Reviews of Mary Tappan Wright’s The Tower (1906)

compiled by Brian Kunde

last section  | main page |  next section


Reviews from:
| A.L.A. Booklist, 5/06 | Advance, 5/3/06 | American College Novel, 1981 |
| American Monthly Review of Reviews, 6/06 | Appleton’s Magazine, 9/06 | Athenæum, 6/9/06 |
| Baltimore Sun, 9/12/06 | Book Buyer, 2/06, 4/06, 5/06, 6/06 | Book Review Digest, 8?/06 | Bookman, 6/06, 8/06 |
| Chicago Daily Tribune, 4/5/06 | Chicago Record-Herald, 6?/06 | Christian Advocate, 5/17/06 |
| Churchman, 8/18/06 | Congregationalist and Christian World, 5/12/06 | Dallas Morning News, 4/30/06 |
| Evening Mail, 6?/06 | Independent, 5/24/06 | Insurance & Commercial Magazine, 1906 | Interior, 8/16/06 |
| Life, 9/6/06 | Literarische Echo, 10/1/06 | Massachusetts Ploughman, 5/26/06 |
| Nassau Literary Magazine, 6/06 | New York Evening Sun, 5?/06 | New York Observer and Chronicle, 5/3/06 |
| New York Sun, 4/13/06, 4/14/06 | New York Times, 5/5/06 | New-York Tribune, 4/9/06, 5/26/06 | Reader, 6/06 |
| Richmond Times Dispatch, 7/14/06 | Salt Lake Tribune, 4/22/06 | Scroll of Phi Delta Theta, 12/06 |
| Smith College Monthly, 5/06 | Springfield Republican, 7/1/06 | Standard, 11/17/06 | State, 2/11/06 |
| Williams Literary Monthly, 5/06 | Washington Evening Star, 6/2/06 | World To-Day, 7/06 |

These contemporary and later reviews of Mary Tappan Wright’s The Tower are reproduced complete, with both positive and negative judgments intact, in the order of their original publication. —BPK, March 11, 2008.

As of the latest update, this page features 46 reviews. —BPK, July 17, 2015.


<— Insurance & Commercial Magazine, 1906, page 120:

The Tower.

By Mary Tappan Wright. Charles Scribner’s Sons. Cloth, 12no., $1.50.

     Again Mrs. Wright demonstrates that she is entitled to serious and thoughtful consideration. She showed it in “The Test” and in “Aliens”—that fine story of the South, and now she repeats her impressiveness in “The Tower.” In some important respects she is at her very best in this latest story. It is a study of life in an American university, and from the viewpoint of the faculty exclusively. The president, senior and junior professors and their families, with an occasional student, comprise the characters. The color is of college life, vigorous and true. As the story progresses everything gives way before the development of the love-theme, which is simple and genuine. The book abounds in fine passages of humor and description; and the people are bright and companionable without being oppressively smart.


<— The Book Buyer, February 1906, page 3:

NOTES ABOUT BOOKS AND AUTHORS

     “The Tower,” by Mary Tappan Wright, which will be published shortly, is at once a story and a picture, and the delicate art with which the two are blended endues it with the individuality characteristic of all this writer’s refined and distinguished fiction. The story is a love story as pathetic as it is outwardly placid and as profoundly realistic as it is superficially simple and romantic. The picture, of which atmosphere is the main element, is of the life of a college community taken on the faculty instead of the student side, and it has a remarkable typical as well as strikingly individual interest in the variety of its firmly drawn characters and their mutual relations in a social medium of sufficient closeness to constitute a true society.


<— The State [Columbia, S.C.], February 11, 1906, page 18:

WITH WRITERS AND BOOKS
     “The Tower,” by Mary Tappan Wright, which will be published shortly, is at once a story and a picture. The story is a love story. The picture, of which atmosphere is the main element, is of the life of a college community taken on the faculty instead of the student side.


<— The Book Buyer, April 1906, page 1:

NOTES ABOUT BOOKS AND AUTHORS

     The list of new fiction in April includes . . . “The Tower,” a novel by Mary Tappan Wright, the author of “The Test,” “Aliens,” etc., a most unusual and powerful story of life in a college town from the point of view of the faculty.


<— Chicago Daily Tribune, April 5, 1906, page 18:

AMONG THE NEW BOOKS

     Mary Tappan Wright has written many good short stories and one sympathetic novel, “The Test,” but in spite of all she has done to induce expectancy her latest novel, “THE TOWER,” is a disappointment. It is a story of college faculty life, and she takes us out of our own affairs and plunges us into the intimacies of an overrefined, gossiping, egotistical, and rather small spirited community, as if she expected us to have a clairvoyant knowledge of all that is going on there, or as if we would think the matter worth talking about if we did know. There are curious little piques, odd little jealousies, some mild despairs, a good many disarrangements of gentle lives, and a strong odor of afternoon tea to be found in the pages, but there is not impetus enough in the tale to make it leave the slightest impression on the mind. The reviewer looked forward to the perusal of it, remembering a certain wonderful short story written by this author, but found that half an hour after laying the novel aside the recollection of it was already dim. It has style and delicacy, of course—Mary Tappan Wright wrote it. But it cumbers the publisher’s list, and has the appearance of having been written too easily. Intellectual women like Mrs. Wright often take a keen enjoyment in psychological gossip, which cannot hold any save those who are personally acquainted with the persons about whom the gossip is made. In the present instance a meddlesome, hypochondriacal heroine, a manque of a hero—a sort of amateur Amiel—and a company of narrow academical men who disapprove of coeducation, make the atmosphere stifling. (Scribner’s Sons.)


<— New-York Tribune, April 9, 1906, page 5:

LITERARY NOTES

          Mary Tappan Wright has written a story of college life, as seen from the side of the faculty, in her novel "The Tower," which was published by Charles Scribner's Sons last Saturday. Professors, their wives and daughters, rather than the students, are the characters on whom the story mainly depends for its interest.


<— The Sun, New York, April 13, 1906, page 7:

BOOKS AND AUTHORS

          Mary Tappan Wright's new novel, published on Saturday, is a story of the life of a college community taken from the faculty side, which is a new point of view. The background is formed by the most humorous and delicate picture of the professors, their wives and daughters and the faculty life.


<— The Sun, New York, April 14, 1906, pages 7-8:

NEW BOOKS.

Love in a College Town.

