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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
A. E. W. Mason's "The Turnstile" is a captivating novel that intertwines themes of passion, ambition, and the complexities of human relationships against the backdrop of early 20th-century British society. The narrative unfolds with deft craftsmanship, utilizing Mason's signature blend of vivid characterizations and meticulous attention to social context. Readers are drawn into the lives of its protagonists as they navigate the moral ambiguities inherent in their choices, reflecting the broader societal shifts of the post-Victorian period and the burgeoning modern age. Mason, a British novelist and playwright known for his vivid storytelling and deft characterizations, was also a soldier and a war correspondent, experiences that undoubtedly informed his understanding of human nature and conflict. His diverse career included writing for the stage and engaging with international settings, enriching his narrative techniques and influencing the psychological depth of his characters. These elements illuminate "The Turnstile," showcasing Mason's keen perceptions about love and ambition in a rapidly changing world. This thought-provoking work is recommended for readers seeking not only an engaging plot but also a profound examination of the motivations that drive human behavior. Mason's intricate storytelling invites deep reflection on the interplay of personal choices and societal influences, making "The Turnstile" a compelling addition to any literary collection. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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The Turnstile
Table of Contents
Introduction
At the moment one passes through a turnstile, what lies behind is counted and controlled, and what lies ahead must be paid for—an image of choice, access, and accountability that shapes this novel’s meditation on how a single crossing can reorder a life, expose the hidden costs of opportunity, and demand a reckoning between private conscience and public expectation, as A. E. W. Mason traces the moral pressure that accumulates when ambition, loyalty, and circumstance converge at the narrow point where admission is granted only at a price, and where retreat proves as revealing as advance.
The Turnstile is a novel by the British writer A. E. W. Mason (1865–1948), best known for The Four Feathers and for bridging adventure, mystery, and socially observant fiction. First published in the 1910s, it belongs to the early twentieth-century moment when British narratives often examined the strain between personal aspiration and public position. Set within recognizably modern institutions and habits of British life, it draws on Mason’s gift for clear, efficient storytelling. While not a detective tale, it carries the author’s steady sense of tension and moral stake, offering a character-driven drama grounded in social reality rather than sensational contrivance.
Without revealing turns best discovered in reading, the premise holds to an intimate scale: a central figure faces an opening that promises a different life and must navigate the terms of admission. From this sparingly drawn but pointed situation, the story unfolds through scenes that test character more than they parade incident. Readers encounter an even, lucid voice, attentive to motive and consequence, and a mood that favors quiet pressure over spectacle. The experience is one of cumulative insight: choices ripple outward, relationships adjust, and the costs of crossing from one sphere to another come gradually, and persuasively, into view.
Themes emerge from the image in the title: thresholds and tolls, the arithmetic of advancement, and the tension between what can be counted and what must be weighed. Mason probes the ethics of self-making—how talent and opportunity meet, and where compromise begins. He is equally alert to responsibility: obligations to past benefactors, to present loyalties, and to the person one intends to become. The book asks how reputation is acquired and kept, whether success clarifies or clouds judgment, and how ordinary decisions, taken under pressure, harden into fate. Its drama is moral rather than melodramatic, intimate yet resonant.
Stylistically, The Turnstile reflects Mason’s disciplined craft—unadorned but precise prose, measured pacing, and a habit of building tension through situation rather than flourish. He frames pivotal scenes with economy and lets implication do much of the work, inviting readers to supply motive and doubt. Dialogue is purposeful, supporting character rather than stealing attention, and settings are sketched with a realist’s restraint. The structure favors revelation over surprise: each chapter advances the ledger of choices and consequences. As in Mason’s best work, the satisfactions lie in clarity and proportion, the sense that narrative design mirrors the moral geometry under scrutiny.
Publication in the 1910s situates the novel at a hinge in British history, when established hierarchies met expanding avenues of mobility and professional life. Institutions—whether civic, cultural, or commercial—had their own gateways and guardians, and the language of entry, permission, and status pervaded everyday experience. The Turnstile engages that atmosphere without polemic, filtering it through individual trial. Its concerns—how one gains access, what one surrenders, which debts persist—reflect broader anxieties of a society balancing tradition with modernity. In this context, the book’s restrained drama feels exact: a study of how public mechanisms intersect with private conscience.
For contemporary readers, the novel’s questions remain pointed. Gatekeeping persists in careers, culture, and community; metrics and milestones govern progress; and the negotiation between authenticity and advantage is as fraught now as then. The Turnstile invites reflection on what constitutes a fair price for admission and how to preserve integrity when the turn of the mechanism is impersonal. It will appeal to those who value classic British fiction for its moral clarity and patient observation, and to readers curious about A. E. W. Mason beyond his celebrated adventures, offering a thoughtful, quietly absorbing exploration of character under pressure.
