I almost quit on Dombey and Son, around page 425 or so. It is a transitional novel (according to my friend Himadri, the Dickens expert): Florence Dombey is insipid (Dickens clearly learnt and improved himself when he later created Amy Dorrit and Esther Summerson); Walter Gay is a blank; the supporting characters are forgettable, lacking the vitality of the ones in Bleak House or David Copperfield; there are some deeply moving passages but some passages drag; and the highlight (up till that point of the novel) is little Paul.
But I’m glad I read on, because Dickens gives us some magnificent scenes, such as the scenes between Edith and her mother Mrs Skewton, between Mrs Chick and Miss Lucretia Tox, between Edith and Florence before the wedding—who says Dickens can’t write women? For those of you who have not read the novel, or read it long ago and don’t remember, here’s a quick summary: Mr Paul Dombey is a rich man, a cold man, who doesn’t care for his first wife and doesn’t notice his daughter Florence, as he only wants a son; his first wife dies after giving birth to little Paul; Miss Tox takes advantage of her close friendship with Mr Dombey’s sister, Mrs Chick, and tries to insert herself into his circle, trying to ensnare him; but on a trip after the death of his little son, Mr Dombey is ensnared by someone else, and marries the beautiful but penniless Edith.
The confrontation between Edith and Mrs Skewton is one of the greatest scenes in the novel. We have seen them for some time, but now we see them for what they truly are: a mercenary, calculating mother who has raised her daughter for the sole purpose of catching a rich man, and a proud daughter, full of self-loathing and painful awareness of the sordid transaction now taking place.
““You might have been well married,” said her mother, “twenty times at least, Edith, if you had given encouragement enough.”
“No! Who takes me, refuse that I am, and as I well deserve to be,” she answered, raising her head, and trembling in her energy of shame and stormy pride, “shall take me, as this man does, with no art of mine put forth to lure him. He sees me at the auction, and he thinks it well to buy me. Let him! When he came to view me—perhaps to bid—he required to see the roll of my accomplishments. I gave it to him. When he would have me show one of them, to justify his purchase to his men, I require of him to say which he demands, and I exhibit it. I will do no more. He makes the purchase of his own will, and with his own sense of its worth, and the power of his money; and I hope it may never disappoint him. I have not vaunted and pressed the bargain; neither have you, so far as I have been able to prevent you.”” (ch.27)
What a scene. The quote from the headline comes from the same conversation. Dickens is extremely good at depicting resentful and broken women—we see it in Great Expectations, in Little Dorrit—we see it here. Compared to Mrs Skewton, Jane Austen’s Mrs Bennet is much more likeable.
The second confrontation is even better, when Edith tells Mrs Skewton not to corrupt Florence. When Dickens first introduces Edith, she’s a proud, genteel woman, weary of it all. Slowly he removes the layers: she has been taught and forced to catch a rich man to lift herself and her mother out of destitution; she has been degraded and corrupted, “fallen too low, by degrees, to take a new course”; but she’s aware, and has the conscience not to let her wicked mother destroy an innocent soul. In Florence, she sees a pure girl she could have been.
The depiction of Edith during the “courtship”, during the preparation for the wedding, and at the wedding is magnificent: she doesn’t love Mr Dombey but doesn’t care; this is what she’s made for; she’s so full of self-loathing and contempt that she’s indifferent to it all. Next to her, Austen’s Charlotte Lucas is tame.
I also love the scene where Mrs Chick tells her friend Miss Tox about her brother’s upcoming marriage.
“Miss Tox left her seat in a hurry, and returned to her plants; clipping among the stems and leaves, with as little favour as a barber working at so many pauper heads of hair.” (ch.29)
Who says Dickens cannot write women? This is one of those things I keep coming across over and over again on the internet, but people seem to repeat it without examining it, without thinking much about it.