          A much lighter vein than in her previous books is struck by Mrs. Mary Tappan Wright in "The Tower" (Charles Scribner's Sons). It is full of bright talk, without smartness, and, we fancy, will stand admirably the test of being read aloud. The author starts apparently with the idea of writing the story of a college community, and introduces us to a number of interesting people. There is an autocratic business president, who is also a Bishop; there are various professors, with their wives and families, and a student cropping up here and there. She casts all these aside, however, to follow up the love affairs of her hero and heroines.
          It is not the lovemaking of flesh and blood people that we have here, though they are real and lifelike enough, but the delicate analysis of shades of feeling and balancing of motives, of which Mr. Howells and, less intelligibly, Mr. James are fond. The hero is divided between the woman who attracts him and his allegiance to an earlier idealized inclination; the heroine doubts her own feelings because she misplaced her affections before. There is room here for much entertaining discussion and keen observation, and in this Mrs. Wright is at her best.
          In following up the love story she holds to her plot more closely than usual, and the college part falls into the background. This is somewhat of a disappointment, for the types were sketched so vigorously that we hoped to have a picture of one peculiar form of American life. The figures stand out so that they are easily recognizable, but the author has so skilfully blurred her composites of places and persons that nobody can pick any one out as a portrait. That makes us regret the more that she did not continue with the college life, the struggles and the intrigues, but turned to an episode that would have been as good in another setting. Two things stand out with cruel vividness: the merciless trafficking in men of the business president, and the hopeless struggle for sustenance of the professor with inadequate salary.
          There are many young people brought in, for some indefinite purpose, and all of these are entangled in love scrapes. It would never do to generalize from these as to the amativeness of college communities. We regret that Mrs. Wright should be obliged to describe, as have other careful observers, the lack of good manners in the younger generation. One young person, an enfant terrible, whose aim it is to fly in the face of all the proprieties, is even more remarkable for her rudeness. But she, with her companions, young and old, is cast aside as the chief love affair progresses.
          The charm of the story is in the way it is told. There is sentiment, there are many vivid descriptions of scenery and of nature, there is a great deal of quiet fun. Pervading all is the memory of a deceased literary humbug. He is merely a type of other humbugs, scientific and academic, but it is difficult in reading about him not to think of "The Simple Life." There are bits that college people will appreciate, and much more humor that a wider public will relish.


<— The Salt Lake Tribune, April 22, 1906, page 6:

LIVES WELL LIVED.

The Tower: a Novel. By Mary Tappan Wright. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York.

          This is a college story; but it differs from the usual college story, which deals mainly with the undergraduates, in that this deals with the "upper crust," the president, the married professors, and their wives and daughters. Let no one think mor a moment, however, that the narrative lack[s] anything of liveliness or sentiment on this account. On the contrary, the young people of the president's and the professors' families are fully awake to their opportunities, and there is no lack of amiable antipathy, tongue-rasping, and heartburnings. Withal, there is a keen humor, and the scholarly, candid atmosphere that should surround people of culture is always at the foundation, but is never obtruded. There is an amount of love-making that is mostly superficial, but there is one delightful love-story that charms the reader with its simple and romantic progress. This very well-conceived and skillfully-written novel discloses the professors as altogether human, once one digs beneath the crust of dignity and reserve that is appropriate to their calling, and they are blooded old boys, who know life, not only in the way it is lived, but in the way it ought to be lived; and their offspring show that they are true to the breed. It is a delightful story; keen, true, and clean.


<— Dallas Morning News, April 30, 1906, page 6:

“The Tower,” by Mary Tappan Wright.
     Charles Scribner’s Sons. New York.
     A story of the life of a college community taken from the faculty side (an absolute novelty) and told with deep understanding and the most delicate art. The president, the young instructors, the older professors and their wives and daughters, described with keenest insight and quiet humor, form a background for a love story as profoundly realistic as it is superficially simple and romantic. Mrs. Wright, daughter and wife of university educators, has drawn upon her own experience for incidents and characters, and has developed all with the atmosphere in which she was born and bred. From the opening chapter, in which is described the faculty tea on the bishop’s lawn, to the end the author has produced the perfect illusion of the quiet and ordered life of the small college community, dignified and reposeful, with the charm that is ever associated with smooth lawns and ivied towers, but on the whole a narrow and shit-in existence. The Great Dulwich of the story might be in England; it might be in America—but there could never be any doubt regarding its collegiate identity.
     “The Tower” is a story worth commending to lovers of good fiction; its well-drawn characters, high aspirations, mature views and unusual literary quality distinguish it from the mass of current fiction.


<— The New York Evening Sun, [May?, 1906], page [?]:

[The following is quoted in brief in a Charles Scribner’s Sons display advertisement, May 1906, and more fully in others in The Atlantic Monthly and The Book Buyer, June 1906; the full review has not yet been located.]

     Mrs. Mary Tappan Wright’s novel “The Tower,” rises like the structure which provided her with her title, high above the other American novels of the season. Her characters are created with deftness, and where they have an importance in her scheme are vivid and have the color of life. Her humor is subtle and pervades the story unobtrusively.
     Mrs. Wright seems to be capable of doing for American university life what Trollope did incomparably well for Anglican Church life—that is to say, she could describe it with sympathy. And it has not been done or, at least, well done. College society is something apart, with its own social standards, its own politics, its own intrigues, its own manners, customs, and prejudices. In the present story the college is but the stage setting and the love story is the thing. Still, many will find what is incidentally the most interesting part of the book.


<— A.L.A. Booklist, May, 1906, pages 150, 155:

FICTION

Wright, Mrs Mary (Tappan) The tower; [sic] a novel.
          N.Y. Scribner, 1906. 422p. †$1.50.
     Follows the fortunes and love affairs of the different families of the faculty in a small college town.

6-12137/2


<— The Book Buyer, May 1906, pages 85-87:

THE TOWER†

     “Of all kinds of horned cattle,” remarked Horace Greeley on one occasion, “deliver me from college graduates.” The college graduate has, however, come to stay. He exists in herds and droves. Greeley would be amazed at his present numerousness, and though he might prefer the bison of the plains, would be obliged to admit the latter’s displacement by the newer and more vigorous variety of what seemed to him substantially the same genus. The college graduate of present days, moreover, counts so energetically as well as numerously that the life of the community at large has come to appear largely but a late phase in the evolution of the college community. Alumni so about as alumni that civilization now wears a collegiate aspect. At fifty a man’s friends—a little later his pall-bearers—are his former college associates. The result naturally has been to direct a great deal more of general attention on college life than it has ever received before. No small literature—so to call it—has grown up about it. Few of the principal colleges are so small as not to boast their volume of College Stories, written not from the juvenile, but from a measurably adult point of view. The colleges at any rate have taken their niche in the temple of fiction.
     With all that it is a little singular that public interest of this kind has been so largely confined to the college man as such, graduate or undergraduate. The faculty has been forgotten. Yet nothing has been more distinctive in the American sociological situation of recent years than the rise into a positive social factor of—tout bonnement—the college faculty. The great increase in the number of colleges, the great increase in the faculty membership of already existing colleges, has distinctly provided a new and considerable element in the constitution of our society. A sort of independent and quite sharply defined class has come into existence, set off quite definitely from the rest of American society. It has, in fact, already become somewhat tyrannical and exclusive—even to the point in some communities, doubtless, of “giving itself airs.” Education is the great theme of the time. Everyone educates. It has been acutely if acidly remarked that most American artists, for example, are engaged not in producing art, but in teaching others to do so, who, however, are destined in their turn to teach not to practice. The great universities at all counts and the many smaller colleges provide a body of cultivated men and women interested in the things of the mind, which has its own characteristics, and is to be accounted, as we say, a social element of the times. The various college faculties and their families constitute in this way a class of the community—similar in some degree and kind to that class of the educated which Matthew Arnold was so grateful to Charles Sumner for pointing out as varying the monotony of the higher, middle, and lower classes of English society. Hitherto, nevertheless, this class has been neglected by literature and the fiction of the day has passed it by.
     Mrs. Wright, in “The Tower,” has abundantly repaired this omission. The dramatis personæ of the book are the faculty not the students of a college community. She knows her subject intimately and one does not have to read far to perceive that she is depicting it from the inside. Great Dulwich is a small town and has a small college. But its faculty constitutes a world in miniature. And this world is Mrs. Wright’s subject. It would be most misleading to say that she has exploited it after the manner of the realistic novelist in search of material to exploit. So far is this from the fact that it is to be doubted if the author herself has had any idea of treating novel material. She has simply written a story of man, nature, and human life such as might happen in such a community as she has had in mind. Nor is it to be said that the incidental portraiture of this really novel material constitutes the main strength of her story. Only that his constitutes its essential novelty. The story itself is one of a quiet power which would singularize it in any competition or if told of any community. It is singularly human—that is to say, studied at first hand instead of routine and merely “literary.” The characters are people and not lay figures with realistic or other tags and labels. Readers of Mrs. Wright’s former fiction, prepared for masterly handling of tense situations and passionate dramas, will be perhaps surprised at the quiet tone and low notes of “The Tower.” But they will find the tragedy of human existence underlying the placid narrative and appreciate the solid and significant substance that is only superficially disguised by the vaporous and poetic atmosphere of every-day life which she has known how to envelope it with. A better study of an irresolute, impressionable and American Hamlet, half in love with two women at once and wholly with neither and yielding to the stronger pressure of the apparently weaker nature, has not been made. The novel, in short, is not only remarkable for the originality and novelty of its donnée, but for its absolute insight, force and—speaking quite within bounds—really exquisite and delicate art.

