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I did not like the gluttonous meal chapter, nor the meeting with Bevans's relations. But the next American episode I found far more entertaining, and we have clear signals that these two agents are (view spoiler)[crooks and confidence tricksters (hide spoiler)]. Here is a description of Mr Scadder,

""He was a gaunt man in a huge straw hat, and a coat of green stuff. The weather being hot, he had no cravat, and wore his shirt collar wide open; so that every time he spoke something was seen to twitch and jerk up in his throat, like the little hammers in a harpsichord when the notes are struck. Perhaps it was the Truth feebly endeavouring to leap to his lips. If so, it never reached them.

Two grey eyes lurked deep within this agent's head, but one of them had no sight in it, and stood stock still. With that side of his face he seemed to listen to what the other side was doing. Thus each profile had a distinct expression; and when the movable side was most in action, the rigid one was in its coldest state of watchfulness. It was like turning the man inside out, to pass to that view of his features in his liveliest mood, and see how calculating and intent they were."

He is quite literally (view spoiler)[two-faced (hide spoiler)]!

But the earlier passages, such as those about the Norris family, lack this depth and level of subtlety. In my view, they just seem full of hyperbole. I'm still not sure what function the Norrises serve anyway. I think it would have been easier to believe in their hypocrisy, if it had been demonstrated, rather than just rhetoric coming out of their mouths. Or at least if they did something else other than spout opinions and then disappear from the story.

What I say has nothing to do with a current reader being sensitive to criticism of America or England. It is merely an opinion about his writing, and how Dickens's own perceptions seemed to overly influence and feed into these passages. To me, it seems to be to be a mark of the earlier Dickens. He did much the same with Oliver Twist - sacrificed good writing to rather too many protestations on the part of the narrator - who was hardly ever omniscient. That's why I gave the book just 4*, although I've read it over and over again and love it! But I think it's representative of his immature work, and flawed.

Martin Chuzzlewit is supposed to be the start of better work. It's the only one he planned beforehand, for a start (although he quickly jettisoned that with the American insertions, and I think you can tell.)

The descriptions of Eden are phenomenally powerful though. I really think his writing is superb in these passages. I may quote some later ...

It's also better, I think, that we don't seem to have long between the American and English episodes. (I haven't done a word count comparison - it's just an impression.) Each part leaves you wanting more about what's happening there, and that has to be good :)

Dickens generally is full of hyperbole, deliberately exaggerating unfairnesses in so many things - the education system, workhouses, the law, Utilitarianism, the clergy. He usually seeks to make a valid point, and get something changed. So perhaps now he's being rather unfair and exaggerating the Americans to make a point.

As I have now read further, and am enjoying the American parts just as much as those set in England, I am wondering if part of what hits the reader with the previous section is that this was his first description of America. Usually he leads his reader in more gently before unleashing his wrathful sarcasm!

It's the only thing that hits a jarring note so far in this wonderful book. I was going to quote a bit about Eden, but how about this, which is his inspiration for Eden? It's from a letter he wrote to his mentor and biographer, John Forster, about the mountains near Pittsburgh which he saw from a train when travelling through the area,

""The scenery, before you reach the mountains, and when you are on them, and after you have left them, is very grand and fine; and the canal winds its way through some deep, sullen gorges, which, seen by moonlight, are very impressive: though immeasurably inferior to Glencoe, to whose terrors I have not seen the smallest approach. We have passed, both in the mountains and elsewhere, a great number of new settlements and detached log houses. Their utterly forlorn and miserable appearance baffles all description. I have not seen six cabins out of six hundred, where the windows have been whole. Old hats, old clothes, old boards, old fragments of blanket and paper, are stuffed into the broken glass; and their air is misery and desolation. It pains the eye to see the stumps of great trees thickly strewn in every field of wheat; and never to lose the eternal swamp and dull morass, with hundreds of rotten trunks, of elm and pine and sycamore and logwood, steeped in its unwholesome water; where the frogs so croak at night that after dark there is an incessant sound as if millions of phantom teams, with bells, were traveling through the upper air, at an enormous distance off. It is quite an oppressive circumstance, too, to come upon great tracks, where settlers have been burning down the trees; and where their wounded bodies lie about, like those of murdered creatures; while here and there some charred and blackened giant rears two bare arms aloft, and seems to curse his enemies. The prettiest sight I have seen was yesterday, when we - on the heights of the mountain, and in a keen wind - looked down into a valley full of light and softness; catching glimpses of scattered cabins; children running to the doors; dogs bursting out to bark; pigs scampering home, like so many prodigal sons; families sitting out in their gardens; cows gazing upward, with a stupid indifference; men in their shirt-sleeves, looking on at their unfinished houses, and planning work for to-morrow; - and the train riding on, high above them, like a storm. But I know this is beautiful - very - very beautiful!"

Ring a bell? Forster called it "The Original of Eden".

You know though, I've been to Glencoe, and it didn't strike me like that at all! ;)

I think Mark Tapler must be my favourite person in all Dickens's novels so far. What a heart of oak he has :)

Mrs Gamp

Sarah or "Sairey" Gamp was based on a real person! So many of Dickens's best characters seem to be ...

When Dickens was writing Martin Chuzzlewit his sales began to flag, and he quickly switched tack to include all the American scenes, as I noted before. He also brought in some new characters to spice it up, and increase his sales, much as he had done with Sam Weller in The Pickwick Papers.

The inspiration for Mrs Gamp apparently came via his rich philanthropic friend, Angela Burdett-Coutts. He was later to to co-found "Urania Cottage" with her, of course, a home for young women who had "turned to a life of immorality", such as theft and prostitution. And this novel is also dedicated to her.

Angela Burdett-Coutts told Dickens about a nurse who took care of her companion (and former governess) Hannah Meredith. The nurse was an eccentric character, and things like her yellow nightcap, her fondness for snuff and for spirits were immediately seized on by Dickens, who then created the unforgettable horror Mrs. Gamp.

The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company

I suppose it's Dickens's background as a parliamentary reporter which made him so keen to use real people and events. In Nicholas Nickleby, we learnt that the monstrous Dotheboys Hall was based on an actual school in North Yorkshire. Then the one just before this, which I've just read - Barnaby Rudge - is of course based on the Gordon Riots. And the legal case the story hinges on, in the one you're reading John, Bleak House, was based on an actual case (as you probably know.)

Now it turns out that Montague Tigg (aka Tigg Montague)'s "Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company" was based on an actual fraudulent "company", the "West Sussex Assurance Company". It was launched in 1836 by so-called "directors" with almost no capital. They absconded four years later with £300,000, which they had collected in insurance premiums.

The case was being reported in Parliament at the time Dickens was writing Martin Chuzzlewit, apparently.

It reminds me very much of Augustus Melmotte in Anthony Trollope's The Way We Live Now.

