Vanity Fair: how Thackeray gives life to “insignificant” characters

1/ Vanity Fair is a long novel, spanning about 18 years, with lots of characters. The star, everyone would agree, is Becky Sharp, one of the greatest female characters (I’ve encountered) in literature. Among the rest of the characters, some are interesting, complex, and fully developed (George Osborne and father), some are well-drawn though dull (Rawdon Crawley, Amelia Sedley), some are types (Pitt Crawley), and many are cardboard cut-outs. 

But once in a while, Thackeray adds more life to the minor, “insignificant” characters, and makes one care more about them, at least in those moments.

For example, when William Dobbin helps bring about the marriage of George Osborne and Amelia, he’s the one who comes to the Osbornes to try to get the old man to reconcile with his son and approve of the marriage, but before that, he speaks to George’s sister Jane and tries to get some support. Thackeray depicts the heated meeting between the two men, then switches to old Mr Osborne’s perspective, depicts his wounded pride and anger, and depicts him not only burning the will but also removing George’s name from the family Bible. It is turbulent chapter. But after all that, Thackeray writes:  

“When Captain Dobbin took leave of Miss Osborne we have said that he asked leave to come and pay her another visit, and the spinster expected him for some hours the next day, when, perhaps, had he come, and had he asked her that question which she was prepared to answer, she would have declared herself as her brother's friend, and a reconciliation might have been effected between George and his angry father. But though she waited at home the Captain never came. […] In the course of the day Miss Osborne heard her father give orders that that meddling scoundrel, Captain Dobbin, should never be admitted within his doors again, and any hopes in which she may have indulged privately were thus abruptly brought to an end.” (Ch.24) 

Thackeray draws one’s attention to a character nobody has cared much about—before this moment, the Misses Osborne, Misses Crawley, and Misses Dobbin are all lumped together, interchangeable, but now there’s some difference. 

Jane’s hopes are shattered, and she has to watch Frederick Bullock being loving and affectionate to her sister Maria. The two of them later get married. 

“One can fancy the pangs with which Miss Osborne in her solitude in Russell Square read the Morning Post, where her sister's name occurred every now and then, in the articles headed "Fashionable Reunions," and where she had an opportunity of reading a description of Mrs. F. Bullock's costume, when presented at the drawing room by Lady Frederica Bullock. Jane's own life, as we have said, admitted of no such grandeur. It was an awful existence. She had to get up of black winter's mornings to make breakfast for her scowling old father, who would have turned the whole house out of doors if his tea had not been ready at half-past eight. She remained silent opposite to him, listening to the urn hissing, and sitting in tremor while the parent read his paper and consumed his accustomed portion of muffins and tea.” (Ch.42)

Jane Osborne never becomes an interesting character as such, but she feels more alive, especially when, some time later, Thackeray tells us her backstory. Tolstoy uses a similar technique: no character in Anna Karenina, War and Peace, or Hadji Murad feels like a cardboard cut-out or the author’s puppet, because even with the most insignificant characters, Tolstoy gives them a backstory, or adds “superfluous” details that don’t seem to serve the plot, and the characters all seem to have a life of their own.  

In chapter 37, Thackeray first mentions Lord Steyne, a Marquis who is enchanted with Becky and who introduces her and Rawdon to high society. He is always hanging out at the Crawleys’. But it’s 10 chapters later when Thackeray brings the reader to Lord Steyne’s house, and introduces us to the family.      

“So, if Mr. Eaves's information be correct, it is very likely that this lady, in her high station, had to submit to many a private indignity and to hide many secret griefs under a calm face.” (Ch.47)

I shall not say what the secret is, in case you haven’t read Vanity Fair. Later, we see her again when Becky is at a party for high society, the men have temporarily left the room, and the ladies treat Becky with such disdain that Lady Steyne pities her. 

“[Rebecca] sang religious songs of Mozart, which had been early favourites of Lady Steyne, and with such sweetness and tenderness that the lady, lingering round the piano, sat down by its side and listened until the tears rolled down her eyes. It is true that the opposition ladies at the other end of the room kept up a loud and ceaseless buzzing and talking, but the Lady Steyne did not hear those rumours. She was a child again—and had wandered back through a forty years' wilderness to her convent garden. The chapel organ had pealed the same tones, the organist, the sister whom she loved best of the community, had taught them to her in those early happy days. She was a girl once more, and the brief period of her happiness bloomed out again for an hour—she started when the jarring doors were flung open, and with a loud laugh from Lord Steyne, the men of the party entered full of gaiety.

He saw at a glance what had happened in his absence, and was grateful to his wife for once.” (Ch.49) 

This is such a great scene. For a moment, nobody else matters, even Becky fades to the background, and we’re in Lady Steyne’s head. 

When I read, I don’t have the habit of pretending characters are real people, but I do wish Thackeray had written more—a separate novel perhaps—about Lady Steyne. He makes me interested in her even though she only appears a couple of times in the novel. 

2/ In the previous blog post, I wrote that Rawdon Crawley was dull and didn’t have much of a personality. He lives in delusion for a long time, as Amelia does. But Thackeray makes him more interesting when he finally sees the truth, and walks away: Becky continues with her tricks, and in the reader’s mind, there may be some ambiguity about how guilty Becky is and what she has done, but the tricks no longer work for Rawdon and nobody can sway him.

Thackeray uses the same technique for two other characters: William Dobbin, who is kind but boring and a bit of simp, becomes much more interesting and dignified when he walks away from Amelia; and Lady Jane, soft, gentle, submissive, “the perfect wife” with no opinions of her own, also becomes more interesting when she finally reaches her limits and stands up to her husband Pitt Crawley, refusing to have Becky under her roof after what she has done. 

3/ In Vanity Fair, Sir Pitt is rather interesting, though minor. Here’s a passage that makes the reader see him differently (Hester is the maid): 

“Of sunshiny days this old gentleman was taken out in a chair on the terrace—the very chair which Miss Crawley had had at Brighton, and which had been transported thence with a number of Lady Southdown's effects to Queen's Crawley. Lady Jane always walked by the old man, and was an evident favourite with him. He used to nod many times to her and smile when she came in, and utter inarticulate deprecatory moans when she was going away. When the door shut upon her he would cry and sob—whereupon Hester's face and manner, which was always exceedingly bland and gentle while her lady was present, would change at once, and she would make faces at him and clench her fist and scream out "Hold your tongue, you stoopid old fool," and twirl away his chair from the fire which he loved to look at—at which he would cry more. For this was all that was left after more than seventy years of cunning, and struggling, and drinking, and scheming, and sin and selfishness—a whimpering old idiot put in and out of bed and cleaned and fed like a baby.” (Ch.40) 

That last line is affecting.

If you haven’t read Vanity Fair, what are you waiting for?