A Hazard of New Fortunes

In Short

This book tracks the relocation of Basil and Isabel March from Boston to New York, where Basil takes a position as editor of a new literary magazine, Every Other Week. As the Marches navigate the city’s social and professional hierarchies, they become entangled with the magazine's financier—a self-made millionaire named Dryfoos—and a sprawling cast of artists, idealists, and social climbers. It is a definitive portrait of American urban life, celebrated for its refusal to offer easy moral judgments, its sharp characterizations, and its poignant, lingering exploration of privilege and conscience.

The Story

The narrative begins with the Marches’ transition to New York. Basil is a man of letters who finds himself managing a magazine funded by Jacob Dryfoos, a man who built a fortune in natural gas and now seeks to integrate his family into high society. This arrangement forces Basil into uncomfortable compromises, as he must mediate between his own professional integrity and the demands of a backer who is as volatile as the market he plays.

At the heart of the magazine's orbit is Fulkerson, a relentlessly optimistic publicist who serves as the engine of the publication, and Angus Beaton, a talented but temperamentally "sick" artist. Beaton drifts between the artistic aspirations of the independent Alma Leighton and the cold, socially strategic attractions of the Dryfoos daughters. As these lives intersect, the city itself becomes a character—a place of rapid growth and profound inequality.

The tension within the Dryfoos household is immense. Jacob Dryfoos is a man of raw, aggressive will who clashes violently with his children. His son Conrad, a gentle and idealistic soul, finds himself increasingly repulsed by his father’s mercenary nature. While the elder Dryfoos chases wealth in the stock market, the city is paralyzed by a massive streetcar strike. The strike serves as a crucible for all the characters. Lindau, a German immigrant and socialist whose friendship with Basil was severed by political differences, is drawn to the strikers’ cause. During a chaotic confrontation in the streets, Conrad Dryfoos, attempting to act as a peacemaker, is accidentally killed by a stray shot.

This tragedy shatters the fragile social equilibrium of the story. The death of his son leaves the elder Dryfoos a broken, haunted man, stripping away his desire for the social dominance he once craved. Beaton, unable to find purpose or genuine connection, eventually drifts away from both the women he toyed with and the magazine that employed him. The Marches, meanwhile, are left to reconcile their middle-class comfort with the harsh realities of a city that demand a price for everything. The novel concludes with the Dryfoos family preparing to retreat to Europe, while Basil and Isabel are left in a changed New York, contemplating the responsibility of the "comfortable" to those who suffer in the shadows of their prosperity.

How It Unfolds

The transition to the city The Marches leave behind their settled Boston life for the uncertainty of New York, where Basil enters the volatile world of commercial journalism. This initial move establishes the central friction of the book: the struggle of maintaining artistic and personal identity within a system driven by capital.

The magazine takes root Fulkerson maneuvers the launch of Every Other Week, creating a fragile ecosystem where editors, writers, and businessmen must coexist. Here, the power dynamics begin to shift as Basil realizes the moral cost of accepting a salary from a man whose values he does not share.

The collision of social spheres The narrative expands to include the domestic dramas of the Dryfoos family and the romantic indecisions of Angus Beaton. These interactions reveal the hollow artifice of high society and the deep, often destructive, cravings of those trying to belong to it.

The strike and the catastrophe The city-wide labor dispute brings the disparate threads of the story into a violent center. The accidental death of Conrad becomes the turning point that forces every character to confront the consequences of their indifference or their ideals.

The aftermath and departure In the final arc, the survivors attempt to recalibrate their lives against the weight of the tragedy. The story closes on a note of quiet reflection, with the Marches observing the permanent, somber shift in the city’s atmosphere.

The People

Basil March is the moral center of the story, though he is far from perfect. He wants to maintain his dignity as a critic while providing for his family, but his reliance on Dryfoos’s money leaves him in a constant state of "uncandor." He ends the novel more cynical, yet deeply humbled by his proximity to the suffering of others.

Jacob Dryfoos is a man of massive, untamed power. He wants to purchase respectability for his family, but he is constantly thwarted by his own temper and the genuine, alien goodness of his son. He ends the book a shell of his former self, his pride broken by the grief of his son’s death.

Angus Beaton is a portrait of aimlessness. He possesses talent but lacks the character to direct it, spending his time "posing" and playing with the affections of women. He ends the book as he began: drifting, incapable of commitment, and fundamentally alienated from his own life.

Alma Leighton is the mirror to Beaton’s weakness. She is clear-eyed and committed to her work, refusing to be a prop in Beaton’s drama. She ends the book as a woman who has successfully carved out a life of independent purpose.

Conrad Dryfoos represents the pure, sacrificial ideal. He wants only to do good and to reconcile with his father, but his goodness is an affront to the world he lives in. His death is the final, tragic statement on the impossibility of innocence in a world of greed.

In Its Own Voice

"He had moments of revolt against his own humiliation before Lindau, in which he found it monstrous that he should return Dryfoos's money as if it had been the spoil of a robber."

Basil reflects on the moral dissonance of earning a living from a man whose politics he secretly disdains.

"He began to have a fear that some time he might have none at all."

Beaton contemplates his own lack of will and the terrifying prospect of losing even the desire to act.

"Life isn't what it seems when you look forward to it."

Isabel March offers this somber realization to her husband after the trauma of the strike has irrevocably altered their view of the world.

What It's Really About

The novel explores the corrosive nature of the "superstition that having and shining is the chief good." It asks whether it is possible to live a moral, honest life within a capitalist system that thrives on inequality and the exploitation of the "common" man. The book argues that personal character is not enough to insulate one from the consequences of societal injustice; rather, our conditions—the city we build, the jobs we take, the money we accept—inevitably shape who we become. It is a meditation on the mystery of atonement, questioning why the innocent must often suffer for the sins of the collective, and whether the "comfortable" can ever truly absolve themselves of their part in the suffering of others.

Why Read It Today

This book is essential for anyone interested in the origins of the modern urban novel. Readers who appreciate the meticulous, character-driven works of Edith Wharton or the social realism of Theodore Dreiser will find a precursor here that is perhaps even more psychologically nuanced. It offers an incredibly vivid, immersive experience of New York at the turn of the century; you can practically hear the clatter of the elevated trains and feel the tension of the summer heat.

However, the book is a slow, expansive read. Its length and its commitment to documenting the minutiae of social etiquette and professional maneuvering can feel daunting. There are moments where the dialogue, while precise, reflects the rigid, somewhat flowery sensibilities of the 19th century, and the dated attitudes toward gender and class may require a degree of patience from the contemporary reader. Yet, it remains remarkably fresh in its depiction of the "nervous woes of comfortable people." It captures the precise moment when the American dream began to buckle under the weight of its own excesses, a theme that feels startlingly relevant today. What stays with you is not just the tragedy, but the author’s profound, non-judgmental empathy for the flawed people caught in the machinery of an unforgiving city.