Synopsis
A. E. W. Mason’s The Turnstile follows a young Englishman who begins life with limited means but marked powers of observation and resolve. Growing up in London, he learns to read people and situations with unusual accuracy, a talent that becomes his means of advancement. A chance act of kindness exposes him to circles beyond his routine, suggesting that one decisive crossing can alter a life’s direction. The title’s image, a turnstile, frames the narrative as a passage from obscurity to responsibility. Early chapters trace small, practical steps forward—modest schooling, office work, and disciplined self-education—while establishing London’s theaters, streets, and cafes as his proving ground.
An accidental invitation into a rehearsal room introduces him to the theatrical world, where discipline, illusion, and ambition coexist. He discovers that performance is not only craft but insight into motive, and he begins to assist behind the scenes. A mentor recognizes his resourcefulness and gives him tasks that require tact and silence. This is the first shift of the story: he moves from spectator to participant. The work is precarious, yet it offers exposure to patrons, artists, and a more cosmopolitan milieu. His skill at listening opens doors, and a small professional foothold convinces him to leave the security of routine employment.
The opportunity to travel with a touring company creates the book’s first broad horizon. In Mediterranean ports and Spanish towns, he encounters varied loyalties, smuggling undercurrents, and the brittle courtesy of border officials. The journey teaches him how information travels and how reputations are made or lost. He learns languages by necessity and keeps careful notebooks. A favor done discreetly for a colleague brings him into contact with people who value confidentiality. Without fully understanding the implications, he steps closer to work where success depends on judgment rather than force, and where an ill-timed word can close more gates than it opens.
Back in London, he turns his experience into opportunity. Practical knowledge of audiences and backstage pressures helps him shape pieces that find willing producers. He acquires acquaintances in publishing and society, but he keeps ties to those who knew him before public success. A friendship deepens with a woman whose position in society is firmer than his own, complicating his sense of obligation. He recognizes that advancement now requires choices that will define what sort of reputation he will have. The book emphasizes preparation: careful drafts, cautious partnerships, and a determination to avoid conspicuous errors while the scale of his projects grows.
A theatrical success brings notoriety, but with it comes the story’s central complication. News from abroad warns him that a past kindness may entangle him in a matter larger than art or commerce. The individuals involved face risks that publicity would only magnify, and his name is now prominent enough to attract attention. He must balance self-preservation with loyalty, and the novel marks this as another approach to the symbolic turnstile. If he does nothing, he keeps his trajectory. If he acts, he may jeopardize it. The next phase sends him outward again, this time with clearer stakes and fewer illusions.
He retraces earlier routes to confirm what he has been told, revisiting ports, mountain roads, and diplomatic antechambers that once seemed picturesque but now feel exacting. The narrative dwells on procedure: letters of introduction, guarded conversations, the careful sorting of rumor from fact. Officials insist on formality; intermediaries test his discretion. He observes that the same skills that made him effective in the theater—timing, silence, and empathy—are useful where outcomes are not announced. A pattern emerges that points toward a concealed arrangement involving people he knows in London. The material could bolster his career if used, or protect others if withheld.
As the threads tighten, a meeting clarifies the human costs behind the puzzle. The supposed villainy is not simple, and the novel emphasizes consequences rather than melodrama. He recognizes the gap between public narratives and private necessities. Relationships strain: colleagues question his absences, and friends sense he is keeping something back. The woman he cares for asks for honesty without demanding details, underscoring the theme of trust. By now, every option leads to loss somewhere—reputation, income, or the safety of another. The story builds to a calm but decisive confrontation in which he is finally told enough to understand the full risk.
The climax centers on an irrevocable choice at the figurative turnstile. He must decide what to disclose, to whom, and when, knowing that the decision will set the path of his life as surely as a locked gate. The novel withholds specifics to preserve tension, but it underscores process: the wording of a letter, the timing of an interview, the deliberate absence from an opening night. His action protects one value at the cost of another, and the immediate consequences follow in measured, plausible steps. The resolution avoids spectacle, presenting change as the quiet closing and opening of opportunities.
In the aftermath, his public position settles into a new equilibrium that reflects the choice he made. Some doors close and others open, and he accepts the trade with clear eyes. The Turnstile presents success not as acclaim alone but as the capacity to act responsibly when recognition amplifies the stakes. By structuring the narrative as a series of thresholds—work, travel, love, and conscience—Mason suggests that maturity consists in understanding which gates to pass and which to leave unopened. The book’s message is controlled and unsentimental: a life is shaped by timely decisions, and integrity gives those decisions their lasting meaning.
Historical Context
Set in the late Edwardian and immediate prewar years, The Turnstile unfolds primarily in London, whose West End theatres, Strand offices, and clubland drawing rooms epitomized Britain’s urban modernity between 1906 and 1914. The metropolis—electrified, threaded by motorcars and trams, and linked by telephones and newspapers—served as a magnet for provincial ambition. George V’s coronation in 1911 marked a ceremonial midpoint in a decade of swift social change. Against this backdrop of crowded streets, visible wealth, and persistent poverty, the novel’s world reflects a city where careers could be made or broken overnight, and where access to elite spaces functioned like a literal turnstile—admitting some while barring many others.
