Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens

"If Miss Amy Dorrit will direct her own attention to, and will accept of my poor assistance in, the formation of a surface, Mr. Dorrit will have no further cause of anxiety. May I take this opportunity of remarking, as an instance in point, that it is scarcely delicate to look at vagrants with the attention which I have seen bestowed upon them, by a very dear young friend of mine? They should not be looked at. Nothing disagreeable should ever be looked at. Apart from such a habit standing in the way of that graceful equanimity of surface which is so expressive of good breeding, it hardly seems compatible with refinement of mind. A truly refined mind will seem to be ignorant of the existence of anything that is not perfectly proper, placid, and pleasant."

-Little Dorrit 

Well, this has been a long time coming. Little Dorrit--which clocks in at over 800 pages--is no quick read, that's for sure. And while I'd hoped to become absorbed in the world Dickens created, much as I was with Bleak House, I found Little Dorrit to be mostly a slog.

The titular character in Little Dorrit is a timid seamstress, christened Amy, who has grown up in Marshalsea Prison. Her father is incarcerated as a debtor, and she's spent little time outside of the prison that she considers a home. She does leave Marshalsea to do her sewing work, primarily at the residence of the cold and businesslike Mrs. Clennam. Her simple, sheltered life changes when Mrs. Clennam's son, Arthur, returns home to London after an extended stay in Japan. Arthur takes an interest in her affairs, primarily because he worries that his own family's business might have been one that Mr. Dorrit owed money to so many years ago. This sense of responsibility motivates Arthur to help Amy, though he cannot foresee, of course, just how great the ramifications of his aid will be.

I've mentioned only four characters, but since it's Dickens you can rest assured there are easily fifty--few of them, sadly, are terribly compelling. Arthur is sympathetic, though it's hard to find his patronizing relationship with Amy as romantic as I suspect we are intended to. He calls her Little Dorrit, for one, which I have a hard time getting past--she is a grown woman, after all, even if he's twice her age. Amy herself, unfortunately, is a bit of a drip. She's kind, sure, but she possesses none of the spark that made Esther Summerson, a similarly good-hearted character, much more likable in Bleak House. In short, you know something's wrong with the characters when I didn't even find the (random) French murderer interesting.

That being said, Dickens threw in a couple of good reversals of fortune, so the second half of the book moves along more quickly than the first. Normally I'm not one to gripe about this when it comes to Dickens, but I think the problem is really one of length. Cut down the first half by 200 pages, remove a subplot or five--I think there is an interesting story in there, he just didn't quite tell it. It's why I still plan to see the miniseries at some point--I think that, with some editing, I might like this story a good deal better. Certainly no rush to see it at the moment, though.

Up next: Already finished the third Blue Bloods book, Revelations.

Drood by Dan Simmons

In this manuscript (which, I have explained - for legal reasons as well as for reasons of honour - I intend to seal away from all eyes after his death and my own), I shall answer the question which perhaps no one else alive in our time knew to ask - "Did the famous and loveable and honourable Charles Dickens plot to murder an innocent person and dissolve away his flesh in a pit of caustic lime and secretly inter what was left of him, mere bones and skull, in the crypt of an ancient cathedral that was an important part of Dickens's own childhood? And did Dickens then scheme to scatter the poor victim's spectacles, rings, stickpins, shirt studs, and pocket watch in the River Thames? And if so, or even if Dickens only dreamed he did these things, what part did a very real phantom named Drood have in the onset of such madness?"

-Drood

When I read the excerpt above, which is in the first few pages of Drood, I was left gaping - then smiling. A novel in which Charles Dickens is a potential murderer? Certainly a promising premise for a Dickens fan such as myself. The manuscript that is mentioned, which forms the substance of the novel Drood, is framed as the work of real-life author Wilkie Collins, a contemporary of Dickens. In his day, magazines containing serialized versions of Collins's books, such as The Moonstone*, actually outsold issues that featured Dickens, although it is my impression that Dickens was both more critically acclaimed and more popularly beloved. Collins, though, could tell a ripping good tale.

In Drood, Collins is not doing so well. In terms of his stories, yes, he's on the top of his game. But he's consuming more and more laudanum to deal with bouts of rheumatic gout, and his domestic situation is growing ever more fraught with tension. Plus, there's the pesky side-effect of all that laudanum: paranoid delusions (or are they?), such as his doppelgänger (whom he calls the Other Wilkie), which make him a decidedly unreliable narrator.