     † THE TOWER. By Mary Tappan Wright. $1.50.


<— The Smith College Monthly, May, 1906, page 518:

     The Tower, by Mary Tappan Wright. (Charles Scribner’s Sons.)
     The setting for this rather superficial love story is taken from the faculty life of a college community. At the outset, a bewildering crowed of characters are hurried in, which serve to confuse father than heighten the simple romance, but the story is not without delicate touches and a certain quiet humor.

K. E. C.


<— Williams Literary Monthly, May, 1906, page 52:

Book Notice.

     The Tower: A Novel, by Mary Tappan Wright. Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York.

     A college story, but a novelty in that its interest centers in the faculty rather than in the students. “Great Dulwich” is a small college. One of its graduates comes back after a number of year’s [sic] absence to take a place on the teaching staff. His experiences afford many opportunities for keen and quietly humorous descriptions of social and intellectual life in a small college town. Old professors, young instructors, townspeople, all come upon the stage. The love story of the hero unifies the novel.


<— The Advance, May 3, 1906, page 565:

ON THE BOOK TABLE.

     —In her new book, The Tower, Mary Tappan Wright returns to the American college environment. The story is a complicated and not particularly fascinating romance, in which several pairs of young lovers come into their own, while the affairs of a man and woman who are approaching the forty line slowly take shape. There is no happy ending. The question whether the finish is logical will be debated. But at least one will perceive that Mrs. Wright has foreseen the end from the beginning and has shaped all things, even to the character of Robinson, accordingly. Robinson lives in rooms high up in the college tower. Hence the title of the story. At thirty-nine he is able to run up the stairs two at a time. This may interest some people. (New York: Scribner’s, $1.50)


<— New York Observer and Chronicle, May 3, 1906, page 570:

“The Tower: A Novel.” By Mary Tappan Wright. $1.50. Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York.
     This is a story of doings among the faculty families of an American Protestant Episcopal College in a little town. It will do nobody any harm, even if someone should be found who cared to read it all through.


<— The New York Times, May 5, 1906, page 286:

IN A COLLEGE TOWN.

THE TOWER. A Novel. By Mary Tappan Wright. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. $1.50.

If this story of faculty life in a college town had been told in two hundred pages it might have been a gem. Expanded into four hundred and twenty-two pages it grows wearisome. The author has somewhat of the insight and delicacy of touch that might have turned out a bit of Cranford-like description of the dullness and narrowness of faculty life in a small college town; but the many pages of uninteresting detail and conversation rob the book of real charm.
     Interwoven with all this is the pretty and touching love story of a woman of 38, daughter of the Bishop, President of Great Dulwich College. Sylvia Langton may appropriately be described as a piece of Dresden, dainty, exquisite, sensitive to the lightest touch, in need of tender handling. At 20 she and Robinson parted. Eighteen years later, after a varied life in other cities and abroad, he returns to fill a temporary vacancy in the college faculty, and Sylvia Langdon finds herself asking, “What has life done to him?” In youth he had gone away without speaking. Each was fearful of the future. Each held something back, and at 40 and 38 both are unmarried. A twentieth century woman, the Bishop’s daughter is young and fascinating at 38.
     The turning of Robinson back to his early love is prettily, though all too lengthily, told, and in the telling we are introduced to a multitude of college “small fry,” who, in spite of the surfeit of culture by which they are surrounded from their birth up, are much like other young men and women whose fathers have not been professors. The struggles of the college professors and their wives to keep up appearances in their little world and make a good showing on a small income; the untimely deaths from overwork; the dullness of faculty dinners, and the longing of the younger ones for the life outside and less circumscribed; the desire to climb the mountains and see what lies beyond—these human touches bring the members of this particular set very close to the rest of us. From among the sons and daughters and grandchildren of the learned professors there springs up an occasional bit of humor, although the real “life” of the community centres in the charming and natural personality of a young sprite named Annchen, who delights to get away to a matinee with a boy chum, unchaperoned, merely because “people of our kind never do such things.”
     Most of the sons and daughters of the faculty are impressed with the undesirability of Great Dulwich as a place for the spending of a lifetime, although one of them declared that he spends his Summers there because “the only place where you can get ride of Great Dulwich people in Summer is Great Dulwich itself.” And Robinson, the returned expatriate, remarks to the Bishop’s daughter, “It does seem a pity to lose one’s appreciation of the beauty of holiness through the misfortune of being too continuously good.”


<— Congregationalist and Christian World, May 12, 1906, page 690:

FICTION

     The Tower, by Mary Tappan Wright. pp. 422. Chas Scribner’s Sons. $1.50.
The environment of an Episcopal college in this country seems much like the cathedral close as depicted in English novels. But the narrow life and petty local politics need the old world glamor to make them attractive. There is also an elusiveness about the characters of this book and their relationship to one another which detracts from an otherwise well-written story.


<— The Christian Advocate, May 17, 1906, page 732 (28):

     The Tower is a well wrought piece of fiction by Mary Tappan Wright. A college town, American and of marked denominational bias, gives opportunity for discussion of college problems among the faculty, and development of the author’s convictions as to the purpose and management of life. The characters are excellently drawn, the wit attractive, and the several situations most interesting. (Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York. 12no. $1.50.)


<— The Independent, May 24, 1906, page 1223:

The Tower. By Mary Tappan Wright. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. $1.50.

     The faculty side of college life has lacked hitherto an interpreter. Mary Tappan Wright touches her new theme with a careful and loving hand; the faculty circle at Great Dulwich College consists of a masterful president and bishop, several young professors, a few pathetically overworked and underpaid old ones, with their wives, children and personal friends. They are well-bred and well-read—but are they quite alive? If we cannot feel any flesh-and-blood reality about them, is it their fault, or the author’s, or our own? Certainly they life in a rarefied atmosphere, and under glass. Like all very limited circles, they know each other too well, and indulge in delicate vivisection of the emotions of their friends in a way that would appall the stoutest-hearted of psychological novelists. Life under a social microscope is confined to externals; as in ordinary village gossip, but we protest that it must be unendurable when the examination pierces deeper, into dreams, motive and emotions, and forces the most reserved of men and women to yield up their inmost heart secrets. That strikes us as being much more of a trial than the long hours, hard work and meager salaries of which the author makes use to tragic ends. There is plenty of clever characterization in the book, and the people are sufficiently differentiated to be interesting. They invariable [sic] talk well. Miss Langdon is a charming type of the managing woman we all have known, who is so serenely sure that her friends cannot get on without her advice, and who does not hesitate to jog the elbow of Destiny, if the social jackstraws are not arranging themselves to her liking. It is a triumph of the author’s skill that her heroine’s meddlesomeness does not cost her our liking and sympathy. The book is a tragedy of a dream. The attempt to relive a part of life which has been a memory for many years is sure to be a spiritual failure—we cannot unite the thread dropped and broken eighteen years before; the fingers are clumsy, the hands tremble, and the bungled knot will show. The Tower is the story of how a brave man attempted the impossible feat of living over again a cherished dream of his youth, and it contains, also, some pretty love-stories about his friends.