Oooo you absolute bounder Pecksniff! Poor Tom Pinch!! :(

I'm about to start chapter 34, so have been in Eden for a while, a long way away from Mrs Gamp. I very much like the maturity Martin Junior is developing now :)

A reread always reveals more. It's probably clear that this one was the first for which Dickens actually planned the story in advance.
The chapters from 33 (where Martin junior develops some maturity) onwards to chapter 39 seem to be so very good. Character, descriptions, and plot development are all superb. When you know the story and are reading it for the second time, you can see the clues and how things are going to play out. It is so well constructed.

I've been enjoying the illustrations by Phiz as I read. It's clear from Dickens's diaries that he was always very particular about his illustrations for all his works, often specifying exactly what he wanted, and at very short notice for the poor illustrator. Hablot Browne (Phiz) must have been a saint!

I always like the caricatures, but also think these two are also very evocative:

The thriving City of Eden as it appeared on paper



The thriving City of Eden as it appeared in fact




Note the sign "Chuzzlewit & Co., Architects and Surveyors" in the second illustration.

And have you noticed with the first illustration, the two big clues to the reader, in the top centre? The spider catching flies in her web, and the mouse about to enter a mousetrap? Clear instances of foreshadowing there, I think!

I also loved the illustration for "Mrs Gamp propoges a Toast" in ch 49.

I have just got past the (view spoiler)[horrible murder by Jonas (hide spoiler)]. Oddly the character of Jonas Chuzzlewit has been reminding me of Bill Sykes all along - and now even more so. The scenes where he is (view spoiler)[almost consumed by guilt (hide spoiler)] remind me very much of similar imagery in Oliver Twist. I think this is altogether a better book though.

Is Seth Pecksniff actually deluding himself with all this simpering false piety and sincerity? He just never lets up!

""a moral man; a grave man, a man of noble sentiments, and speech...Perhaps there never was a more moral man... Mr Pecksniff's manner was so bland, and he nodded his head so soothingly, and showed in everything such an affable sense of his own excellence, that anybody would have been, as Mrs Lupin was, comforted by the mere voice and presence of such a man; and, though he had merely said 'a verb must agree with its nominative case in number and person, my good friend,' or 'eight times eight are sixty-four, my worthy soul,' must have felt deeply grateful to him for his humanity and wisdom.

Primed in this artful manner, Mr Pecksniff presented himself at dinner-time in such a state of suavity, benevolence, cheerfulness, politeness, and cordiality, as even he had perhaps never attained before. The frankness of the country gentleman, the refinement of the artist, the good-humoured allowance of the man of the world; philanthropy, forbearance, piety, toleration, all blended together in a flexible adaptability to anything and everything; were expressed in Mr Pecksniff, as he shook hands with the great speculator and capitalist."

There seem to be quite a few scenes when both Jonas and his father Anthony object and tell Pecksniff off, because he carries on pretending, having this hypocritical virtuous air even with them. They say he should know better than to imagine them being taken in. But he does not react to these criticisms - he seems to wear his "mask" all the time.

Yet here,

"It was a special quality, among the many admirable qualities possessed by Mr Pecksniff, that the more he was found out, the more hypocrisy he practised. Let him be discomfited in one quarter, and he refreshed and recompensed himself by carrying the war into another. If his workings and windings were detected by A, so much the greater reason was there for practicing without loss of time on B, if it were only to keep his hand in."

that makes me think he knows very well what it is he's doing, and it is all quite deliberate!

Oh - and I loved this bit!

"'But I have ever,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'sacrificed my children's happiness to my own—I mean my own happiness to my children's—and I will not begin to regulate my life by other rules of conduct now.'"

Whenever I try to work out the subtleties of a character, I always end up just laughing because Dickens has distracted me with a bit of entertaining nonsense! :D

Perhaps Pecksniff genuinely a self-knowing hypocrite who has played the part for so long it's second nature. To him, it must seem the most advantageous thing to maintain his pretence or stance in all circumstances. If not, he would have to admit his failings to others (and to himself). So when playing the part, he almost believes he is a good man.

It can't quite be like that though. If he could admit the truth, he could maybe be redeemed, but it doesn't seem likely that Dickens would want there to be anything good about him.

It is an extraordinary portrayal!

This evening I have been falling about reading the argument between Sairey Gamp and her "partner in crime" Betsy Prig. Oh my! The descriptions of the room itself had me giggling - and the bedstead is a real character all on its own, deliberately tripping people up and entangling them in its drapery ...

What mastery Dickens has shown in this novel. He's kept me intrigued with the mystery, rooting for the downtrodden worthy characters, laughing but indignant at the self-righteous ones, my heart in my mouth at the devastating scenes - the tragedy - the brutality - and oh boy the humour to lighten it all. The balance seems perfect (except for that one little slip, and the sour taste left in the mouth at the commencement of the American section).

I do wonder how often Dickens would have liked to rewrite something - but then he probably never bothered, always being too keen to get on with new projects. He did edit odd words, and the grouping of chapters for new editions, didn't he, but that's not really the same as altering great chunks of the text.

Interesting to speculate what Dickens's intentions had been before he decided to send Martin and Mark to the USA. Martin needed to have adventures that would teach him the lessons about himself and life that he learned in Eden ...

Perhaps this is why some comes off and some doesn't. Whatever else it's partly a hero's journey, a picaresque novel, a coming-of-age novel, as well as many other aspects of mystery and characterisation.

He had already dotted around a bit with his novels. London was his focus, but also the Home Counties - and he'd had shot at Yorkshire already. But I think he had ulterior motives (to do with copyright) for choosing the US. It worked well once he'd got his indignation off his chest and gone on to use his persuasive writing techniques to expose all the business scams that were going on at that time. I think the scenes in Eden were heart-rending. But then so are those in the Yorkshire schools ...

I think it actually worked better, sending him to the US. Martin Junior was so unbearable smug and arrogant at the beginning - a selfish young upstart - that we are made to unconsciously feel he had to go "to the ends of the earth" before anything could make a difference in his character. It adds to the drama; Dickens exaggerating as usual, for effect.

The horrors of "Eden" - oh the delicious irony of that name! :)

I gave a big cheer for Martin senior this evening. I do love the way Dickens always makes his baddies get their comeuppance. Wonderful writing too :)

Finally finished *sigh*

This is the episode which made me cheer:



Warm Reception of Mr. Pecksniff by His Venerable Friend

It sounded as if Pecksniff was destined to (view spoiler)[write begging letters to Tom, amongst others.

I too loved how Cherry was jilted in front of all those relatives, in front of whom she intended to gloat. I liked the way Dickens bookended the novel there.

It seemed a bit contrived, that Bailey should "return from the dead", but the delightful humour of that episode, with him being all topsy-turvy, more than made up for it!

Maybe we are meant to wonder if poor Augustus will not drown, as he protested that he hoped, but return to find his one true love Merry. If not, she will be looked after by Martin senior, who seems to have taken it upon himself after years of selfishness, to act as a bountiful kind old gentleman (another character conversion of the type beloved by Dickens).