The Liberal landslide of 1906 and subsequent reforms transformed Britain’s social landscape. Under H. H. Asquith (Prime Minister from 1908) and Chancellor David Lloyd George, Parliament enacted the Old Age Pensions Act (1908), the Trade Boards Act (1909), the Labour Exchanges Act (1909), and the National Insurance Act (1911). The 1909 People’s Budget sought progressive taxation to fund welfare, challenging entrenched privilege. These measures reoriented public debate toward the “social question” and minimum standards of life. The novel’s attention to upward mobility, precarious livelihoods, and the thin margins separating security from want echoes the period’s reformist energies and the anxieties of clerks, performers, and professionals navigating newly permeable class lines.
The constitutional crisis of 1909–1911, triggered by the House of Lords’ rejection of the People’s Budget, produced two general elections in 1910 and the Parliament Act (August 1911) that curtailed the Lords’ veto to a suspensory power. George V signaled willingness to create peers to force the issue, underscoring the stakes. This rebalancing of power intensified political conversation in salons, clubs, and newsrooms across London. The novel mirrors this climate by staging encounters where status, patronage, and institutional gatekeeping are scrutinized. The very idea of a turnstile—an apparatus regulating entry—resonates with debates over who should pass into influence and on what terms in a reconfigured constitutional order.
The Great Unrest (circa 1910–1914) brought waves of industrial conflict: the Cambrian Combine strike in South Wales (1910–11) culminating in the Tonypandy riots, the national railway strike of August 1911, the Liverpool transport strike the same summer, and the first national coal strike (February–April 1912), which led to the Coal Mines (Minimum Wage) Act 1912. Urban streets saw troops mobilized, pickets massed at docks and depots, and traffic halted by demonstrations. In London, the proximity of wealth and hardship sharpened class contrasts. The novel channels this volatility in its depiction of fragile careers and contingent reputations: backstage wages, newsroom deadlines, and business patronage depend on forces—markets, unions, and public mood—well beyond individual control.
The women’s suffrage movement reshaped public space and political argument. The Women’s Social and Political Union (founded 1903 by Emmeline Pankhurst) escalated tactics after 1908, organizing mass rallies in Hyde Park, window-smashing in 1912, and hunger strikes that prompted the 1913 Cat and Mouse Act (Prisoners Temporary Discharge for Ill Health Act). Emily Wilding Davison’s fatal act at the Epsom Derby in June 1913 symbolized sacrifice for enfranchisement. Alongside the NUWSS’s constitutional campaign, suffrage penetrated drawing rooms, theatres, and offices. The novel’s portrayal of ambitious, self-possessed women in professional and social settings reflects the era’s contest over female agency, employment, and respectability within rigidly policed urban hierarchies.
London’s entertainment economy—dominated by West End theatres around Shaftesbury Avenue and the Strand—created a visible meritocracy of talent and luck. Impresarios such as George Edwardes at Daly’s Theatre and Charles Frohman brought international ventures, while hits like The Merry Widow (1907) exemplified the musical-comedy vogue. The Actors’ Association (1907) signaled growing professional organization, even as the Lord Chamberlain’s licensing regime policed content. By 1910 picture palaces began competing for audiences. Mason, a successful dramatist as well as a novelist, wrote from intimate knowledge of rehearsal rooms, managers’ offices, and press networks. The book’s scenes of aspiration and gatekeeping mirror this world, where reputations could pivot on a single notice, patron, or first night.
Insular politics intersected with continental crises. The Third Home Rule Bill (introduced April 1912) provoked the Ulster Covenant (28 September 1912; 471,414 signatures) and the formation of the Ulster Volunteer Force in 1913, answered by the Irish Volunteers later that year. Abroad, the Agadir Crisis (1911) over Morocco—punctuated by Lloyd George’s Mansion House speech of 21 July 1911—and the Balkan Wars (1912–13) tightened great-power rivalries. London’s newspapers, clubs, and exchanges hummed with rumor of war and markets. The novel registers this nervous cosmopolitanism in passing references to foreign news, investors, and travelers, showing how international shocks rippled through metropolitan careers and the calculations of patrons and aspirants alike.
As social and political critique, the book exposes how late-Edwardian Britain rationed opportunity through class codes, patronage, and gendered respectability—an economy of access that made the turnstile both a mechanism and a metaphor. It interrogates the ethics of success in a city where spectacle, publicity, and connections can eclipse merit, while labor unrest and suffrage agitation reveal the costs of exclusion. By portraying characters negotiating bureaucratic corridors, stage doors, and club thresholds, the narrative questions who grants entry and why, aligning its moral scrutiny with the reform debates of 1906–1914 and urging a fairer alignment between talent, work, and civic recognition.