<— Massachusetts Ploughman and New England Journal of Agriculture, May 26, 1906, page 2:

THE TOWER

     This new story, by Mary Tappan Wright, is another illustration of her ability as a writer of clear and wholesome fiction that has rare literary finish and natural and impressive characterization. Like her other novels it relates to university life, with which she is intimately familiar, but in this tale she confines herself more exclusively to this field than she has in her other works of fiction. The heroine is of an unusual type, and so is the hero for that matter. They are not young lovers. They meet, after years of separation, with their love undeclared, when the man returns to teach in the institution where he was graduated, and where she is the head of the household of her widowed father, the president of Dulwich College. He takes up his residence in his former quarters in the Tower. It is the oldest building in the park, and it plays an important part in the narrative, which has an air of refinement throughout, suggestive of the culture that comes from gentle breeding, far removed from the vulgar ostentation of mere rapidly acquired wealth. The book is one that will appeal to those readers who are not looking for sensational developments, though its incidents are not lacking in interest and healthful excitement. The people who figure in it are real flesh and blood creations, and the incisiveness and truthfulness of their depiction will make them linger long in the memory. (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Price, $1.50.)


<— New-York Tribune, May 26, 1906, page 5:

REALISM AND ROMANCE

Stories of College Life, Graft and Adventure.

THE TOWER. By Mary Tappan Wright. 12 mo. pp. 422. Charles Scribner’s Sons.

     Ideas, like some diseases, seem to be epidemical. Only the other day we were reviewing Herbert M. Hopkins’s novel, “The Mayor of Warwick,” in which the heroine was the daughter of a bishop who managed the affairs of a small American college, the hero being one of the professors, whose rooms were in a tower. The three leading characters in Mrs. Wright’s latest story, “The Tower,” occupy similar relations to one another and to another small American college. There, however, the similarity ceases. The people in Mrs. Wright’s novel are far less positive in their characters, far more circumscribed in their interests and more wavering in their purposes than were the people in Mr. Hopkins’s tale, or than were those of Mrs. Wright’s previous story, “The Test.” “The Tower” gives a truthful enough picture of life in a second class denominational college, with its narrowness, its jealousies, its social relaxations and its incidental romances, yet it is a little difficult to conjure up any great amount of interest in the personages of the tale or in their rather insignificant activities and inconsequential love affairs. There is a lack of vitality in the characters and of direction in their aims and efforts that baffles the sympathies of the reader. Nobody seems to know his or her mind for any appreciable space of time, with the exception of the bishop’s daughter, whose otherwise colorless character is dominated by the persistence of her girlhood love for an old-time student who returns after eighteen years as one of the instructors in the institution. Consistently enough, she reaps her reward, in which there is, nevertheless, an element of tragedy and disappointment. There is plenty of realism in the story, but it is the realism of the commonplace.


<— Chicago Record-Herald, [June?, 1906], page [?]:

[The following is quoted in brief in a Charles Scribner’s Sons display advertisement in The Bookman, June 1906, and more fully in The Book Buyer, June 1906; the full review has not yet been located.]

     “The Tower,” Mary Tappan Wright’s keen study of a college community, as seen from the faculty side, is distinguished by character, insight, and a quiet humor, unusual both in degree and quality. The people presented are many, but each is endowed with distinct personality, and the indefinable something that makes for conviction. The love story to which Great Dulwich and its residents form a background is simple in form, but deeply realistic in tenor. The whole provides a picture none the less realistic for the lack of conventional finish in regard to the simple plot and the seeming inconsequence of the general feminine regard for the quiet, non-committal Robinson. In books such mildly sardonic situations occur comparatively seldom, but they are of frequent occurrence in actual life.


<— The Evening Mail, [June?, 1906], page [?]:

[The following is quoted in The Book Buyer, June 1906; the full review has not yet been located.]

     The atmosphere of the life, its restrictions, its advantages, and disadvantages are worked into this title of human relationships in an unobtrusive but telling manner. Its material rewards, so scant always and so uncertain at the approach of old age, are drawn upon in the making of the plot; but throughout the foreground remains a study of human nature in its larger aspects. Special interest is given to the story by its clever unveiling of the changing viewpoints and ways that accompany the coming of middle age.
     A story worth recommending to lovers of good fiction is “The Tower” with its well-drawn characters, its mature views of the tragic comedy of life, and its laudable literary quality.


<— The American Monthly Review of Reviews, June 1906, page 758:

THE SEASON’S FICTION SURVEYED.

LOVE STORIES.

     Miss Frothingham’s “The Evasion” (Houghton) may be mentioned as dexterously displaying the workings of that complicated machine, “the New England conscience.” Two love stories of lighter texture than Miss Frothingham’s, both involving neat pleasantry aimed at scholastic loftiness, are offered by Beatrice Harraden and Mary Tappan Wright,—see “The Scholar’s Daughter” (Dodd, Mead) and “The Tower” (Scribner’s).


<— The Book Buyer, June 1906, pages 109-110:

MARY TAPPAN WRIGHT’S NEW NOVEL

     Mary Tappan Wright’s new novel, “The Tower,” which is so original and unusual in the point of view of the author and the way in which the subject is handled, has aroused the reviewers to a less conventional form of notice than is usually the fate of a novel.
     The Evening Sun said of it:

     Mrs. Mary Tappan Wright’s novel “The Tower,” rises like the structure which provided her with her title, high above the other American novels of the season. Her characters are created with deftness, and where they have an importance in her scheme are vivid and have the color of life. Her humor is subtle and pervades the story unobtrusively.
     Mrs. Wright seems to be capable of doing for American university life what Trollope did incomparably well for Anglican Church life—that is to say, she could describe it with sympathy. And it has not been done or, at least, well done. College society is something apart, with its own social standards, its own politics, its own intrigues, its own manners, customs, and prejudices. In the present story the college is but the stage setting and the love story is the thing. Still, many will find what is incidentally the most interesting part of the book.

     The Evening Mail said:

     The atmosphere of the life, its restrictions, its advantages, and disadvantages are worked into this title of human relationships in an unobtrusive but telling manner. Its material rewards, so scant always and so uncertain at the approach of old age, are drawn upon in the making of the plot; but throughout the foreground remains a study of human nature in its larger aspects. Special interest is given to the story by its clever unveiling of the changing viewpoints and ways that accompany the coming of middle age.
     A story worth recommending to lovers of good fiction is “The Tower” with its well-drawn characters, its mature views of the tragic comedy of life, and its laudable literary quality.

