“The city,” Theodore Dreiser explains at the beginning of Sister Carrie, “has its cunning wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and more human tempter. There are larger forces which allure with all the soulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The gleam of a thousand lights is often as effective as the pervasive light in a wooing and fascinating eye” (1). Dreiser's description here echoes many early 20th-century writers' anxieties about the rise of the modern city — from social reformers like Jane Addams and Jacob Riis to journalists and novelists as varied as Stephen Crane and Jean Toomer. But it is Dreiser's depiction of the city as a seducer, as an irresistible wooer, which finally arrives at the heart of the controversy. In the age that saw an increase in the most socially diverse wage seekers — newly arrived immigrants, Southern blacks who migrated North, and single, young women from the country — the city promises, only in the heat of passion, economic and social possibilities, a chance to live out the full contract of American democracy. And the city finds no better stage for its wooing of these new generations of Americans than that of the vaudeville theater.