Chap­ter 9 — “Climbers” in Eng­land draws atten­tion to a curi­ous spectacle—the tire­less efforts of cer­tain Amer­i­cans to enter the ranks of Eng­lish high soci­ety. The fas­ci­na­tion is mutu­al, yet often tinged with con­fu­sion and con­de­scen­sion. While Amer­i­cans arrive with enthu­si­asm, expect­ing glam­our and influ­ence, they are met with cold scruti­ny and a sub­tle caste sys­tem root­ed more in tra­di­tion than mer­it. The so-called “Lit­tle Eng­lan­der” mind­set, with its qui­et pride and nation­al rigid­i­ty, resists new­com­ers despite out­ward polite­ness. Even those with wealth and pol­ished man­ners are judged by invis­i­ble criteria—family names, prop­er accents, or dis­creet use­ful­ness. With­in this frame­work, social inter­ac­tion becomes a per­for­mance care­ful­ly mod­er­at­ed by unspo­ken rules.

Amer­i­can climbers, with their hope­ful bold­ness, are often sur­prised to find how lit­tle sparkle exists behind the doors they worked so hard to open. For­mal din­ners pro­ceed with dull con­ver­sa­tion, punc­tu­at­ed not by clever guests but by hired enter­tain­ers. The lords and ladies remain cor­dial but emo­tion­al­ly dis­tant, rarely engag­ing deeply with out­siders. Still, for many Amer­i­cans, the sym­bols of nobility—manor hous­es, titles, and roy­al invitations—hold irre­sistible allure. This obses­sion often eclipses their aware­ness of the super­fi­cial­i­ty beneath the sur­face. They mim­ic the cus­toms, adopt the phras­es, and even alter their speech, hop­ing to blend in. Yet, even after doing so, a sub­tle wall remains between them and true accep­tance.

The Eng­lish elite, for their part, view these attempts with a mix of amuse­ment and cau­tion. Amer­i­cans are admired for their ener­gy, their mon­ey, and occa­sion­al­ly their charm, but rarely for their depth. What mat­ters more is how they can con­tribute to an estate, a polit­i­cal cam­paign, or a social event. The trans­ac­tion­al nature of these rela­tion­ships is rarely acknowl­edged aloud, but it shapes near­ly every inter­ac­tion. Invi­ta­tions are often extend­ed not because of friend­ship, but because of strat­e­gy. Being use­ful is more val­ued than being inter­est­ing. The Amer­i­can vis­i­tor often mis­reads polite­ness as warmth, mis­tak­ing tol­er­ance for admi­ra­tion.

This dynam­ic reveals a strik­ing con­trast in cul­tur­al val­ues. Amer­i­cans, often raised with ideals of equal­i­ty and ambi­tion, walk into a rigid hier­ar­chy that dis­cour­ages inno­va­tion and prizes sub­tle con­for­mi­ty. Their eager­ness to climb the social lad­der is seen not as dri­ve, but as social awk­ward­ness. Mean­while, Eng­lish soci­ety qui­et­ly pre­serves its own order, reward­ing those who fol­low its rhythm and pun­ish­ing those who push too hard. The result is frus­tra­tion on both sides. Amer­i­cans long for inclu­sion, while the Eng­lish won­der why inclu­sion must be earned so loud­ly. A del­i­cate bal­ance of charm, restraint, and strate­gic silence is required—an art not eas­i­ly learned.

The pur­suit of approval in this space becomes all-con­sum­ing. Some Amer­i­cans set­tle for being per­pet­u­al guests, nev­er quite insid­ers but always around the edges. Oth­ers retreat, dis­il­lu­sioned by the emo­tion­al cool­ness and the absence of intel­lec­tu­al or artis­tic engage­ment. A few remain deter­mined, invest­ing in estates or arrang­ing mar­riages that tie them per­ma­nent­ly to the aris­toc­ra­cy. But what often gets lost in the process is iden­ti­ty. The laugh­ter becomes forced, the con­ver­sa­tions rehearsed, and the sense of belong­ing always just out of reach. They wear Eng­lish soci­ety like a bor­rowed coat—elegant, but nev­er tru­ly theirs.

The empti­ness of this chase emerges qui­et­ly. After the thrill of invi­ta­tions fades, after the nov­el­ty of peer­age wears thin, a sense of hol­low­ness lingers. The grand halls echo not with ideas, but with tra­di­tion. The dances are beau­ti­ful but pre­dictable. And for the climber who has shaped their life around being accept­ed, the real­iza­tion can be painful: entry does not guar­an­tee con­nec­tion. Pres­tige offers prox­im­i­ty, not inti­ma­cy. This truth is often learned too late. Real friend­ships, authen­tic con­ver­sa­tions, and unguard­ed joy are found elsewhere—in places that ask less for appear­ance and more for pres­ence.

Iron­i­cal­ly, the climbers’ great­est strength—their pas­sion for self-improvement—is also their great­est weak­ness in a sys­tem that val­ues sta­sis over motion. They try to move too fast, to prove too much, unaware that Eng­lish soci­ety watch­es more than it speaks. Silence here is not empti­ness but con­trol. The more one talks, the more one reveals mis­steps. Mas­tery lies in under­state­ment, in let­ting oth­ers draw con­clu­sions with­out pro­vid­ing ammu­ni­tion. This sub­tle game requires years to mas­ter, and few out­siders ever do.

Ulti­mate­ly, this chap­ter sug­gests that while ambi­tion is not inher­ent­ly wrong, its direc­tion mat­ters deeply. Chas­ing titles and appear­ances leads to tem­po­rary applause but last­ing uncer­tain­ty. True ful­fill­ment might be qui­eter, found in pur­pose over pos­ture, and con­nec­tion over con­ven­tion. In try­ing to be every­thing to every­one, climbers risk los­ing the only thing of true value—their own voice. Eng­land may offer ele­gance, but authen­tic­i­ty can’t be imi­tat­ed. It must be cho­sen, pre­served, and lived.