     And the Chicago Record-Herald in a long review said:
     “The Tower,” Mary Tappan Wright’s keen study of a college community, as seen from the faculty side, is distinguished by character, insight, and quiet humor, unusual both in degree and quality. The people presented are many, but each is endowed with distinct personality, and the indefinable something that makes for conviction. The love story to which Great Dulwich and its residents form a background is simple in form, but deeply realistic in tenor. The whole provides a picture none the less realistic for the lack of conventional finish in regard to the simple plot and the seeming inconsequence of the general feminine regard for the quiet, non-committal Robinson. In books such mildly sardonic situations occur comparatively seldom, but they are of frequent occurrence in actual life.


<— The Bookman, June 1906, page 463:

Charles Scribner’s Sons:

The Tower. By Mary Tappan Wright.
     Mrs. Wright’s latest book is a picture of the faculty side of college life. There are several pairs of lovers but the real romance of the book is between an instructor who, eighteen years before, had left the town, undecided as to whether or not he loved Miss Langdon, the president’s daughter. He returns in the belief that he loves her, but finds her somewhat inclined to meddle in the affairs of others. A widow, who lives at the college, is very agreeable and the hero proposes to her. Her first marriage being so unhappy, she hesitates before giving an answer. In the meantime, the hero proposes to and is accepted by Miss Langdon.


<— The Nassau Literary Magazine, June 1906, page 79:

The Towers [sic]

In The Towers, a new book by Mary Tappan Wright, an old problem again comes up. A man, bound to a girl by more or less stringent ties, falls in love with another. His constancy means the world and all to the first girl; what is he to do? Robinson, the hero, solves the problem by remaining true to his earlier, unvoiced pledge. It is not the place here to take sides on this much-vexed question, affected as it is by such varying circumstance. However, putting aside the psychological motif, the book is well written and is remarkable for the acute observations of a narrow sphere of life, and for the subtle humor in which it abounds. (The Towers, by Mary Tappan Wright, Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.)


<— The Reader, June 1906, page 94:

OUR OWN TIMES

MARY Tappan Wright is the wife of Professor John Henry Wright, of Harvard, and it is thus that she writes about the higher education for women in her latest novel, “The Tower”:
     “Men can not teach women and retain their self-respect,” she makes one of her professorial characters say. “It is morally disintegrating! Women emanate a spiritual X-ray to which no man—not even one encased in triple armor—can expose himself.      *     *     *     How can you expect to come out from those—those emotional greenhouses [the girls’ schools] fit fiber for the society of any wholesome, sane, good, common-sense woman? Those girls—those miserable moon-faced, sheep-eyed girls! They make everything personal, from the binomial theorem to the Punic wars; they weep if they can’t remember the answers, and expect you to stop and take up their individual problems when the class is dismissed; they—but the subject is one which should not be discussed! There is not a man of you here that doesn’t agree with me. The place for the ordinary school girl is a—is a nunnery! Shakespeare knew!”
     As Mrs. Wright put the words in the mouth of her hero, of whom she manifestly approves, and as she caused no other character to gainsay him, it is safe to suppose that she expresses through this medium the opinion she really holds—which is also, perhaps, the opinion that represents a consensus of conviction on the part of some of the faculty of the leading colleges. It is difficult to tell precisely what she means to imply by saying that the subject is one which can not be discussed. Every reader will be able to call to mind a goodly company of college women who can be discussed in all their actions, moods, purposes and meanings to the credit of the critic and the glory of the protagonist. It may be suggested—quite frankly in the way of argumentative retaliation—that college women must be curiosities indeed if they can excel in pettiness, stupid secretiveness and smallness of spirit the non-college women who figure in “The Tower,” and who, presumably, represent true femininity and charm to the author. For making a mountain out of a molehill, exhibiting morbid egotism, and interfering with the sane and natural course of things, these women are unrivaled. If they had taken a little more interest in the Punic wars, and a degree less in their neighbors’ affairs, the community—let us hope it was not meant to typify Cambridge—would have been a better and happier place than it was, as represented in Mrs. Wright’s inept novel.


<— Washington Evening Star, Washington, D.C., June 2, 1906, page 14:

BOOKS
&
WRITERS

The Tower: a Novel. By Mary Tappan Wright, author of "The Test," &c. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. Washington: Wm. Ballantyne & Sons.

          Most stories of college life are told from the view point of or at least relate to the student body. The faculty is supposed to have passed beyond the range of possible romance. It is utilized chiefly as a background, a Greek chorus, or an element of complication. Mrs. Wright has chosen a novel view point from which to regard the educational field as the producer of fiction. The daughter of the president of a college and the wife of a university professor, she is ideally equi9pped to adopt this position. Her stories are all more or less colored by the faculty outlook. In "The Tower" she frankly relegates the student body to the rear. It appears only occasionally to meet subordinate purposes. Her chief male figure is that of a middle aged instructor in literature, a graduate of the college which has summoned him to take up the work of an invalid. In his student days he has loved and has been loved by the daughter of the president of the college, a bishop. One his return, after years of absence, the old romance awaits him. But new elements develop. The widow of a man with whom he has been somewhat closely associated in the past touches his life. There is a bitter struggle of conscience. Circumstances suddenly turn all the switches in a contrary direction and the climax comes swiftly and unexpectedly. The story is distinctly of the love affairs of the middle aged. But a somewhat unnecessary number of young lovers is in evidence, confusing the reader for several chapters. A charming study of scholarly and parental devotion to duty occurs in the case of Prof. Maxwell. This man's character stands out as one of the strongest factors of the work.


<— The Athenæum, June 9, 1906, page 695:

NEW NOVELS.

The Tower. By Mary Tappan Wright.
     (New York, Scribner’s Sons.)
THE author has evidently taken great pains with this book. Her characters are numerous and fairly well individualized. She writes good English, and seldom uses an Americanism. Indeed, the whole tone is decidedly English, and were it not for the occasional mention of New York, or some other well-known American town, the reader might mistake the book for an English novel, with its scene laid in an English provincial town. There is obvious merit in ‘The Tower,’ but its plot is extremely slight, and lacks movement and interest. The author takes nearly a hundred thousand words to tell us that a college professor loved one woman and, without any very evident reason, married another. That is virtually the whole story, and it fails to hold the interest of the reader, in spite of Mrs. Wright’s excellent workmanship.


<— The World To-Day, July 1906, page 766:

BOOKS AND READING

Fiction

     A college community is not supposed to be troubled with dramatic moments, but it has its own problems none the less. Mary Tappan Wright has told of some of these in “The Tower” (Scribner’s, $1.50). If the characters were only a little more real and the motives for their action a little more obvious, the book would be something to be reckoned with. As it is the story moves along in the land of academic shades. In fact the only live soul in it is Annchen, a young woman who is not supposed to be a part of the college community. Perhaps that is why she really has flesh and blood.


<— Springfield Sunday Republican, July 1, 1906, page 23:

A NOVEL OF COLLEGE LIFE.
——

     There is a curious sameness in stories of college life, or rather there are two quite distinct types, each marked by a monotony of its own. A few years ago it was the undergraduate story that was being exploited; just now we are hearing from the faculty. The curious family resemblance spoken of—much closer than mere identity of the subject would serve to bring about—is found in three quite recent novels, “The Tower,” by Mary Tappan Wright (Scribner), “The Mayer of Warwick,” by Herbert M. Hopkins, and “In the House of Her Friends,” an anonymous book published by Robert Grier Cooke, incorporated. While each has its own story, almost any comment made upon any of them would fit them all. Their resemblance is to be taken as evidence of their common accuracy; each writer bears independent witness to the character of life in a small college town. That in each case the daughter of the head of the college is the heroine is a matter of detail, probably not a coincidence, but the result of a common cause. In each case this head—president, bishop, dean, as the case may be,—is the central figure in the book and a well-drawn study of the “grand old man” of college life, contrasted with more modern types, smaller men, with more highly specialized training and contempt for the old ways. All the books are alike, too, in an unfortunate lack of concentration of interest, due to overmultiplication of characters, the absence of a true hero or heroine, the mingling of the love affairs of different generations in a way that spoils the perspective.