I am sad about Tom Pinch though. Dickens always ties things up neatly at the end, and rewards his good characters, but although we are assured that Tom's life is a fulfilled one, I felt he deserved better, and personally wanted more for him. (hide spoiler)]

I have yet to write up my review, and am struggling whether to rate it 4* or 5* (I haven't yet succumbed to half stars) so that shows some idea of how highly I rate it. I can see a decided improvement in this one.

Which one to reread first after this readthrough? Impossible to say. I'd already sort of decided to read lots of his short stories, letters and miscellaneous papers after the novels ... then if I'm still around I'll probably do it all again from the start!

So far I've mostly been surprised by the ones general readers don't usually bother to read, ie Barnaby Rudge and Martin Chuzzlewit, so maybe I'd be tempted to read them again first after five years, as I'll have forgotten them most again.

On the other hand I'm easily sucked in by a good story. I seem to have read Oliver Twist lots of times. But it really isn't anything like his best-written novel. And I feel that his best novels are still to come, as I'm pretty sure they're the middle ones :)

Next time I would start with Sketches by Boz before The Pickwick Papers. I did toy with the idea initially of working through chronologically, so I could try to read all his published short stories interspersed in order too, but I came to the conclusion before that that would be a bit tricky.

I have the 1994 BBC miniseries of Martin Chuzzlewit on DVD. I've only watched it once, when it was initially broadcast, and remember it being excellent.

Here are the main players:

Emma Chambers ... Charity Pecksniff
Julia Sawalha ... Mercy Pecksniff
Keith Allen ... Jonas Chuzzlewit
Philip Franks ... Tom Pinch
Tom Wilkinson ... Seth Pecksniff
Paul Scofield ... Old Martin Chuzzlewit / Anthony Chuzzlewit
Peter Wingfield ... John Westlock
Pauline Turner ... Mary Graham
Ben Walden ... Young Martin Chuzzlewit
Steve Nicolson ... Mark Tapley
Pete Postlethwaite ... Tigg Montague
Paul Francis ... Bailey
Maggie Steed ... Mrs. Todgers
Lynda Bellingham ... Mrs. Lupin
John Padden ... Augustus Moddle
Stephen Mapes ... Lewsome
John Mills ... Mr. Chuffey
Elizabeth Spriggs ... Mrs. Gamp
Graham Stark ... Nadgett
Joan Sims ... Betsy Prig
Robin Hooper ... Mr. Jinkins
Cornelia Hayes O'Herlihy ... Ruth Pinch
Sam Kelly ... Mr. Mould
Julian Fellowes ... Dr. Jobling
David Bradley ... David Crimple
Peter-Hugo Daly ... Chevy Slyme
Colin McCormack ... Bullamy
Nicholas Smith ... Mr. Spottletoe
Lex Neale ... Grand Nephew
Nancy Nevinson ... Deaf Cousin
Philippa Urquhart ... Widow
Roger Ashton-Griffiths ... George Chuzzlewit
Ted Maynard ... General Diver
William Roberts ... Mr. Scadder

I'm looking forward to watching it again now :)

I've just been reading one of John Sutherland's marvellous literary puzzles, entitled "Mysteries of the Dickensian Year" which focuses entirely on the calendar of events in Martin Chuzzlewit. He cites many specific instances, and basically you can't get away from the fact that ... it just doesn't add up! I'll paraphrase his analysis:

(view spoiler)[Martin leaves Pecksniff on a "dark winter's morning", and from the description, Martin and Mark set sail for America on a cold dark winter's night (ch. 15 starting "a dark and dreary night"). Sutherland deduces from the description that it is mid-winter, early Feb at the latest.

Martin tells Jeffersen Brick that it is "five weeks" since they left England. They then spend a few more weeks in the city before setting off for Eden. Back in England (in ch. 18) Anthony Chuzzlewit observes "What a cold spring it is" - early April? Meanwhile Pecksniff and Jonas call the weather "lovely ... fine and warm" as they travel back from the funeral - late April?

That's ch. 20 and immediately after that we switch back to America, with Dickens implying it is the same time, but it seems to be high summer, "a fetid vapour, hot and sickening as the breath of an oven, rose up from the earth, and hung on everything around". Apparently it is June and July when Illinois gets hot like this.

Pecksniff's attempt to woo Mary is in midsummer, by the flowery descriptions, and Tom Pinch's dismissal happens shortly afterwards, "one sultry afternoon". Tom's journey describe an English summer - he sees cricket being played.

Back in America, Martin's fever lasts "many weeks" with a further "three crawling weeks" before the steamboat returns for them. It's obviously still high summer though, as someone is sitting under a sunshade on deck. The arrival back in England is also in good weather, yet we are told "a year had passed".

Er... how? It might feel like a year, but just doesn't add up. And it can't be 18 months - to take us to the next summer, or the counterpart back in England with the Pecksniff and Pinch strand has a year missing.

There's a great summer storm in ch. 42, when Mark and Martin arrive at the Blue Dragon. As Sutherland observes,

"some six hectic months have passed in Tom Pinch's life, bringing him from February to August. A 'year' has passed in Mark and Martin's life bringing them to the same August. Clearly, if Dickens had been precise about his chronology, Martin and Mark would have missed the great summer storm by six months, arriving back in gloomy winter January or February following. Nor could their stay in America be abbreviated by half-a-year, given all the events and experiences it had to contain. 'There are some happy creeturs,' Mrs Gamp observes to Mr Mould, 'as time runs back'ards with.' Martin Chuzzlewit seems to be just such a happy creetur." (hide spoiler)]

Just brilliant!

I think what we can deduce from this is not that Dickens couldn't be bothered to get his dates right, but he sacrificed them for mood. Its important for Dickens that some events happen with dark depressing weather to accompany them - or a terrific storm to accompany violent actions - and others, light-hearted or optimistic events, are enhanced by the depiction of summer.

Sutherland makes the point that you can easily check a calendar with George Eliot, Anthony Trollope or William Thackeray and find the events match it precisely, but that's not really where Dickens's focus lies.

I've found this an interesting idea to ponder, wondering how much verisimilitude matters. It has to be believable ... and yet this twisting of time which Dickens does, seems to work!

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DOMBEY AND SON:

Publication sequence for the original serial:

I � October 1846 (chapters 1�4)
II � November 1846 (chapters 5�7)
III � December 1846 (chapters 8�10)
IV � January 1847 (chapters 11�13)
V � February 1847 (chapters 14�16)
VI � March 1847 (chapters 17�19)
VII � April 1847 (chapters 20�22)
VIII � May 1847 (chapters 23�25)
IX � June 1847 (chapters 26�28)
X � July 1847 (chapters 29�31)
XI � August 1847 (chapters 32�34)
XII � September 1847 (chapters 35�38)
XIII � October 1847 (chapters 39�41)
XIV � November 1847 (chapters 42�45)
XV � December 1847 (chapters 46�48)
XVI � January 1848 (chapters 49�51)
XVII � February 1848 (chapters 52�54)
XVIII � March 1848 (chapters 55�57)
XIX-XX � April 1848 (chapters 58�62)

The novel's full title is "Dombey and Son: Dealings with the Firm of Dombey and Son: Wholesale, Retail and for Exportation". During 1844-47, the railways were just starting to be developed, and the impact this has on London life is a major aspect of the book.

