The way of a man — Story, Setting & Ideas

(2 User reviews) 477

In Category - Historical Psychological Social Fiction

Authors: Dixon, Thomas, Jr., 1864-1946, Mulford, Stockton, 1886-1960 [Illustrator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2025 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Feminism -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Sexual freedom -- Fiction; Women editors -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 61,735

Reading time 269 min

Text sections 30

This digital edition of The way of a man — Story, Setting & Ideas is described by source-level measurements including 61,735 words, 4 hr 29 min estimated reading time, and 30 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 12.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Feminism -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #76399

Thomas Dixon's 1919 novel follows Ellen West, a feminist editor in New York, and her relationships with men who represent money, dreams, and tradition. The excerpts reveal a battle over marriage, property, and freedom, with vivid scenes of physical comedy and ideological sparring.

Editorial Edition Score 4.8/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg76399

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f the New Democracy Club. The organization was but a year old, yet numbered on its roster the names of hundreds of the men and women who were making history.

Field recalled with a frown the startling sentences from Ellen’s sensational articles on marriage in _The New Era_ magazine which had led to her election as president. These articles had been taken as the creed of the advanced feminist movement in America. The sensation which they had created was profound. They were athrob with passion and revolutionary thought.

“America,” she boldly declared, “is one tremendous leap from ancient obsession into activity and creative power. The young womanhood of America dares to dream of a feminine culture which shall give a positive contribution to the world.

“Sex freedom is the supreme goal of the modern woman’s movement. The woman who is in earnest, the woman who really thinks and feels, who is determined to fight for the rights of her sex, must demand freedom and independence. Freedom from the moral dominion of man she must have. She must not be smothered by his customs or personality.

“I, too, with my ancestors claim the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness--the fullest, deepest life--the truest liberty--happiness that thrills both soul and body with inspiring uplift.

“The present woman’s struggle is more far-reaching than any in human history. It means more to humanity. Let us not be surprised if it surpasses in fanaticism any war of religion or race. The conflict of the ages is now on between the life of the soul in woman and the life of the family. Woman must develop a soul if the future man is worthy to live. The woman of to-day has no soul.

“The woman movement--the last word of the new democracy of the world--must destroy the family as the organic group of human society and replace it with the free individual. We aim, therefore, to suppress legal and sacerdotal marriage and substitute a free alliance. Only thus can woman develop her personality.”

As Field’s quick mind recalled the final words of Ellen West’s creed he caught the meaning of Brown’s impudent personal call.

A daring sensualist in a new free democracy of individuals, he would claim his day in court!

The footman was still fumbling the door of the limousine. His master was looking at his watch, undecided as to another call before he honored Ellen with his presence.

“Another call to see one of his prospective woman parasites!” Field muttered.

The gossip of the Rialto credited him with half a dozen prospective conquests long before he had tired of the current alliances. At least he was generous. The women who boasted his friendship--or blushingly admitted it to a favored few--sang his praises. He spent his money like a prince and he had a positive genius for pleasing women.

Field hated the sound of his name. He hated him for his successes with women. He hated him still more cordially for the enormous power he wielded through his money. A sensualist and materialist himself, he felt instinctively that such a man could only win a woman’s favor by his power to buy. On the other hand, as a struggling author he must depend on the magnetism of his personality, his wit, his keen sense of woman’s weaknesses and the strength of his mind and compact, powerful, if small body.

He hated Brown to-night for a more important reason. He was afraid of him.

Ellen West had stirred him of late as no woman since the days of his stormy youth. The fact that she had held him at arm’s length, teasing him at the same time, had only made his determination to win her the more desperate.

To-night he had planned to take her by storm. He had the advantage over the entire field until this interloper had suddenly appeared.

Lloyd Bridges, the long-haired poet of passion, had been in love with her for six months, and had devoted the entire output of his verse to her praises. In the meantime he had been evicted from his apartment for default in the rent. Field was sorry for Lloyd. So was Ellen. She liked his verse, dissecting it as literature, but ignored its personal appeal with smiling indifference.

Field knew why. Bridges was effeminate. A long-haired man could never appeal to a real woman.