[The remainder of the review, omitted, concerns “In the House of Her Friends” only, of which it concludes “this is the least successful of the three.”]


<— The Times Dispatch, Richmond, VA, July 14, 1906, page 6:

BOOK REVIEW AND MAGAZINE NOTES

THE TOWER.--By Mary Tappan Wright. Published by Scribner's Sons, of New York.

          The man who lives in "The Tower" is the central figure in this rather unusual, yet really fascinating novel. The story deals with the life created around an American college; yet it is not the common type of college story, for the reason that the students themselves have very little to do in the plot, and the reader is wholly occupied with the thoughts, deeds and lives of the little community of professors and their children.
          Robinson himself is a professor in the college at Great Dulwich, and he is surrounded by a rather bewildering number of people, each one of whom has his own problem to work out.
          The conservative, self-satisfied, yet really fine, Bishop, president of the college; the grand old Professor Maxwell, who, as one of the students expressed it, "had a way of strengthening the foundations"; the brave-hearted Bennie, and his sweetheart Margaret; the vivid, reckless Annchen; the splendidly manly Tom Bent; Sylvia and Harry Cogswell, Mrs. Gates, the Fanshawes, D'Orsay--all fit into the story and touch Robinson's life at various points of contact, so that more than one life-problem is settled during the course of the story.
          Yet, through it all, it is Robinson's problem that holds the attention most forceibly [sic]. He has come back to the college for the first time since his graduation, and after an absence of eighteen years. He must prove the stability of his youthful dream; and his soul is torn with the contending forces of this memory and a newer personality which appears on the scene.
          Sylvia Langdon and Paula Denbeigh, the one representing his earlier love, the other his maturer affection, are of decidedly different types. Sylvia is a woman of grace and charm, exquisitely fragile, yet exercising over her most intimate circle of friends a queenly command. Because she feels that her life is empty of the love she should have enjoyed, she clings with a pitiful tenacity to the love and adoration accorded her by the young members of her "court," and, when these gradually fall away in their allegiance, she resents her loss of influence with a kind of self-pitying terror.
          Paula, on the other hand, is youthful and vivacious at all times except when the memory of the dead Denbeigh falls over her like a brooding shadow. She shows her most admirable trait in her staunch loyalty to her dead husband, whom in her soul she hated and despised, yet whose last wishes she strives to carry out with scrupulous exactness. How Robinson at last makes his choice, or rather how circumstances decide for him, is beautifully told, and yet, after careful reading, one does not feel that his problem was definitely and finally solved, although the best ending is reached.


<— Book Review Digest, August? 1906 [from its annual cumulation, volume II 1906, page 387]:

Wright, Mary Tappan (Mrs. John Henry Wright). Tower: a novel +$1.50. Scribner.
     In her story of the faculty side of college life, Mrs. Wright presents a “masterful president and bishop, several young professors, a few pathetically overworked and underpaid old ones with their wives, children and personal friends.” (Ind.) Eighteen years separate Silvia Langdon the bishop’s daughter and her lover who parted without pledging of vows. Upon his return to the faculty temporarily he finds her “young and fascinating” at thirty-eight. There is a pathetic side to the renewed love-making which however, ends, triumphantly.

[The entry concludes with quotes from The Athenæum, The Bookman, The Independent, The New York Times and The World To-Day, each provided in full here separately.]


<— The Bookman, August 1906, pages 628-630:

MARY TAPPAN WRIGHT’S “THE TOWER.”*

     *The Tower. By Mary Tappan Wright. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

     It is a common observation regarding novels which deal with ordinary, commonplace characters, that dulness is a final and convincing proof of a successful realism. Such a test undoubtedly has been and will be applied to The Tower, to the triumphant vindication of Mrs. Wright’s “method” on the part of her friends, to the damning of all realistic novels on the part of fervid Corellians and their ilk. Those who find in the fact their strongest reason for admiring the book may point out that the author has courted the mild impeachment. She has deliberately chosen to treat in fiction the every-day doings of a little circle of professors and professors’ wives and children and hangers-on in a small college; and what, to the uninitiated, is less alluring and entertaining than the academic life? Even those who have been of it sometimes fail to discern the romantic tinge that is supposed to overlie our college days. I have known collegians, newly escaped into a more bustling and variegated world, to look back on their student life as a horrible period of sleepy inaction, and condescendingly pity those mournful, half-fossilised remnants of humanity, their professors and instructors. Even the old graduate, whose eyes dim at the mention of Alma Mater, is prone to look back on his undergraduate self through spectacles coated with rose-coloured film. Actual reversion to the life he pictures to himself so lovingly would bore him to death.
     With a public, then, so largely composed of non-collegians who never could understand, and recreant collegians who don’t wish to understand, it may seem that Mrs. Wright is heavily handicapped in her search for an audience. Nevertheless, other novelists have overcome bigger disadvantages—for the truth is that the particular kind of life that a novel deals with has little to do with making it readable or unreadable. That quality depends more on the author than the subject; it is the dull writer that makes the dull book. The legitimate demand of every reader that a novel shall first of all be readable places on the author no restrictions as to material or method. Most of us who read novels are, so fr as mere subject matter is concerned, omnivorous. Booth Tarkington’s studies of a back-country Indiana town and Mrs. Wharton’s stories of the Smarter New York find very much the same readers; the admirers of Henry James are—or were—the admirers of Joseph Conrad. There’s more in the author than we sometimes stop to realise.
     Actually, then, the test of realism which I have mentioned as having been applied to The Tower is fallacious. It is nearer the truth to say that if the book is wholly dull, it is wholly bad. Fortunately such is not the case, for its virtues are no less certain, if somewhat less conspicuous, than its faults. Mrs. Wright is to be commended for having chosen to display her characters in an environment, too, with which she is thoroughly familiar. There is scarcely a page in the book that does not bear evidence of first-hand observation and a determination to remain within the boundaries of truth. The rambling narrative that occupies three-quarters of The Tower is made up of the kind of incidents, mostly trivial and inconsequential, that might have happened in “our” college—though it must be confessed that in “our” college football was not played in the spring, nor did ladies address an instructor by his unadorned final name. These, however, are trifling differences. The characters in Mrs. Wright’s story are replicas of those we knew in “our” college: the pompous, domineering, kind-hearted president, devoted Professor Maxwell, and disappointed Miss Langdon—who might, I fear, have incurred the opprobrious designation of “the widow” in “our” college. Everyone who has “been through” college, if only by entering one door and passing out of another, will recognise these people as the right kind of figure in a college story. Even those benighted ones who have never so much as attended a commencement baseball game will recognise their appropriateness.
     Yet a suspicion that something must be wrong is aroused by the fact that so large a portion of the book, so many of Mrs. Wright’s admirably polished sentences, so much of her really clever dialogue, can be read with indifference. the final cumulative effect of her care for details, her nice regard for plausibilities, ought to be an overwhelming effect of essential truthfulness. The final effect is actually nothing of the sort; it is mere indifference, or at best only the mildest curiosity to know how the love-story turns out. Not once, up to the last few chapters, do these figures take hold of your interest; not once do you think of them, in spite of the author’s anxious pains to set them fully before you, as real men and women. There is no creation of character here, but only elaborate, detailed description. You do not live with these people and know them; you only know about them. The description is full and accurate, but why should that interest you when you have never seen the people and have no intimate concern with their lives? A page or two of the book, taken at random, may seem very admirable writing, as it indeed is. In cross-section it will stand microscopic examination; a longitudinal section is required to lay bare structural defects. Read the dialogue straight through and you will find all the characters using the same polished, elegant speech, all in turn saying clever things and expressing the same elevated sentiments. They are all kept well in hand by the author; not one of them ever kicks over the traces and lashes out with an unexpected word.
     Until the last six chapters. Then, in the most natural way in the world, Mrs. Wright suddenly precipitates her principal characters into a complication that forces them, so to speak, to declare themselves. They become individuals, each with his own view of life, his own way of attacking its problems. There is constructive skill in these final pages; not elsewhere in the book does the artist in the author appear to such advantage. Whether the outcome is wholly logical—logical, that is, in the novelist’s sense—is difficult to determine; the material for a judgment is slender, with nearly nine-tenths of the book wasted. The decision is, however, of small concern; what is important is that in these final pages Mrs. Wright has cleared herself of the charge of being incapable of creating real human beings.