Dickens was between 34 and 36 years old when writing Dombey and Son.

The first parts were written in Lausanne, Switzerland, before he returned to England, via Paris, to complete it. He also published one of his Christmas books, The Battle Of Life, was directing and acting in various theatrical productions, and set up "Urania Cottage" (for "fallen women") with his friend the philanthropist Angela Burdett-Coutts, all within the space of time when he was writing this novel. As always, he was pushing himself to the absolute maximum!

Dombey and Son originally published Oct 1846 - Apr 1848

I started this a couple of days ago, and have just read the first 4 chapters. Already I've been giggling at some of the characters who are flitting on and off the page - "Susan Nipper, Polly Toodle, Solomon Gills, Lucretia Tox, Captain Cuttle" ... I know full well that some of them will never reappear. Dickens just can't seem to stop himself inventing them! But the main one, "Paul Dombey", is there right at the start with his dour starchiness, totally besotted with his newborn son and just oblivious to his daughter "Florence".

Although I've read them all, I don't have a clear memory of this one, except that it felt a bit like a lesser version of Hard Times. It's not one I would be drawn to otherwise, so I'll be interested to see how much I enjoy it. There have been some real surprises for me in my rereads so far! And it's great to see how the author develops, by reading them all in order.

Dombey and Son is Dickens's seventh novel, and it was illustrated by his great friend Hablot K. Browne, or "Phiz". Dickens was worried about how this one would sell, as he had new publishers, Bradbury and Evans. He needn't have worried! As usual it was published in monthly parts, this time between Oct 1846 - Apr 1848, and before long the installments were selling at up to 40,000 copies a month - eight times as many as his main competitor ...

Interestingly the same publisher was also publishing monthly installments of Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray, but they were only selling only 5000 copies a month at the most. Yet nowadays I think that Vanity Fair is far the more popular of the two. It just shows once again how immensely popular Dickens was - he really could do no wrong in the public's eye.

Critics consider Dombey and Son to be Dickens's first artistically mature work. It's the first one for which he planned properly with notes to outline how the novel would progress. He called these notes "mems". Apparently after this novel was published Dickens's reputation had grown so much that he was by then considered a world class author.

I loved the atmosphere of this part:

"The first shock of a great earthquake had, just at that period, rent the whole neighbourhood to its centre. Traces of its course were visible on every side. Houses were knocked down; streets broken through and stopped; deep pits and trenches dug in the ground; enormous heaps of earth and clay thrown up; buildings that were undermined and shaking, propped by great beams of wood. Here, a chaos of carts, overthrown and jumbled together, lay topsy-turvy at the bottom of a steep unnatural hill; there, confused treasures of iron soaked and rusted in something that had accidentally become a pond. Everywhere were bridges that led nowhere; thoroughfares that were wholly impassable; Babel towers of chimneys, wanting half their height; temporary wooden houses and enclosures, in the most unlikely situations; carcases of ragged tenements, and fragments of unfinished walls and arches, and piles of scaffolding, and wildernesses of bricks, and giant forms of cranes, and tripods straddling above nothing. There were a hundred thousand shapes and substances of incompleteness, wildly mingled out of their places, upside down, burrowing in the earth, aspiring in the air, mouldering in the water, and unintelligible as any dream. Hot springs and fiery eruptions, the usual attendants upon earthquakes, lent their contributions of confusion to the scene. Boiling water hissed and heaved within dilapidated walls; whence, also, the glare and roar of flames came issuing forth; and mounds of ashes blocked up rights of way, and wholly changed the law and custom of the neighbourhood.

In short, the yet unfinished and unopened Railroad was in progress; and, from the very core of all this dire disorder, trailed smoothly away, upon its mighty course of civilisation and improvement."

It reminded me very much of the part in The Old Curiosity Shop, where Nell and her grandfather are wandering around the outskirts of the factory towns, and all the industrial smog and filth.

There aren't many signs that this is planned out differently with Dickens's so-called "mems". One might be that he has introduced us to 3 quite different types of families.

There are the Dombeys themselves, with the aloof and repressed father, Polly Toodles' family who are all affection and with a vaguely dimwitted father - ie exactly the opposite - and Solomon Gill and his nephew Walter Gay, in the middle, who seem to be (as the nursery rhyme says) "just right"!

I've had another mental throwback to The Old Curiosity Shop now, with the frail "delicate" boy, Paul, and his morbid thoughts about Mrs Pipchin. He reminds me so much of Little Nell, sitting amongst the gravestones and imagining herself among the dead ...

Both are very fanciful portrayals of children, however ill, but then Dickens was overly preoccupation with the early death of children or young people, because he took his sister-in-law Mary dying at 17 so much to heart. That month was the only month in his life when he missed a deadline.

I do love his description of Mrs. Pipchin,

"This celebrated Mrs Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill-conditioned old lady, of a stooping figure, with a mottled face, like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye, that looked as if it might have been hammered at on an anvil without sustaining any injury. Forty years at least had elapsed since the Peruvian mines had been the death of Mr Pipchin; but his relict still wore black bombazeen, of such a lustreless, deep, dead, sombre shade, that gas itself couldn't light her up after dark, and her presence was a quencher to any number of candles. She was generally spoken of as 'a great manager' of children; and the secret of her management was, to give them everything that they didn't like, and nothing that they did - which was found to sweeten their dispositions very much. She was such a bitter old lady, that one was tempted to believe there had been some mistake in the application of the Peruvian machinery, and that all her waters of gladness and milk of human kindness, had been pumped out dry, instead of the mines.

'Well, Sir,' said Mrs Pipchin to Paul, 'how do you think you shall like me?'

'I don't think I shall like you at all,' replied Paul."

Apparently Mrs. Pipchin was based on an Elizabeth Roylance, with whom Dickens lodged when he was 12, and the rest of his family were in the Marshalsea debtor's prison. Not surprisingly Dickens had vivid and unforgettable memories of his terrible experience, which he was still keeping secret at this time.

Here are Mrs. Pipchin and the young Paul Dombey (who is so frail and delicate at the time that he has to go about in a carriage, and spends most of the rest of the time sitting down). Dickens absolutely hated this illustration!



