Told in a series of letters, this story is best read as a comic novel. If one reads it as anything else, one will detest the main character for his judgmental nature and preoccupation with himself. George Apley lives his entire life trying to present the best image possible to the public. As a result, he engages in laughable criticism of his own young grandson for having "definite limitations of activity and thought," and becoming embroiled in a hilarious situation involving the requested exhumation of a relative from a cemetery plot.

The narrator, if this makes any sense, name-drops his own name several times and inserts himself into the story repeatedly.

Toward the end, one letter is included in this collection that causes the reader to believe that George Apley is much more reflective than originally thought. However, his observations are dismissed by the narrator as the result of illness. You'll have to decide for yourself whether Apley is simply pretentious or a caricature of society.

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Sweeping the reader into the inner sanctum of Boston soociet y into the Beacon Hill town houses and exclusive private clubs whee only the city's wealthies and most powerful congregate, this novel gives us--through the story of one family and its patriach, the recently deceased George Apley--the portrait of an entire society in transition. The novel goes from the Golden Age to the Great Depression.

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Biography of a Crashing Bore
The author takes a semi-epistolary approach in this fictional biography of a prudish, self-centered, bore of an elitist Bostonian. The cover advertises A witty, satirical novel but the ridicule seems to be at the expense of the reader. Only a pedant, or editor, who has made a blunder could see humor is this book, or, for that matter, any redeeming social value. For me, this was an exercise in mental flagellation. For many years I have had difficulty sleeping. But this book is so tedious that after a mere 50 pages I wandered off to dreamland. Upon waking I dismissed the Serta sheepI had to wake them firstand trashed my Henry James novels. I tried again and by 100 pages was comatose. Possibly it could become an audio book for those with a sleep disorder. But then, how would the reader stay awake. Celebrities step aside! The solution to this Catch 22 is to have it read by a pedagogue. A highlight so far is that George seems to have been the terror of elementary education. He sissels, not whistles: whistling being decidedly against the rules. To compound his infraction he writes a doggerel about his French teacher that gets the poor soul dismissed. WoW! This guy isnt even close to Penrod let alone Denis (the menace) or Calvin (Bill Watersons creation). After being roused from my coma, I try again. Using a cattle prod every now and then I get a tad past page 100 to find George, now a lawyer (how irksome can you get) presenting to society his paper titled Jonas Good and Cow corner. I suppose that this is the epitome of satire. And so it goes. Oops! Maybe that should be a Vonnegut quote. Too bad that he wasnt a Walter Mitty type. George seems to have saved every letter that he and everyone in his extended family ever wrote. Why wasnt he a politician? He has all of the qualities. We arent told that he ever accomplished anything as a lawyer. And so he was born, lived, and died having spawned possibly another generation of crashing bores. So much for the Pulitzer Prize. As I have a sort of sadomasochistic tendency, I think that I shall tackle Henry James The Bostonians next. But first I shall lay in a supply of double espresso coffee. Just kidding again. Remember I trashed the book.

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