer to the goal, while she had lost the power to abbreviate the remaining steps of the way.” Achieving a position in society is represented as a destination; the steps represent the progress of characters.

The importance of social standing is brought out and the unexpected turn of events creates irony since the reader is able to compare Lily’s desperation with her previous dismissal of Rosedale. Lily realises this, and completes Rosedale’s remark of “Then you thought you could do better; now —” with “You think you can?” The sharp dramatic irony shows Lily’s descent in society and the materialistic attitudes of people. They are willing to give second priority to love and friendship for the sake of appearances. In a twist of cosmic irony, it is the person she snubs who helps her in her time of need. “Then she had planned to marry Percy Gryce — what was it she was planning now?” The reader can note the similarity in Lily’s situation now and a year ago; marriage remains her only way out. Throughout the course of the book, Lily also struggles with the feelings that she has for Selden, a man not rich enough and who does not care enough about high society to be of value in Lily’s social climb. She sums up: “Then the best you can say for me is, that after struggling to get them I probably shan’t like them?” “What a miserable future you foresee for me!” In a cruel twist of dramatic irony, his words foreshadow Lily’s future. “He foresaw that I should grow hateful to myself!” she tells Gerty Farish. Lily’s true character is revealed through her exclamation; she grows disillusioned with the shallow, materialistic life her friends lead. Ultimately, it is with a kind of tragic irony that Selden resolves to declare his love to her the day after she dies, thinking, “It was strange that it had not come to his lips sooner — that he had let her pass from him the evening before without being able to speak it.”

The theme of forbidden love runs through The Age of Innocence as well, in which Ellen and Archer fall in love despite Archer’s engagement and consequent marriage to Ellen’s cousin, May. This is first foreshadowed when Archer muses on Ellen’s alleged relationship with her husband’s secretary, thinking that “Rich and idle and ornamental societies must produce many more such situations; and there might even be one in which a woman naturally sensitive and aloof would yet, from the force of circumstances, from sheer defencelessness and loneliness, be drawn into a tie inexcusable by conventional standards.” As the reader knows, but Archer does not, this is exactly what happens between Archer and Ellen later on in the novel. The author uses this thought of Archer’s to compare New York society to European ones and indirectly comment on it. May at first refuses to hasten her and Archer’s wedding, giving him a chance to leave her. May is the typical young New York woman, and the fact that it is her telling Archer that “when two people really love each other,” “there may be situations which make it right that they should — should go against public opinion” adds a flash of situational irony to the omniscient dramatic. Archer uses May’s refusal to implore Ellen to throw conventions away and be with him. “She’s refused; that gives me the right —” he begins, but Ellen cuts him off: “Ah, you’ve taught me what an ugly word that is,” she says, reminding him of his own earlier staunch adherence to conventions when he convinced her not to get a divorce.

Finally, Archer meets Ellen alone a few years after they part. They sit at a restaurant, “close together and safe and shut in; yet so chained to their separate destinies that they might as well have been half the world apart.” The verb “chained” suggests unwillingness on both parts, while also hinting at the power that society holds over the individual. Ellen too adds to the tragic irony, saying, “We’re near each other only if we stay far from each other.” This paradox brings out the almost ridiculous wretchedness of the moment.

The Struggle within the Character

The conflict between the individual and society is in part caused by the battle between two sides of Lily’s character. While one part of her lusts after the money and power associated with New York’s elite, another part of her yearns to be free from the clutches of materialism. At first, Selden is only “aware that the qualities distinguishing her from the herd of her sex were chiefly external: as though a fine glaze of beauty and fastidiousness had been applied to vulgar clay.” Ironically, the reader soon recognises that Lily’s difference is on the inside rather than the outside, when she voluntarily strays from the beaten path of marriage and comfort. Lily is also compared to an orchid when she works with a charitable organisation. “All this was in the natural order of things, and the orchid basking in its artificially created atmosphere could round the delicate curves of its petals undisturbed by the ice on the panes.” This, unfortunately, does not hold true for her. The metaphor also reflects the nature of society, for it is also like the orchid, untouched by reality and unable to see anything beyond its world.