Dickens always kept a very close eye on the illustrations, and his journals make it clear that he often specified exactly what - and how - things should be depicted. Even though he had his favourite illustrator and friend Hablot Knight Browne working on them, he still was not satisified, and wrote in a letter to his mentor (and biographer) John Forster,

"I am really distressed by the illustration of Mrs. Pipchin and Paul. It is so frightfully and wildly wide of the mark. Good Heaven! in the commonest and most literal construction of the text, it is all wrong. She is described as an old lady, and Paul's 'miniature armchair' is mentioned more than once. He ought to be sitting in a little arm-chair down in a corner of the fireplace, staring up at her. I can't say what pain and vexation it is to be so utterly misrepresented. I would cheerfully have given a hundred pounds to have kept this illustration out of the book. He never could have got that idea of Mrs. Pipchin if he had attended to the text. Indeed I think he does better without the text; for then the notion is made easy to him in short description, and he can't help taking it in."

It seems perfectly OK and in keeping with the others to me. The only "mistake" is the size of the armchair. Mrs. Pipchin is suitably "ogreish" (as Dickens keeps describing her) and Paul appropriately apprehensive. And what a waspish way to talk about his friend! All I can think is that Dickens's own mental image of the scene must have been particularly strong.

We seem to have a surfeit of "oodles" in Dickens. Charity Pecksniff tries her hardest to marry Mr. Moodle in Martin Chuzzlewit.

And now we have the Toodle Family (Polly Toodle, who takes the name of Richards to suit Mr Dombey).

Best of all though, there's this bit in chapter 12 of Bleak House,

"Lord Boodle ... tells Sir Leicester Dedlock with much gravity, after dinner, that he really does not see to what the present age is tending ... the limited choice of the Crown, in the formation of a new ministry, would lie between Lord Coodle and Sir Thomas Doodle � supposing it to be impossible for the Duke of Foodle to act with Goodle, which may be assumed to be the case in consequence of the breach arising out of that affair with Hoodle. Then, giving the Home Department and the leadership of the House of Commons to Joodle, the Exchequer to Koodle, the Colonies to Loodle, and the Foreign Office to Moodle, what are you to do with Noodle? You can't offer him the Presidency of the Council; that is reserved for Poodle. You can't put him in the Woods and Forests; that is hardly good enough for Quoodle. What follows? That the country is shipwrecked, lost, and gone to pieces ... because you can't provide for Noodle!"

I'm now wondering if this gave rise to the description "oodles of oodles" ...

Time and Change

This post is on the theme of Time in Dombey and Son. I've noticed that watches and clocks seem to be a sort of recurring motif, and want to note some instances.

Dombey and Son was being serialized between 1846-8, as noted before, during the development of the railway system. London buzzed with unceasing frentic activity. This was change on a scale hitherto never seen, involving demolition of whatever was there before. It was a hive of activity, and individuals in the population varied in their reactions towards it. There were those who were committed to the old traditional values, but also those who sought the excitement of the new industrial age, and the prosperity they thought it would bring. Many oscillated between the two attitudes.

I'm a quarter of the way through now, and this theme of development and change is looming large throughout the novel. We are constantly reminded of time itself as a concept. A watch comes into the narrative over and over again. It was the first thing Mr. Dombey used to offer his son as a toy. Florence, his daughter, was intimidated by her father, seeming to just see his persona reduced to his shining buttons and his watch. Right at the beginning of the novel we already had the motif as the mother died, and all we heard was the combined ticking of the doctor and Mr. Dombey's watches.

Paul is constantly aware of clocks - he feels they are looking at him and speaking to him. When he is sent to a new school, he seems to see his new world entirely through the oppressive feel of the clock in the room.

Whenever there is a new plot development, it seems to be heralded by a reference to a clock or watch. The way the novel is written is so powerful and subtle. Sounds and watches tick faster and faster - and then we find there is a death, or climax of some sort. There are several things which spring to mind, for which this could be a metaphor. Time passes - it is both finite and yet each moment within is transitory.

In the old order which Mr. Dombey represented at the beginning, everything was done with regimental regularity and in the proper fashion. Time was measured in intervals, as to what was appropriate at what time. Mrs. Dombey was not acting as a Dombey should act, for instance, to die when she did. She was told in no uncertain terms that she should have put in effort to rally, that it was her duty.

Dickens even makes an overt reference to time in the name he chose, "Dombey",

"A. D. stood for Dombei - and Son."

The second family we follow were introduced at a specific time,

"It was half-past five o'clock and an autumn afternoon when the reader and Solomon Gill become acquainted."

and Solmon Gills, the proprietor of a ship's chandler shop has,

"a tremendous chronometer in his fob."

His shop, "The wooden Midshipman" is a veritable treasure-trove of time and measurement. Chronometers, barometers, telescopes, compasses, sextants, quadrants - all these measure time, space, change and place. It's as if Solomon Gills' shop is a symbol of the entire Age. And ironically, every object of measurement, such as the barometer, is becoming neglected or even forgotten by the fast moving industrial age. Even the bells ringing time in a nearby church are almost drowned out by the noise of the busy streets.

These instruments which measured time were crucial and significant pieces, but they belong to a time which is past. The third family we are introduced to, on the other hand, are the Toodles, who represent the new Times. Mr. Toodles is a stoker on the railway - and steam power is the way of the future and the modern age. Solomon Gills is of the past. He even says that the world has become strange and unintelligible to him.

Dombey, as a man of the city, seems now to be caught in the middle.

Mr. Dombey is so alone, and trapped within in his time and class. So skilfully drawn. And my opinion of Lucretia Tox is definitely changing. At first she just seemed to be a gold-digger - flirting with the major, then seemingly hopeful of an alliance with Mr Dombey. But she is showing a caring side now which is very unexpected. Perhaps she's not just a grotesque character put in for light relief after all.

I'm now at the end of chapter 16, and have found the recent chapters personally very difficult to read, starting with all the foreboding in chapter 14. It was very obvious that (view spoiler)[ the frail little Paul was sinking fast. (hide spoiler)] So I've had to nerve myself up a bit for this.

I always say I love Dickens because he makes you laugh and then he makes you cry. Yet until now that has been more of a feeling. Until now.

Reading chapter 14 the other day I found tears falling down my cheeks. It was just too close to home, the closeness between brother and sister. My own grief is ever-present in my mind. Yet we were reading about the decline of a young boy, not an adult, so perhaps it should not have seemed so personally significant. It did, however, and I had to brace myself for the next few chapters.

I'm not one who sobs at films and books - I just get a lump in my throat. What a master Dickens was, to move me so very much.

And the way he interweaves ridiculously comic episodes betwixt the tragic ones is simply superb :)

Here is part of a letter Dickens wrote, while writing this novel:

(view spoiler)[ "My Dear Sheridan. I am heartily sorry for the occasion of your postponement, though glad of the postponement itself. I am slaughtering a young and innocent victim--and it takes a deal of time.

So much, indeed, that I must postpone now, until a week or more is past, and No. 5 is on its way to the shores of Albion--if you ever heard of that uncommon locality." (hide spoiler)]

Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray was published at the same time. When William Makepeace Thackeray read the fate of little Paul, he rushed into Mark Lemon's office, threw the book on the table, and exclaimed, "There's no writing against this; one hasn't an atom of chance. It is stupendous!"

