Dear Serial Readers,
Something interesting that reading serially brings to my attention--how the installments in this mid-portion of the novel alternate between the First Eden (ie England) and the Third (or New) Eden (America). So far, there's no mixing of the two within a monthly number. Although this format would seem to segregate the two nations, the way the narrative crisscrosses the Atlantic does prompt a fusion of the ridiculous, the relative merits and demerits of each place. Usually readings of this novel recycle Dickens's travel writing, *American Notes in General Circulation* with the assessment that Dickens lambasted American culture. True, but he does not spare his ridicule of British culture via the Pecksniffians and the other long list of characters and circumstances. But why then keep these two places serially separated? What's the effect? And in this installment, the narrative returns from America, with this lead sentence: "Change begets change." Anthony C dies, but what changes? More will-plotting among the extended family, with Jonas's confused proposal to Merry-Mercy instead of Cherry-Charity.
Next time (which I'll post shortly): #9, chapters 21-23. Back to (the New) Eden?
Serially Sailing,
Susan
PS Thanks AFH for noting Jill Lepore's NEW YORKER article on Dickens (and the Dickens Project at Santa Cruz)--has anyone else had a chance to read it?
5 comments:
I loved this passage in Chapter 20:
"Now, there being a special Providence in the fall of a sparrow, it follows (so Mr Pecksniff might have reasoned, perhaps), that there must also be a special Providence in the alighting of the stone, or stick, or other substance which is aimed at the sparrow. And Mr Pecksniff's hook, or crook, having invariably knocked the sparrow on the head and brought him down, that gentleman may have been led to consider himself as specially licensed to bag sparrows, and as being specially seised and possessed of all the birds he had got together. That many undertakings, national as well as individual -- but especially the former -- are held to be specially brought to a glorious and successful issue, which never could be so regarded on any other process of reasoning, must be clear to all men."
I love the delight that Dickens shows in language here -- just the pleasure of long, complex, tangled sentences. And I love the sly jabs at Pecksniff, who turns realism into a justification for selfishness. And I really love how the condemnation telescopes outward and attacks national projects conducted on the same lines; a statement of faith in Providential force in the universe gets twisted into an endorsement of our worst impulses (personal and national alike).
I agree that in this number Dickens is still harder on his First Eden than I expected! Josh points out the wonderful moments of linguistic complexity here; I'd add that the chaotic machinations at the end are equally fun--the sheer pile-up of people and passions that we anticipate as Martin Chuzzlewit Sr approaches rapidly in his carriage!
The undertaker, Mr Mould, delighted me in his exchange with Mrs Gamp over the funeral, where "everything that money could do was done," and nothing in the world could do more. He articulates the *perfect* justification for the high price of funerals: "Why do people spend more money upon a death, Mrs Gamp, than upon a birth?"..."It's because the laying out of money upon the very best scale, binds the broken heart, and sheds balm upon the wounded spirit. Hearts want binding, and spirits want balming when people die: not when people are born." Then he lists that wonderful menu of services money could buy for someone "who knows what it is in the power of money to do...in giving him relief, and in testifying his love and veneration for the departed."
The undertaker, Mr Mould, delighted me in his exchange with Mrs Gamp over the funeral, where "everything that money could do was done," and nothing in the world could do more. He articulates the *perfect* justification for the high price of funerals: "Why do people spend more money upon a death, Mrs Gamp, than upon a birth?"..."It's because the laying out of money upon the very best scale, binds the broken heart, and sheds balm upon the wounded spirit. Hearts want binding, and spirits want balming when people die: not when people are born." Then he lists that wonderful menu of services money could buy for someone "who knows what it is in the power of money to do...in giving him relief, and in testifying his love and veneration for the departed."
You're more than welcome, Serial Susan! I just finished Miss Marjoribanks (& found the later parts infinitely more interesting than the first), and I'm gearing up for when the next selection rolls around.
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