Theodore Dreiser's enormous novel (736 pages of small print) boils down to an examination of the artistic temperament and the sex drive. The hero, Eugene Witla, has a weakness for women aged 18 that causes him no end of trouble. He leaves behind a career as a successful painter for supposedly bigger and better things, only to be brought low by another in a series of these women, despite having a decent and loving wife. This 1915 novel scandalized some elements of polite society, and the New York Times review said it left little to the imagination. A modern reader will find that, instead, it leaves almost everything to the imagination. There is nary a bare ankle in sight. Dreiser's style has never been considered his strong point, and his prose is hardly euphonious here, but he manages to sustain interest in a character who is in many respects a silly cad, and that's no small feat.
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