I'm always disturbed by reading William Makepeace Thackeray's waspishness. I can appreciate how clever it is, but much prefer Dickens's sense of morality in his books. So it's reassuring to see that he was moved by Dickens's writing too!

It's still quite a roller-coaster right up to the start of chapter 20. But again, Dickens creates a ludicrous picture to sustain the reader through an emotional scene where Florence (view spoiler)[tells Walter that since little Paul's last words were "Remember Walter", she will always now view him as her brother, and says goodbye to him as he is sent abroad to Barbados for ever, (hide spoiler)] which is followed by Susan Nipper, having,

"bitten both her bonnet strings at once, and imparted a great deal of private emotion to the skylight ... now changed the subject by inquiring who took milk and who took sugar, and being enlightened on these points poured out the tea."

Oh I'm loving the toothy "big bad wolf" Mr. Carker. His teeth are mentioned no less than 69 times! LOL!

And all those prescient waves. You feel that kind of unsteadiness, and have a sense of "waves" when you're seriously ill or delirious, but there's so much symbolism. With the ringing and the bells too ... tolling the death knell? ... simply superb writing :)

But the best character by far surely is Diogenes. I love that scruffy mutt—he seems to be Florence's only friend,

"Come, then, Di! Dear Di! Make friends with your new mistress. Let us love each other, Di!' said Florence, fondling his shaggy head. And Di, the rough and gruff, as if his hairy hide were pervious to the tear that dropped upon it, and his dog's heart melted as it fell, put his nose up to her face, and swore fidelity.

"Diogenes already loved her for her own, and didn't care how much he showed it. So he made himself vastly ridiculous by performing a variety of uncouth bounces in the ante-chamber, and concluded, when poor Florence was at last asleep, and dreaming of the rosy children opposite, by scratching open her bedroom door: rolling up his bed into a pillow: lying down on the boards, at the full length of his tether, with his head towards her: and looking lazily at her, upside down, out of the tops of his eyes, until from winking and winking he fell asleep himself, and dreamed, with gruff barks, of his enemy."

What a hero! What a star :)

Witches and Crones:

Well I don't know if this is a true and acknowledged theme of this novel, but it's certainly a running motif! I've become aware of how many old crones there are, having just read a fantastic description of a third hag in chapter 27.

1. The kidnapper and thief, Good Mrs. Brown

First we had Good Mrs. Brown, who of course was exactly the opposite. (Dickens never missed an opportunity for irony or sarcasm). That entire episode seemed to be like a fairytale or myth, with Good Mrs. Brown as a hideous and powerful witch. Poor Florence, the Cinderella or Little Red Riding Hood character, is wandering alone in the streets when she is led off into a dirty hovel where there is a heap of bones and a heap of rags. Forence is terrified as Good Mrs Brown threatens to kill her, makes her take off her clothes and put on some rags, and even toys with the idea of cutting off Florence's hair.

The way Dickens tells it, from Florence's point of view, makes it reminicent of something out of the The Brothers Grimm - Hansel and Gretel perhaps, the idea of cooking children in ovens, or the story of Baba Yaga riding in a mortar and pestle to grind bones.

Then Florence is given a task - just like in the fairy stories - to wait at a certain place until 3am. Of course Florence is convinced that Good Mrs. Brown is watching her all the time.

And in case we've missed all the fairytale allusions, Dickens spells it out for us as her rescuer,

"Walter picked up the shoe and put it on the little foot as the Prince in the story might have fitted Cinderella's slipper on."

Walter remains enchanted by his little princess, who was about 6 or 7 years old when he came to her rescue and helped her home, excitedly telling his uncle how he was on an "adventure". Florence clearly views him as her hero.

Incidentally, we are getting more and more of the "Big Bad Wolf" Mr Carker too. His teeth deserve a book all to themselves!

2. The fortune-teller

The second witch is a tramp, "a withered and very ugly old woman" who offered to tell a young widow, Edith's fortune,

"munching with her jaws, as if the Death's Head beneath her yellow skin were impatient to get out".

Scowling, screaming, wrathful, and

"going backwards like a crab, or like a heap of crabs: for her alternately expanding and contracting hands might have represented two of that species, and her creeping face some half-a-dozen more: crouched on the veinous root of an old tree, pulled out a short black pipe from within the crown of her bonnet, lighted it with a match, and smoked in silence, looking fixedly at her questioner."

We'll probably never meet this one again either, despite the powerful image, and the fact that her prophecy was spot-on. (view spoiler)[It's clear by now that Edith is a puppet, and destined to become the second Mrs. Dombey (hide spoiler)].

3. The mother, Mrs. Skewton

Mrs. Skewton is the the third one. We met her with her daughter Edith, a couple of chapters ago. She puts me in mind of the grotesque Miss Havisham in Great Expectations - and of course her daughter Edith matches Estelle. Dickens facetiously refers to her throughout as "Cleopatra" because of her artificiality. This description is of her as her maid attends to Mrs. Skewton's dress as she retires at night,

"... her touch was as the touch of Death. The painted object shrivelled underneath her hand; the form collapsed, the hair dropped off, the arched dark eyebrows changed to scanty tufts of grey; the pale lips shrunk, the skin became cadaverous and loose, an old, worn yellow, nodding woman, with red eyes, alone remained in Cleopatra's place, huddled up, like a slovenly bundle, in a greasy flannel gown."

What an eye!

I'm even noticing how much like Satis House the Dombey home is,

"Keys rusted in the locks of doors. Damp started on the walls, and as the stains came out, the pictures seemed to go in and secrete themselves. Mildew and mould began to lurk in closets. Fungus trees grew in corners of the cellars. Dust accumulated, nobody knew whence nor how; spiders, moths, and grubs were heard of every day. An exploratory blackbeetle now and then was found immovable upon the stairs, or in an upper room, as wondering how he got there. Rats began to squeak and scuffle in the night time, through dark galleries they mined behind the panelling".

I think this is probably partly a metaphor for Dombey and his crumbling world. Symbolic rather than literal, as he's only been away for a few months.

I do love the way Dickens invests all his decrepit old building with such character though - they are almost characters in themselves. There is some masterly writing in this novel :)

So Dombey is going to (view spoiler)[marry the chattel Edith, his trophy wife (hide spoiler)] - no surprise there. But I didn't expect (view spoiler)[ the haughty Edith to show such feeling towards Florence - or Florence to instantly appeal to Edith as a substitute mother either. When Florence went to Edith and hugged her - and then Edith showed such feeling and compassion in return it was such a surprise. (hide spoiler)] I suppose it further reinforces how Dombey alienates everyone, so they are left clinging to each other.

I love these descriptions of Carker, Dombey's manager , from chapter 26.

As Mr Dombey dropped his eyes, and adjusted his neckcloth again, the smiling face of Mr Carker the Manager became in a moment, and without any stage of transition, transformed into a most intent and frowning face, scanning his closely, and with an ugly sneer. As Mr Dombey raised his eyes, it changed back, no less quickly, to its old expression, and showed him every gum of which it stood possessed ....