Collins is also increasingly unhappy with his relationship with the man who is publicly considered to be his mentor, Dickens. I'm surprised that I was almost all the way through the novel before I thought to compare their relationship to that of Salieri and Mozart in Amadeus, a film I love. Like Mozart, Dickens basks in praise while his fellow artist (Salieri/Collins) stews, becoming increasingly agitated by his perceived lack of respect. It does make me a bit uncomfortable to see a real person portrayed in this way - in Amadeus, Salieri is painted as a would-be murderer, which is unsubstantiated by history; similarly, Collins...well, I won't give that away, but needless to say, if this is how Wilkie Collins ends up being remembered, it's far from flattering (to put it mildly). All the same, I was actually quite sympathetic to Collins, despite some of his more egregious behavior (and it is pretty egregious) and his attacks on Bleak House (the nerve!).

One probably could have written a novel about Collins and Dickens that didn't involve the supernatural, but Dan Simmons invented the monster called Drood. I hesitate to say too much about the devilish Drood, because a novel of suspense is naturally weakened by an early revelation of too many details. I will say that Drood involves mesmerism, a creepy section of London known as Undertown, an enormous detective named Hibbert Hatchery**, and scarab beetles. My God, the scarab beetles. There was a certain point when I realized that my internal monologue while reading some scenes was along the lines of Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. One of the opening scenes in particular, which describes the aftermath of a train disaster Dickens survived at Staplehurst, is incredibly vivid and intense. Simmons certainly does know how to ratchet up the tension - if I hadn't been simultaneously working on NaNoWriMo, I certainly would have been flipping Drood's pages far more quickly.

There is the matter of length, by the way: Drood is nearly 800 pages long. I must say, I can't imagine keeping a novel of such length and complexity together, not to mention actually pulling off a satisfactory ending, as I think Simmons did. I also admire the way that things were resolved with sufficient ambiguity, which leaves one with a fair amount to mull over after finishing the story (although there's at least one bit I wish were a little tidier). There was a certain point, though, about 200 pages from the end of the book, when I rather wished I was done with it. Not that I wanted to put it down, just that I would have been satisfied had the novel reached a conclusion by that point. That having been said, this feeling may have been influenced by the dream team of books that I have acquired recently***, which are just calling out to be read.

Speaking of...Up next: It was difficult to decide, but I went with the 4th Sookie Stackhouse, which has quite the juicy premise - Eric has amnesia! You've gotta love it - or, actually, I suppose you don't have to, but I for one appreciate a good amnesiac vampire yarn.

*Unlike many people, I suspect, I actually have read The Moonstone. Sadly, I really don't remember any of it. (Sorry, Wilkie!)

**One does imagine that Dickens would be proud of that one - it actually is a spin on his own Dick Datchery from The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

***The 4th Sookie Stackhouse, a Wallander mystery, and the latest Jackson Brodie novel from Kate Atkinson. Terrifically exciting lineup for me.

Bleak House by Charles Dickens

"In the wicked days, my dears, of King Charles the First - I mean, of course, in the wicked days of the rebels who leagued themselves against that excellent King - Sir Morbury Dedlock was the owner of Chesney Wold. Whether there was any account of a ghost in the family before those days, I can't say. I should think it very likely indeed."

Mrs. Rouncewell holds this opinion, because she considers that a family of such antiquity and importance has a right to a ghost. She regards a ghost as one of the privileges of the upper classes; a genteel distinction to which common people have no claim.

-Bleak House

It's hard to know where to begin with Bleak House, to even choose a proper quotation to illustrate it. As I was reading, I tried to remember page numbers of particularly good passages, but I've ended up with more than I need. (As opposed to times when I've halfheartedly leafed through a book to find anything worth quoting.) I may sneak another quotation in at the end.

Bleak House is the story of a young woman. No, a ludicrously complicated court case. A woman troubled by a ghost. A man troubled by the east wind. Marriage. Death. Love. Spontaneous combustion.

Let's start with the young woman. Her name is Esther Summerson. When we first meet her, she tells us of her childhood: born out of wedlock and raised by a staunchly religious woman, a combination that turns out about as well as you might expect. Fortunately for Esther, provisions are made for her after the death of her guardian, and they eventually lead her to the home of John Jarndyce.

Mr. Jarndyce is warm and kind, almost absurdly modest about taking Esther in to live as a companion to an orphaned young cousin of his, Ada Clare. Mr. Jarndyce, Ada, and their other cousin, Richard Carstone, are also embroiled in Jarndyce and Jarndyce, a lawsuit over a contested will, the complexity and duration of which has left it a joke in the eyes of the law. Mr. Jarndyce, however, takes it seriously enough to try to avoid it entirely: Jarndyce and Jarndyce has been the ruin of many a man.