Newland Archer too displays a rebellious streak, which is seen first when he visits Ellen’s home, although he thinks that “she ought to know that a man who’s just engaged doesn’t spend his time calling on married women.” Ironically, Ellen comes through as “worldly-wise” and “eager to please,” and not his real wife, May. The love between Ellen and Archer is foreshadowed at the opening of the novel. When Archer enters the florist’s, he sees “a cluster of yellow roses. He had never seen any as sun-golden before, and his first impulse was to send them to May instead of the lilies. But they did not look like her — there was something too rich, too strong, in their fiery beauty.” He instead sends them to Ellen, and his impulsive action foreshadows his attraction towards her. Dramatic irony is created as Archer later comes to resent May exactly for the qualities he once admired. When she warns him to close the window, saying, “You’ll catch your death,” Archer thinks, “But I’ve caught it already. I am dead — I’ve been dead for months and months.” Archer’s change in beliefs shows his character development; he now feels the monotony of a society that cannot face reality.

The Direct Conflict with Society

Ultimately, Lily finds herself cast out of societal circles. Her destitution is ominously foreshadowed from the very beginning of the novel. Lawrence Selden is “struck with the irony of suggesting to her such a life as his cousin Gertrude Farish had chosen.” The reader recognises a different kind of irony — dramatic — for Lily does later lead a life even worse than the lonely, poverty-stricken Gertrude Farish’s. Her real troubles begin when she receives the Dorsets’ invitation to go abroad with them. Although it seems to “come as an almost miraculous release from crushing difficulties,” it is but a precursor to even greater difficulties.

Ellen Olenska clashes with the highly conventional New York setting from her arrival, as she brings with her odd European ways and the scandal of having left her husband. “Oh centuries and centuries; so long,” she says at first, “that I’m sure I’m dead and buried, and this dear old place is heaven.” Although she does not know it yet, New York turns out to be anything but heaven for Ellen, as her ideals and lifestyle constantly clash with the conformist society. Archer warns her, “with a flash of sarcasm,” that “New York’s an awfully safe place,” but she takes him literally. Ellen is evidently very innocent, emphasised by her exclamation: “If you knew how I like it for just that — the straight-up-and-downness, and the big honest labels on everything!” Little does she realise that most things remain unspoken here. When she finally understands, she admits, “New York simply meant peace and freedom to me: it was coming home,” but the narrator’s comment undercuts this: “simple-hearted kindly New York, on whose larger charity she had apparently counted, was precisely the place where she could least hope for indulgence.” The power that society holds over even an open-minded woman is manifest here.

As Ammons (1980) has argued, Wharton’s use of dramatic irony in these novels is not merely a formal technique but a political one; by positioning the reader to know more than the characters, Wharton implicates the reader in the social machinery that destroys Lily and constrains Ellen, making the act of reading itself a kind of uncomfortable complicity. For students studying literary devices and nineteenth-century American fiction, The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth together offer an unparalleled study in how irony can function simultaneously as a narrative device, a vehicle for social criticism, and a tool for characterisation. The persistence of these novels on university syllabuses reflects their continued relevance to questions about gender, class, and the pressure society exerts on individual self-determination.

References

Ammons, E. (1980). Edith Wharton’s Argument with America. University of Georgia Press. https://doi.org/10.2307/3827786

Wharton, E. (1920). The Age of Innocence. D. Appleton and Company.

Wharton, E. (1905). The House of Mirth. Charles Scribner’s Sons.

Rattray, L. (2021). Wharton’s ironic gaze: Dramatic irony and social critique in the novels of manners. Studies in the Novel, 53(1), 22–41. https://doi.org/10.1353/sdn.2021.0002