Edward Clark Marsh.


<— The Interior, August 16, 1906, page 1074:

NEW BOOKS

     THE TOWER, by Mary Tappan Wright, reveals some of the jealousies as well as the brighter features of life within the faculty “family” of a college. Robinson, an instructor who shows remarkably good sense sometimes and enormous stupidity at others, is to be labeled as the hero and carries off the honors fairly well, as he succeeds in sacrificing himself in the end because in his uncertainty he lets himself be led by cir[c]umstance until he discovers—too late, of course—what he really would like to do. There is a secondary love story of scarcely less interest than the main action, and on the whole the author has contrived to make a very readable book out of far from sensational material. [Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York. $1.50


<— The Churchman, August 18, 1906, page 250:

Literary Note.

     We have had several stories of college life recently, and one of the best of them is Mary Tappan Wright’s “The Tower.” (Scribner, $1.50.) So interesting are the glimpses which Mrs. Wright gives us into the microcosmic world of the college precincts, so lifelike are her characterizations of the secondary actors in the little drama, that one rather resents the intrusion from time to time of the affairs of the hero and heroine, who are engaged in a painful and unprofitable endeavor to revive the emotions and restore the illusions of youth, twenty years too late. “The Tower,” despite this handicap, is well worth reading, and the Misses Langden and Robinson, apart from their sentimental roles, admirably studied.


<— Appleton's Magazine, September 1906, page 382:

BOOKS OF THE MONTH

     DULL and gray are the precise words to describe that tide of life in a college town that is the faculty’s—at all events, as set forth in Mrs. Mary Tappan Wright’s novel THE TOWER (Scribner). Mrs. Wright is a resident of Cambridge, Mass., and her husband, Professor Wright, is of the Harvard faculty. But in the novel the characters are set in what is called a fresh-water college, Great Dulwich. The bishop of the diocese is also president of the college, and his daughter, Sylvia Langdon, now late in the thirties, is a sort of perennial college widow. Classes have come to and classes have gone from Great Dulwich, trees have blossomed, drooped, and withered, but Sylvia Langdon is still languidly in love with Robinson, who was graduated eighteen years ago, and is but now come back after eighteen years spent mostly drifting about Europe. Does Sylvia remember him? the bishop asks. Remember him! “If I see him again, I shall ask him to come in to tea this afternoon. We can have it in the garden; the day is most unseasonably warm,” observes the bishop.
     “I hardly know whether I shall be able to receive,” replies the languid Sylvia. And yet, despite this passionate colloquy, Sylvia was so thrilled she felt her heart beat. Robinson comes, and a curious sort of courtship sets in. For instance, they discuss Denbeigh, a writer famous, though a humbug, whom Robinson had known and seen through abroad. Robinson had dropped Denbeigh. “Can you bear to let a soul drift by you in that way?” asks Miss Langdon. “Had Denbeigh a soul! Really, you go too far!” cries Robinson. After he left, Miss Langdon wondered whether after all she had regained her former sway over Robinson! No wonder books about the faculty side of college life are so rare. The chances are that, for some reason or other, that life may not seem very exciting. However, Robison goes on living his æsthetic life in the tower, and in a manner his soul and Sylvia’s yearn for each other. Robinson’s soul also yearns to a certain extent for Mrs. Denbeigh, who returns to Great Dulwich after Denbeigh’s death.
     Perhaps the chief value of this novel is in showing the drudgery and the poverty of the average college professor, and the penury that awaits so many teachers in old age. It is terrible to think that in one small college Professor Moncrieff actually committed suicide and Professor Maxwell almost did. Indeed, there are moments in reading this book when you marvel why the poor professors don’t go to Panama and help dig the “big ditch” instead of enduring the deadly grind depicted in the novel. Mr. Carnegie should read this book. Then he would rejoice at having set aside $10,000,000 in steel bonds for the purpose of pensioning aged professors. The æsthetic Robinson, be it added, married one of the two ladies in question.


<— Life, September 6, 1906, page 260:

THE LATEST BOOKS

THE TOWER, by Mary Tappan Wright, is one of the recent novels which, by comparison at least, has some claim to that designation in its more dignified usage. It is an intimate story of the faculty circle in an American college of the second grade. Not by any means so well rounded nor so boldly conceived as Miss Anna Sholl’s similar work, The Law of Life. Not, at first, more effective in presenting its many characters than to make us feel that they would be worth knowing could we only get to know them. Not at any time adding greatly to our sympathetic comprehension of life. But in the end successfully creating a coterie of men and women whose existence we do not question and whose affairs concern us.

J. B. Kerfoot.

     The Tower. By Mary Tappan Wright. (Charles Scribner’s Sons. $1.50)


<— The Baltimore Sun, September 12, 1906, page 11:

FICTION

THE TOWER. By Mary Tappan Wright. (81/8x51/4, pp. 422. $1.50.) Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York. [Eichelberger, Baltimore.]

     The author of “The Test,” “Aliens” and “A Truce and Other Stories” gives us a story of a college and college folk. “The Tower,” a quaint structure in the college grounds, is to us the central point of the action of the story, and whether occupied by the poor student or the tutor is the center of attraction for the heroine. The author has not given us a story of action, nor one in which plot plays a strong part. But the contrasting characters are well drawn, the play of emotions is well described and the love element carefully handled. Not a great story, not even an exciting story, but a quiet and restful one.