There was no sort of doubt about Ellen West being a real woman. She was not only tall and beautiful--she was voluptuously beautiful. Her whole personality radiated sex and the challenge of sex. And the sparkle in the deeps of her luminous brown eyes glowed with the consciousness of her powers.

Continue Reading →

The novel opens with a comic set piece: guests climbing five flights of stairs to Ellen West's apartment, a deliberate test of endurance. Randolph Field, the author-neighbor, carries a protesting woman up the stairs, establishing a tone of playful physicality that recurs throughout. The setting—a walk-up on Fifth Avenue overlooking Madison Square—immediately signals Ellen's pride in her "splendid body" and her rejection of convenience. The early chapters introduce a triangle of suitors: a man of money, a man of dreams, and a man of tradition, each embodying a different vision of marriage. Dixon's prose mixes social commentary with theatrical dialogue, as characters debate the meaning of freedom, property, and love.

The Staircase as a Stage

The opening chapter, "The Festival of Eve," uses the apartment's stairs as a recurring motif. Ellen watches male escorts perspire as they climb, and one bald admirer gives out entirely. This physical challenge is not mere decoration; it establishes Ellen's control over her space and her body. The stairs become a barrier that separates the worthy from the unworthy, and a source of humor. When Randolph Field carries Lucy Sheldon up, the act is both chivalrous and mocking. The staircase reappears later as a symbol of the effort required to reach Ellen's world—a world she owns, as she reminds her lover: "Clark used to pay the taxes, but I own it." The vertical setting reinforces the novel's concern with elevation, both literal and social.

The Blood-Red Negligee and the Eagle's Nest

In a later excerpt, Ellen appears in a "dark, blood-red negligee trimmed in black fur" while serving tea to her lover. The description emphasizes her "sinuous grace" and "stunning beauty," but the scene quickly turns to argument. She insists that marriage would turn furniture into "links in the chain that bind two slaves to eternal servitude." Her lover counters with a vision of domestic intimacy: "the sweet intimacy of this life within the prison of four walls." The setting—a rustic cabin she calls an "eagle's nest in the tree-top"—underscores the tension between freedom and enclosure. Dixon uses the contrast of the blood-red robe and the mountain air to dramatize the conflict between sensual attraction and ideological resistance.

The Language of Property and Personhood

Ellen's dialogue repeatedly frames relationships in terms of ownership. She refuses to be "classed as your property, your home, your ox, your ass," a biblical echo that links marriage to servitude. Her lover, in turn, speaks of kissing "the chain which bound you to me." The novel's catalog subjects—feminism, man-woman relationships, sexual freedom—are enacted through these verbal duels. Dixon gives Ellen a sharp, declarative voice: "a woman who has once felt the throb of a conscious free soul cannot allow herself to be classed." The excerpts do not reveal whether she relents, but the pattern of argument suggests a sustained debate about autonomy and attachment.

The Author as Character and Observer

Randolph Field, the author who lives next door, serves as a commentator and participant. He announces guests with theatrical flair, carries Lucy up the stairs, and later appears in the cabin scene. His profession—he is an author—mirrors Dixon's own, and his role as a neighbor allows him to observe Ellen's life without being a primary suitor. The excerpts show him acting as a kind of master of ceremonies, introducing characters and defusing tension with humor. His presence raises questions about the relationship between the author and his creation: is Field a stand-in for Dixon, or a foil? The text does not clarify, but his function as a witness to Ellen's experiments in living gives the novel a layered perspective.

Readers approaching The Way of a Man should attend to the physical details—the stairs, the negligee, the rustic furniture—as much as the ideological arguments. Dixon builds his debate about the "new woman" through concrete scenes of domestic life, not abstract treatises. The excerpts suggest that the novel's interest lies less in resolving the conflict than in staging it repeatedly, with variations in setting and tone. A first reading might track how each male character's response to Ellen's independence reveals his own limitations, and how the setting itself—city apartment or mountain cabin—shapes the terms of their struggle.

I keep returning to that scene where Ellen West argues with her suitors about what a woman owes a home — old Dixon, for all his bluster, caught something true about property’s weight. It reminds me of the quiet longing in St. George for England — Reading Notes, where duty and devotion tangle so gently. Two different centuries, same ache.