'I took the liberty of waiting on her,' said Carker, 'to inquire if she could charge me with any little commission. I am not so fortunate as to be the bearer of any but her—but her dear love.'
Wolf's face that it was then, with even the hot tongue revealing itself through the stretched mouth, as the eyes encountered Mr Dombey's! ...

'By Gad, Sir!' said the Major, staring, 'you are a contrast to Dombey, who plays nothing.'
'Oh! He!' returned the Manager. 'He has never had occasion to acquire such little arts. To men like me, they are sometimes useful. As at present, Major Bagstock, when they enable me to take a hand with you.'

It might be only the false mouth, so smooth and wide; and yet there seemed to lurk beneath the humility and subserviency of this short speech, a something like a snarl; and, for a moment, one might have thought that the white teeth were prone to bite the hand they fawned upon. But the Major thought nothing about it; and Mr Dombey lay meditating with his eyes half shut, during the whole of the play, which lasted until bed-time."

He's beginning to remind me of one of those smiling villains in silent films!

The writing in this novel is superb, and the characters as well-drawn and quirky as in any other. But the plot itself has failed to grab me as much yet, at halfway through.

Here's a whimsical letter written by Dickens just after he'd written the part about the upcoming marriage of (view spoiler)[ Edith and Dombey (hide spoiler)]:





Translation:

From my cell.
Monday Morning
Twenty First June 1847.
My Dear Sir
I am taming a spider or two in my solitude, and weaving a small web of my own—with a very long beard, and talons in place of nails—and shaking my grizzled locks refuse to be comforted or to come out. This very day, the world and I become again acquainted, on a special occasion; and for that very reason, I must go back to my spiders, inexorably, tomorrow morning.
I should have been truly glad to have accepted your invitation—to descend to common life—but I am bidden tomorrow to the marriage of a friend of mine—one Dombey—and I am afraid if I stayed, the Ceremony would scarcely come off; so much importance is attached to my presence. In fact, I give away the bride.
Yours gloomily
Charles Dickens

Recipient:
Kay-Shuttleworth, James, Sir, 1804-1877

Mothers and daughters

Or sometimes, surrogate mothers and daughters. This also seems to be a running theme. So we have the relationship between Edith and the abominable Mrs. Skewton, where each remind me of their counterpart in Great Expectations ie Estelle and Miss Havisham.

Now Edith herself and Florence are beginning to remind me of (and I'm putting this bit under a spoiler tag, because it really will be if you haven't read it!) (view spoiler)[ Esther and Lady Dedlock (hide spoiler)] in Bleak House. They've only just "found" each other so far.

Well how very odd. I've now reached chapter 34, which is entitled "Another mother and daughter". So I wasn't very far off the mark ;)

And yes, we have met another mother and daughter duo. Who would have imagined the reappearance of (view spoiler)[Good Mrs. Brown and that we are introduced to a new character in her long-lost daughter Alice Marwood (hide spoiler)]. This has led my brain to go on overdrive to solve the mystery. There's also one of Dickens's favourites: a character he refuses to name, who intrigues us as to his identity - it's sure to be someone crucial to the plot!

Things have definitely improved in the interest stakes :)

It's things like this sense of mystery, and hiding of identity, which make me want to say to people "Read the text!" Yes, dramatisation are all very well, but they can never bring this off. Neither do they include the twin delights of his sarcasm and hyperbole :)

Dickens even makes it absolutely clear that this mother/daughter theme is deliberate, and crossing all classes of folk,

"Allowing for great difference of stuff and texture, was the pattern of this woof repeated among gentle blood at all? Say, Edith Dombey! And Cleopatra, best of mothers, let us have your testimony!"

Chapter 34 was wonderful. And such a great Phiz picture: "the Rejected Alms". Harriet, JohnC and Alice :) It was so powerful - what a description! And I had thought chapter 33 was a bit ... meh. We got to know Carker's house, but the dialogue was a bit trite. The trouble is I've got used to his minor characters being entertaining!

Mr. Dickens, you set such a high standard for yourself, sometimes it's a hard act to follow ;)

Here's The Rejected Alms


And here's another of my favourites,

The eyes of Mrs Chick are opened to Lucretia Tox


I absolutely loved that episode - up to then I'd just thought of Lucretia Tox as a vaguely (view spoiler)[ambitious sneaky woman, only after Mr Dombey's fortune and status in a pathetically halfhearted sort of way, (hide spoiler)] but I hadn't anticipated Louisa Chick's (view spoiler)[dissembling and doing such a complete turnaround as to accuse her friend of having designs - when it was her encouragement all the time. What a traitor! (hide spoiler)]

There are so many characters ... however many times you read this you might forget one or other, such as the ludicrously self-deceiving Lucretia Tox, who is an absolute delight, and perhaps the most enjoyable in the whole novel :) But there are so many ...

There's the really cold-blooded villain Carker is; a bit like Tulkinghorn. Maybe not the worst, but one of the coldest. Certainly the toothiest ;) The big bad wolf! Then there's Captain Cuttle and Mrs MacStinger ... or Walter, or Toots. Or Diogenes, of course! I think he has it for me :) Although I do love the name Mrs MacStinger.

I'm finding Florence very appealing too. She has strength, unlike many of his heroines. I look forward to reading more about Edith. Mrs Skewton aka Miss Havisham (!) is a delight, of course, but it's good to see more development of character in his "good" females, I think.

You can almost start again when you finish, as the characters almost fall over themselves and you can't possibly remember all the minor ones in each novel.

And now I've reached a place which I think may be a sort of tipping point for Dombey (end of chapter 36). Time will tell.

I like how this part about Dombey is layered - its not just about him becoming more (view spoiler)[ sensitive to the fact that he has a daughter, but it also looks as if Edith may get the better of him - which was unexpected if it is so. (hide spoiler)]

She does so remind me of Estelle! In fact I can see the germ of various Great Expectations and Bleak House characters in this book. It's so great to be reading them in order :)

I think I really like the Dickens' characters who develop through the novel - although I do love his baddies, and they stay pretty much the same except for a vague feeling of regret sometimes at the end ...

But now I am looking forward to seeing how circumstances perhaps alter Lucretia Tox. At the moment she could happily disappear from the pages and the story would not be any the less for it - she's not a loose end in any structural sense.

I think Major Bagstock is just there for humour and bombast. I don't get much sense of him as a real character - he's just a foil for the others, and it's useful to have him as a spy for us too ;)

Yay for Susan Nipper! After her colourful diatribe at Dombey, she has shot to the top of my mental list of favourite characters in this book! Some highlights?

"I may not be Meethoosalem, but I am not a child in arms"

"I may not be an Indian widow Sir and I am not and I would not so become but if I once made up my mind to burn myself alive I'd do it! And I've made my mind up to go on."

"... but ordering herself lowly and reverently towards one's betters, is not to be a worshipper of graven images, and I will and must speak!"