Look at Miss Tox at the wedding:
“Miss Tox emerges from behind the cherubim’s leg, when all is quiet, and comes slowly down from the gallery. Miss Tox’s eyes are red, and her pocket-handkerchief is damp. She is wounded, but not exasperated, and she hopes they may be happy. She quite admits to herself the beauty of the bride, and her own comparatively feeble and faded attractions; but the stately image of Mr Dombey in his lilac waistcoat, and his fawn-coloured pantaloons, is present to her mind, and Miss Tox weeps afresh, behind her veil, on her way home to Princess’s Place.” (ch.31)
Miss Tox previously didn’t create a strong impression—here, just a few lines give her life, get us to feel compassion and pity for her.
This is masterful.
Trollope is the writer who gives us women characters as females AND characters. As Orwell suggests in his captious essay on Dickens it is difficult to conceive of, say, having a conversation with a Dickens character. Orwell chooses Pierre Bazukov as someone with whom he could more readily converse than anyone in Dickens. Trollope dramatizes the emotions of
ReplyDeletehis female characters: in “ Barchester Towers” Eleanor Harding’s remorse after she slaps her awkward suitor, the detestable Mr. Slope,mid-proposal; in “ Dr. Thorne” Mary Scratcherd’s high-pitched and eloquent rejoinder to her cousins when they eliminate her as a bridesmaid on account of her illegitimate birth. Having done the same with” Barchester” I am currently and joyfully reading “ Dr. Thorne” aloud to my. wife.
No offence, Richard, but I don't really see how that adds to the conversation. My blog post is about Dickens, not Trollope. If you think Dickens can't write women, comment on what I wrote above.
DeleteDickens’ characters embody fictional enchantment. Trollope’s and Tolstoy’s characters are your friends and relations. They strike the readers’ responses like different harmonic chords.
DeleteWhat's the "fictional enchantment" when we're talking about Edith Granger or Miss Tox?
DeleteThey are well-crafted fictional characters. But are they relatable to in daily life? Can you really reach out and touch ‘em? Nothing I’ve said, however, robs them of the enjoyment they afford Dickens’s readers.
DeleteI can reach out and touch Edith, yes. This is unflinching realism, there is nothing "enchanting" or fairytale-like or unrealistic here; the depiction of Mrs Skewton and Edith is brutal; Edith has psychological depth, as Dickens reveals other layers.
DeleteWhat do you think is unrelatable about Edith, or Miss Tox? I wrote about specific moments and passages in the book, so you should also be specific.
Your challenge is apt. Given my age and limited experience with the Dickens canon, having read only DC,BH, GE,LD, TTC and CC my memory doesn’t allow me to do justice to any female character other than Ms. Havisham. And I am currently attached to Trollope.
DeleteThe idea that Dickens can't write women is something that I have heard a lot, which is extremely irritating. Over the years, I have written multiple blog posts challenging that statement people repeat like a mantra, so when I do write about something specific, I like people to respond to that specifically rather than repeat that mantra.
DeleteAlso, this is not a personal attack on you, but why is that every single time I talk about Dickens and female characters, someone has to appear and bring up Trollope? Trollope is not the subject of discussion, I didn't mention Trollope, I don't care for Trollope, he is irrelevant.
Yes, the "Dickens can't write women" business is so lazy, so received. Apparently something like "Dickens at some points in his career could write some kinds of women but not others" is too complex. Dombey and Son is a perfect example, as Florence starts promising but becomes dull, while Edith Dombey becomes highly interesting, one of Dickens's best non-grotesques.
ReplyDeleteHe really did have trouble with his conventional heroines (and heros) for a while. So interesting to see his development, a huge talent from the beginning turning, book by book, into one of the greatest novelists, working on every aspect of his art.
Yeah, Amy Dorrit and Esther Summerson were clearly an improvement on Florence, though I think with Amy Dorrit, Dickens figured it out towards the later part of the book.
DeletePeople complain about these characters, but the adult David Copperfield for example is dull too. The good, conventional characters were a problem for a while, as you say.
Can't wait to see how Edith develops.