Dear Serial Readers,
To carry on from Julia's post (welcome back, Julia!), yes, Amy Dorrit's unconscious departure from Marshalsea parallels her birth there. And in this next installment, she struggles with the 'unreality' of her new life of wealth and elevated station, in contrast to the 'real' life of London poverty and prison, and an active life of work in contrast to doing nothing but watching (which has value of its own). Her experience of new-found wealth is all about loss and estrangement, from her father explicitly (but also from beloved others left behind)now that she can provide no service of comfort or material support to him.
The first chapter of this section parallels the opening of the novel, both outside England and both about three groups of travelers who intersect at a convent rather than a prison or holding cell for foreigners in quarantine. Of course our favorite villain with the moustache is here too, as in the opening installment. He's almost a leitmotif, as he bounces in and out of view, but I suspect there will be more to Rigaud as we move on.
While I found the opening chapter disorienting, which seems perfect in a way, much like Little D in her new position in life, out of Marshalsea, and London, and England. I loved the way the last chapter, Amy's letter, fills in the narrative gaps of that opening chapter too--at least some of them. Why the Dorrits are a large traveling ensemble, rather than installed in some estate in England, is unclear, but of course this movement is something Father Dorrit couldn't do before, and now they have the disposable wealth to travel in style. Amy's uncle seems the only one in the family group with an inkling of genuine affection and concern for Amy. I also noticed the attention to geographical borders once again, as in the opening--this time between Switzerland and France and Italy--and then the lovely fairytale unreality of Venice, for Amy, who travels on her own about this watery city. Actually, I was reminded of Lucy Snowe at one point--"the little figure of the English girl who was always alone"--and realize that Villette had been published recently before this novel was underway.
The meeting between Amy and Pet seems familiar Dickens territory: the modest "little" heroine awed by the more majestic "beautiful" heroine--Lizzie meeting Bella in Our Mutual Friend, or Esther meeting Lady Dedlock in Bleak House. I still think Dickens is hinting at a future romantic union between Arthur and Amy, but I'm not sure if Pet has to die first, or how Arthur will resolve his unrequited love there.
Next week, II, chapters 5-7 (3).
Serially suspended,
Susan
1 comment:
Just briefly, I do hear echoes of the start of the book, as others have mentioned. Book one began in light and shadow. Book II begins in darkness and night. In Chapter 2, I love the on and on about Mrs General, especially bits like “she comports herself as if she’s much more sought than seeking,” which is either part of her “artificial policy,” or “native dignity,” the former, no doubt. Any one of Dickens’s statements about Mrs G. conveys her character in whole cloth, but he gives us more, not the least: “Her way of forming a mind was to prevent it from forming opinions.” Say no more.
How Dorrit’s relationship with her father changed with their fortune struck me too.
In manipulation Mr D. isn’t any less her puppet master, now on the other side of the tracks, admonishing her to “be vigilant” in making herself respected. I loved Venice seeming unreal to Amy, while the old life of poverty in prison seems real. And I loved her letter. Her distinctive voice is protracted, and I marvel at Dickens’s pulling it off.
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