Considered a sort of anti-Victorian novel, The Way of All Flesh tells the story of one Ernest, the son of a clergyman who slowly claws himself toward an intelligent atheism, through the viewpoint of his playwright godfather. As good literature does, I found myself relating and recognizing so much of the thoughts, actions, and reactions of both Ernest and the godfather. Amazing how religious oppression, guilt, and shame - as levied on innocent children of the evangelical - transcends geographical, cultural, and historical boundaries so effectively!

The book also gives you a gripping account of an upper-middle-class sort of life in Britain at that time, complete with its complicated societal, political, and economic mores that shape the lives and personalities of people thrown into it. Upper middle class is a term used loosely here, as lineage and “breeding” play a bigger role in determining the social strata than simple wealth.

I enjoyed The Way of All Flesh about as much as I did Any Human Heart- a more contemporary bildungsroman of sorts from a similar stratum of British society. I guess I enjoy novels that contend big cities, both my own metropolis and others -