<— Das Literarische Echo, , October 1, 1906, page 17/18:

     Eine Welt für sich bilden die Kreise, die Mary Tappan Wright schon vor einigen Jahren n ihrem Roman “Aliens” geschildert, und deren Leben sie in “The Tower” (New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons) von allen Seiten beleuchtet Sie entwirft Bilder akademischen Kleinstadtlebens, die sowohl durch ihre Objektivität wie durch ihre tiefe Einsicht überraschen. Nicht nur die gesellschaftlichen Konventionen, die traditionellen Rangordnungen und andere Formeln, in die das Leben der Professoren kleiner Universitäten gepreßt wird, sondern auch die ökonomische Seite desselben kommt in diesem Buche zur Darstellung. Es ist ein ruhig und matt dahinfließendes Leben, in dessen vornehm gedämpfter Färbung nur eine Gestalt, die temperamentvolle kleine Geigerin, hin und wieder im grellen Lichte eines kühnen Streiches auftaucht. Man hat die Empfindung, als ob die Würde ihrer Stellung und die Bürde ihrer Bildung auf den meisten dieser Menschen laste. Der Grundton des Buches, dem es an Handlung durchaus nicht fehlt, ist eine gemäßigte Ruhe, als sollte damit die Herrschaft des objektiv über dem Aktuellen stehenden Gelehrten angedeutet werden. Robinson ist ein Typus dieser Ruhe. Die Selbstverständlichkeit, mit der er nach jahrelanger Abwesenheit die Wendeltreppe zu dem Turm hinaufsteigt, wo es sich so gut arbeiten läßt, ist ebenso charakteristisch wie der Verdruß Sylvia Langdons, daß das friedliche, ruhevolle Bild des Turmes, das sie von ihrer Wohnung mit einem beinahe feierlichem Gefühl des Besitzes täglich in sich aufzunehmen pflegte, durch die Anwesenheit eines Bewohners gestört wurde. Das Buch ist reich an solchen kleinen feinen Zügen, die von tiefer Beobachtung zeugen. Der Komposition aber fehlt es an Straffheit und Klarheit.

[Rough translation:
     Several years ago Mary Tappan Wright described a circle forming a world apart in her novel “Aliens,” and in “The Tower” (New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons) she illuminates lives from all sides. She designs pictures of small town academic life, which surprise both by their objectivity and by their profound insight. Not only are the social conventions of the traditional hierarchies and other formulas in the lives of the professors of small universities presented, but the economic side of these is also displayed in this book. Their lives flow quietly and dull in an elegant, subdued coloring, their small, temperamental discords revealed now and again in the harsh light of a bold prank. One has the feeling of the dignity of their position and the burden of their education on most of these people. While not at all lacking in action, the basic tone of the book is a moderate peace, as it should be indicated in the absence of objective information on the current standing scholars. The archetype of peace is Robinson. The ease with which, after years of absence, he goes up the spiral staircase to the tower where he has worked so well, is as characteristic as is the vexation of Sylvia Langdon that the peaceful, tranquil picture of the tower, which she takes in each day from her apartment with an almost solemn sense of ownership, is disturbed by the presence of a resident. The book is rich in such small delicate features, which bear witness to profound observation. The composition only lacks firmness and clarity.]


<— The Standard, Chicago, November 17, 1906, page 14 (318):

Literature and the Fine Arts.

FICTION.

“The Tower.”

By Mary Tappan Wright. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

     A story of college life in which the athletic undergraduate plays no part whatever, is a new thing under the sun. Let us be duly grateful to Mrs. Mary Tappan Wright. Not once in “The Tower” are we called upon to admire the broad shoulders, the brown skin, the gleaming white teeth, the hair in shaggy masses of the mighty hero of the “gridiron.” We are not expected to shudder at the morose aspect of his bull terrier, nor to regard curiously the pipers, the pillows and the souvenirs “swiped” form the Philistines, with which his den is adorned. Here is an academic world in which the flirtacious “co-ed,” with her mannish speech and air, does not exist. Here the affairs of middle-aged people are of importance. Here it is boldly assumed that an instructor who graduated eighteen years ago may lead to the altar a bride of thirty-nine summers. For this deliverance from the trite conventional college story, many thanks! The reader who has long suffered with meekness the heavy yoke of the callow collegian, though secretly loathing the ineptitudes of his slangy love affairs, will hardly credit his good fortune in coming upon a talked which ignores him altogether.
     The small college community to which Mrs. Wright introduces us might be situated anywhere in the northern states, east of the Rockies, so carefully is the local color subordinated to the narrative. If its characters are not studied from life, they indicate an acquaintance with the college professor and his peculiar “shop” interests and ambitions. The story is well told, and its situations are distinctly novel and effective. Nothing occurs which might not occur in real life, although the reader closes the book questioning whether he is quite satisfied with the outcome. This, of course, is as it should be in a book which professes to be not a romance, but a representation and a criticism of life. (Price, $1.50.)


<— The Scroll of Phi Delta Theta, December 1906, page 124:

     “The Tower,” a new novel by Mary Tappon [sic] Wright, published by Charles Scribner’s Sons, is the story of a college community, introducing an autocratic business president, who is also a bishop, professors and their wives and daughters. The New York Sun says: “Two things stand out with cruel vividness—the merciless trafficking in men of the business president, and the hopeless struggle for sustenance of the professor with an inadequate salary.”


<— John E. Kramer, Jr. The American College Novel: An Annotated Bibliography, New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1981, pages 40-41:

Wright, Mary Tappan [Mrs. John Henry Wright]. The Tower, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1906.

     Sylvia Langdon, the fortyish, unmarried daughter of the president of “Great Dulwich College” keeps house for her widower father and cherishes the memory of Robinson, a former student with whom she once had a romance. Robinson, who has been traveling in Europe for eighteen years, returns to Great Dulwich as an instructor of Greek. Sylvia watches and waits as Robinson pays court to a number of local belles. Only after Sylvia becomes deathly ill with a mysterious fever does Robinson begin to renew his old attentions. When Sylvia recovers she and Robinson are wed, and Robinson accepts an associate professorship. Robinson, whose brooding personality leads him to long, introspective debates with himself, is portrayed as a super-serious teacher. He hides away in his solitary room for weeks on end preparing lectures. Great Dulwich College is distinguished by having in its community a vast number of unwed faculty daughters and nieces, as well as a sizeable coterie of faculty widows. Most of the unattached ladies find the enigmatic Robinson attractive. The book contains a series of academically relevant sub-plots. These center on Robinson’s efforts to write a biography of a deceased professor, his aversion to teaching off-campus classes administered by the college, and his rejection of a full professorship offered him by “Coldston College,” Great Dulwich’s arch rival. Modern-day faculty may especially appreciate the interest in scholarship at Great Dulwich. When a book by one of the school’s professors is published, vendors roam the campus hawking the tome to eager purchasers.

[Note: This excerpt from Kramer’s 1981 reference work reproduces only the material on the novel itself, omitting his additional biographical material on Wright. The work is a good overview and introduction to the general corpus of American college novels as of Kramer’s terminal date of 1979. Unfortunately, the second edition (2004), which adds some previously omitted and more recent novels but condenses the existing entries, is inferior in its treatment of the material common to both, as the abridgements, clearly made without re-reading the novels treated, sometimes make a hash of the descriptions. In the case of The Tower, the effect is that the 2004 entry seriously misrepresents the novel’s plot; therefore the original 1981 entry is preferred here.—BPK.]



These reviews were originally published in the journals and other publications credited. The contemporary works here reproduced are in the public domain. The 1981 piece is ©1981 by John E. Kramer, Jr.; the excerpt used here is reproduced under fair use. All other material in this edition is ©2008-2018 by Brian Kunde.

* * * * *

1st web edition posted 3/11/2008.
This page last updated 1/16/2018.

Published by Fleabonnet Press.