"I may not be a Peacock; but I have my eyes"

"I have told a piece of truth this day which ought to have been told long before and can't be told too often or too plain and that no amount of Pipchinses - I hope the number of 'em mayn't be great ... can unsay what I have said ..."

And Dombey's reaction made me laugh out loud,

"Mr Dombey in a paroxysm of rage, made another grasp of the bell-rope that was not there, and, in its absence, pulled his hair rather than nothing."

"Pulled his hair rather than nothing" is priceless!

Sometimes I find I have new favourites, or new hate figures, time and time again, because I forget them as new ones come in! It is easier to remember those who last through a book, though.

Apparently Harry Hamilton Johnston (Sir Harry Johnston) wrote a sequel to Dombey and Son in about 1920, titled The Gay-Dombeys!

Sir Walter Gay-Dombey is a man of 70 in 1887, living in Onslow Square. The family business is the shipping Flower Line. His wife is 63. It starts with a dinner party with a huge cast of our known characters, years on.

Somehow I feel the title of the sequel must be facetious, as relations between the two are going from bad to worse. Something has to give, surely, and not just through Susan Nipper.

I did find the death of (view spoiler)[ Mrs Skewton - plus all the build-up where she has a stroke - (hide spoiler)] very affecting. What a sad waste of a life. I'm sure with this that he was in practise for Miss Havisham!

The female characters seem much more fully developed in Dombey and Son than in earlier novels. There seem to be more of them too, unless that's an illusion. It would be interesting to know how much space is devoted to the female characters, as it seems to me that Dickens has changed his focus a bit with this one.

Also the writing seems better, as I think I've said before, and although we have plenty of comic episodes the overall tone seems more sombre to me.

Here's an extra portrait of Mrs Skewton, from a series of separately published etchings by Hablot K. Browne ("Phiz") in 1848. I'm not sure why it wasn't used - I think it's very evocative!

I'd been mulling over for a while who exactly the Chicken was. I wondered if he was a simple soul who attached himself to the kindly Toots, or whether they had partnered themselves up as both being a little ... different, and both finding it difficult to cope with normal society.

Then I read this passage from chapter 44. Toots is (view spoiler)[taking Susan Nipper back to his house for dinner, after she has been dismissed from Dombey's service (hide spoiler)],

"... the Chicken who at first supposed, on seeing a lady in the vehicle, that Mr Dombey had been doubled up, ably to his old recommendation, and Miss Dombey abducted. This gentleman awakened in Miss Nipper some considerable astonishment; for, having been defeated by the Larkey Boy, his visage was in a state of such great dilapidation, as to be hardly presentable in society with comfort to the beholders. The Chicken himself attributed this punishment to his having had the misfortune to get into Chancery early in the proceedings, when he was severely fibbed by the Larkey one, and heavily grassed. But it appeared from the published records of that great contest that the Larkey Boy had had it all his own way from the beginning, and that the Chicken had been tapped, and bunged, and had received pepper, and had been made groggy, and had come up piping, and had endured a complication of similar strange inconveniences, until he had been gone into and finished."

Baffled. Totally. Especially by all all the colourful language of the second half. I did some digging and found this,

"Dickens enjoyed the language of boxing as much as he did boxers, and nowhere more than in Dombey and Son (1846-8); indeed he stole the name (but little else) of a real prize-fighter, ‘The Game Chicken� (Henry - ‘Hen� - Pearce) for one of its characters. After coming into his inheritance, Mr Toots, a Corinathian past his sell-by-date, devotes himself to learning ‘those gentle arts which refine and humanise existence, his chief instructor in which was an interesting character called the Game Chicken, who was always heard of at the bar of the Black Badger, wore a shaggy great-coat in the warmest weather, and knocked Mr. Toots about the head three times a week, for the small consideration of ten and six per visit.� We learn about the Game Chickens’s past exploits, his glory against the Nobby Shropshire One, and his defeat (‘he was severely fibbed . . . heavily grassed�) by the Larkey Boy. When Mr Toots despairs of winning the love of Florence Dombey against the wishes of her father, the Chicken reassures him that ‘it is within the resources of Science to double him up, with one blow in the waistcoat.�"

Dickens being a little self-indulgent, perhaps? Although since he relished boxing jargon, perhaps his readers did too. I think bare-knuckle fighting was very popular - street-fighting with no rules. Life was more vicious then in many ways.

I also started to wonder about the word "larkey boy" as I thought I'd heard something similar in slang nowadays. Then I found this gem of an entry in the urban dictionary, always my first port of call for street language,

LARKEY

"A Person or persons who scav off of the state and think that their only real success in life is by multiplying, thus producing lots of little larkeys.

The lesser spotted or true larkey is one that will only appear when their giro comes through the door and are only seen going down to the nearest corner shop, or Offy, and buying copious amounts of chips and burgers to feed them and their ill-mannered fledgling.

Sometimes seen with their distant cousin the Chav they often refer to themselves as a right geezer or try to and mostly fail to use proper East End slang to cover for some inferiority complex.

Namely a lack of education.

To find a Larkey you should listen out for their infamous call to their young, normally involving words no longer than 2 to 3 syllables the young’s name and an explosive of expletives.

A Larkey will always look up to a Chav and think that they will one-day reach that high accolade.
An example of finding out a Larkey can be done by following this simple test:

Their dog passes wind and they claim it,
their wedding, which is a rare event and if anyone has footage please send it in, was held in a delivery room,
their bathroom deodoriser is a box of matches and they think Paprika is a third world country."

It's not exactly Dickens, but tears of laughter were rolling down my cheeks by the end of this! :D

So at three quarters the way through we have some high drama, as the domestic tension has been slowly ratcheted up notch by notch, until something had to break. All carefully watched and partly choreographed by Carker, of course.

And now that it looks as if part of the action will take place outside the home, it has struck me that this is the first novel by Dickens to have such a solidly domestic setting. All the main characters move within their confines, but the major ones are interacting within one grand house owned by Dombey. It's very claustrophobic in a way.

Chapter 47 was a complete surprise to me. I did not see that (view spoiler)[Carker might help Edith to escape (hide spoiler)], nor anticipate that Dombey would actually be so base, impassioned and uninhibited as to (view spoiler)[strike his own daughter in the face. (hide spoiler)]

I do love the way Dickens uses Diogenes to break the almost unbearable tension in this book :)

Why did the Major try everything he could think of (and succeed) to bring about (view spoiler)[ the marriage of Edith and Dombey? It's obvious why Edith's mother plotted and planned for it, but why did the Major? Earlier in the book the Major gets upset because Miss Tox ignores him, but is that enough of a reason to try so hard to get Dombey together with someone else?

Perhaps it's just that the Major was trying to get into Dombey's good books by encouraging him, and sneaking his way into assuming the position of, as he see it, Dombey's confidential friend and advisor. (hide spoiler)]

I'm at the end of chapter 53 now, by the way, and Dickens is obviously tying all the strands together. I hadn't anticipated any of the recent events!