What of that woman who hears a ghostly footfall outside her bedroom window? That would be Lady Dedlock. She's beautiful and haughty, the talk of all society. She doesn't care much for that, or for anything, really. So it comes as quite a surprise when she swoons at the sight of some legal papers (she is also a party in Jarndyce and Jarndyce, naturally) in the possession of her husband's lawyer, the relentless and sinister Mr. Tulkinghorn. What could cause a lady of such renowned composure to give way like that, the reader may wonder. Mr. Tulkinghorn wants to know as well, and his investigation sets into a motion a chain of events that even he could not anticipate.

I could do plot summary for ages, trying to set up some of the dozens of characters that populate Bleak House, but I'm going to move on. I've always enjoyed Dickens, but it wasn't until last summer that I picked up Bleak House. I'd been put off by the name, I suppose. Sounded like a bit of a bummer.

Bleak House is actually the name of Mr. Jarndyce's home, though there's no explanation as to how he (or his family) came to choose such an inhospitable name. You could probably also argue that the title could refer less literally to some of the less pleasant abodes we see in the novel. However, I just want to assure you that it's not 800 pages of misery. There are sad passages, without question, but there are also hopeful ones, even funny ones.

I absolutely fell in love with Bleak House last summer, and watched the wonderful miniseries shortly thereafter. Bleak House basically goes against a lot of what I've posted about summer reading, and it's certainly pretty heavy for your beach bag, but talk about storytelling. I think the reason I felt the impetus to reread it this summer was that it's just so good that I knew it would transport me away from what was otherwise a somewhat stressful time.

Speaking of good, I want to get in a few more words about Esther Summerson, as she is our heroine. I love Esther. She is absolutely good without being overly perfect or one-dimensional. Yes, everyone who meets her, loves her - but you can't help but see why*. Esther is not just passively good, she's actively good, and I think that makes all the difference. She will take in a sick urchin off the streets because it's the right thing to do, even if she endangers herself in doing so. She will travel to reason with Richard when he continues along his misguided path further and further into the snarled workings of Jarndyce and Jarndyce. And towards the close of the novel, she will make another, far more harrowing journey to seek out someone she loves.

What am I leaving out? The amusing declarations and legalese of Mr. Guppy, as well as his hilarious mother. The Growlery. That elderly child, Harold Skimpole. Mr. Smallweed and his brimstone magpie of a wife. Yes, at this point I'm just putting in all the Dickensian phrasing that I find memorable.

"It was a troubled dream?" said Richard, clasping both my guardian's hands eagerly.
"Nothing more, Rick; nothing more."
"And you, being a good man, can pass it as such, and forgive and pity the dreamer, and be lenient and encouraging when he wakes?"
"Indeed I can. What am I but another dreamer, Rick?"
"I will begin the world!" said Richard, with a light in his eyes.

Oh, Dickens. I'm not sure, but I'm going to put this out there: Bleak House might be my favorite novel, ever. How's that for a recommendation?

Up next: Well, I actually finished Bleak House a few days ago, but I hadn't had enough time to write. So, in the meantime, I've already finished up the 2nd Sookie Stackhouse book, and I expect to be back to write about that shortly. My next move after that is undecided - I have a lot of choices, hooray.

*Apparently you can. After posting this, I finally read the introduction to my edition of Bleak House, and found that many people do not share my opinion of Esther. To which I say: whatever. I think it's refreshing to have a woman who is good and earnest, not to mention resilient. I'm so tired of jaded characters.

I Want To Read: Drood

I was reading Bleak House on the train the other day, as I do, when the man sitting next to me commented on it. Nothing particularly profound - "Great book," I believe he said. I agreed. We didn't settle into a conversation, mostly because I don't think he intended to really interrupt my reading of said-great book, and because I was inclined to keep reading as well. Also, this is New York City. I think the gruff, closed-off attitude is overhyped, but small talk on the train isn't terribly common, either. (This man had luggage, which undoubtedly was filled with awesome books.)

Anyway, as the train approached this man's stop, he mentioned that I should read Drood, which he praised highly. As I like to think someone who appreciates Bleak House knows his stuff, and because I wanted to read Drood anyway, I think this sounds like a fine suggestion.

Although I don't do a very good job keeping up with modern fiction, I read a great review of Drood (by Dan Simmons, for the record) a few months back and title stuck in my head. I mean, Dickens? Good. Mystery? Good. Great review? Well, good, hopefully.

It seems like it could be helpful/interesting to read Dickens's The Mystery of Edwin Drood first, but I think I'm going to find it very hard to get completely invested in a story without an end. Terribly frustrating. Drood, however, is 100% complete is far as I know, which is certainly another point in its favor.

I'm in the home stretch on Bleak House: 150 pages to go; I anticipate I'll be back to write about it later this week.