The Pickwick Club discussion

This section begins with the card party, where the poem and story are told. Then, the shooting outing, and the cricket match, and the spinster aunt runs away with the stranger. Fellow Pickwickians, place your own observations here.

One of my favorite things about Dickens is not always what he says, but HOW he says it:

Half a dozen young rooks in violent conversation, flew out to ask what the matter was. The old gentleman fired by way of reply. Down fell one bird, and off flew the others.

I'm sure we have all read many books where people take on the characteristics of animals. But, during the shooting outing, the birds have taken on the abilities of humans, they are in conversation, not only with each other, but also with their hunters.

I think it was Adam who observed in the Part 1 Discussion that Dickens would use eccentricities to make the characters more memorable because his earlier novels, such as this one, were written in serial form. I found one such example when the Club went to the Cricket match. Who wouldn't have recognized the speaker:

"Capital game - smart sport - fine exercise - very"

I, for one, instantly recognized the character by his style of speech even before we were to find out who he was. This is one way of branding a character on the reader's memory. Mr. Dickens had a great offense; he had so many weapons.

Then, he plays off of this, relating what Mr. Pickwick thinks of his speech. "Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently versed in the stranger's system of stenography to infer from this rapid and disjointed communication..." Of course, when we find out his name, one cannot separate the stranger's quirky speech from the sound of his name. After all, his pattern of speech is a Jingle!

It is one thing to place a fitting quote into a work of text; it is quite another to be able to play off of that quote. But, the Michael Jordan of literature is able to combine these moves, which culminate in a slam dunk.

Speaking of Mr. Jingle's evil intentions towards the spinster aunt, Dickens recalls: "Fielding tells us that man is fire, and woman tow, and the Prince of Darkness sets a light to 'em." Obviously, Dickens has received the pass from Fielding.

Notwithstanding, it is difficult to quote another writer without losing the flow of your text. But, it is as if the malicious character in question was actually thinking of these lines: "Jingle knew that young men, to spinster aunts, are as lighted gas to gunpowder, and he determined to essay the effect of an explosion without loss of time." Here, Dickens goes in for the score.

The assist goes to Fielding, the points to Dickens. He uncannily links the character's thought process to the same analogy used in the quote, but he does so without interrupting the flow of the text. I was impressed by this. This would be extremely difficult if one had to think this through. I am assuming that this was an innate ability for Dickens, worked by his subconscious, without him even giving a conscious thought to it. In other words, it was second nature.

A sinister proverbs says that the devil is in the details. Apparently, the host of hell shares his abode with genius.

I just finished Episode 4, and had two questions concerning the madman's manuscript. Did he actually murder his wife or is he referring to the fact that he caused her slow demise? Also, why did the clergyman give Pickwick the manuscript?

Adam, have you read David Copperfield? Did this remind you of what happened with Little Emily? It was also similar to what happened to one of the younger sisters in Pride and Prejudice. Any recollections?

Yeah, the circumstances were entirely different, but this is a theme/event that weaves its way into a lot of different Victorian novels.

Jonathan wrote: "I just finished Episode 4, and had two questions concerning the madman's manuscript. Did he actually murder his wife or is he referring to the fact that he caused her slow demise? Also, why did the..."

As I understood it, the Madman did not actually kill his wife in the way he intended; he was interrupted in his "task" but the shock finished her off (oh, that wasn't very delicate, was it? ;-) )

As for why the doctor gave the manuscript to Pickwick, I thought he was looking forward to sharing some of this tales with him but, when the remainder of the club needed to leave, he decided to give him the manuscript as, I suppose, the second best alternative to sharing verbally. There was an allusion to the doctor possibly throwing it away so I assume it wasn't valuable enough for him to request its return, based perhaps on the question of its veracity.

Cleo wrote: "Jonathan wrote: "I just finished Episode 4, and had two questions concerning the madman's manuscript. Did he actually murder his wife or is he referring to the fact that he caused her slow demise? ..."

The madman killed his wife, indirectly, through shock. That's what I thought, I just wasn't sure from the text.

Jonathan wrote: "One of my favorite things about Dickens is not always what he says, but HOW he says it:..."

As far as Pickwick, most definitely. The what he says here doesn't seem to me that valuable, but how he says it is keeping me reading.

As we get to some of his later works, we may want to revise this view, and consider that what he says is as important as how he says it.

But for Pickwick, the writing seems more enjoyable than the bare bones story.

I'm not really sure what the stories have to do with the book. They don't seem, to me, to be very relevant to the events surrounding them, or if they are I'm missing it.

I don't see that they give us much insight into central characters (I can certainly see how having one of the major characters tell a story could tell us a lot about that character, but both of these stories are told by characters who, for the moment, appear to be minor characters, nor do we get much benefit from watching our major character respond to the stories. Indeed, with the Stroller's Tale,

"It would afford us the highest gratification to be enabled to record Mr. Pickwick's opinion of the foregoing anecdote. We have little doubt that we should have been enabled to present it to our readers, but for a most unfortunate occurrence.
Mr. Pickwick had replaced on the table the glass which, during the last few sentences of the tale, he had retained in his hand; and had just made up his mind to speak—indeed, we have the authority of Mr. Snodgrass's note-book for stating, that he had actually opened his mouth—when the waiter entered the room, and said—
'Some gentlemen, Sir.'
It has been conjectured that Mr. Pickwick was on the point of delivering some remarks which would have enlightened the world, if not the Thames, when he was thus interrupted; ..."

So Dickens intentionally prevents us from hearing the remarks which Pickwick was intending to make and which would have enlightened us, presumably, as well as the world.

So the question remains, what is the dickens is Dickens doing with these stories? (Sorry, but I just couldn't resist.)

If we had ever had any question about the wooly-headedness of the Pickwickians, the ease with which Jingle takes advantage of them and pulls the wool over their eyes makes it abundantly clear. These men are far from, as it is said, the sharpest knives in the drawer.

I'm finding I have to make a choice between being exasperated by them or just laughing at them. Fortunately, Dickens makes the choice of laughter easy and almost unavoidable.

Everyman wrote: "I'm not really sure what the stories have to do with the book. They don't seem, to me, to be very relevant to the events surrounding them, or if they are I'm missing it.

I don't see that they g..."

I believe I posed the question here, "What was the purpose of the madman's story?" Why did the preacher find it expedient to give the manuscript to Pickwick at all? If not, it's in my notes. Either way, I encountered the same issue.

I think that I have mentioned that The Pickwick Papers is now my favorite Dickens' novel, replacing what is now my second favorite Great Expectations. I even changed my vote on our poll, which places Pickwick in the lead. Let me say this for one of my reasons. Sometimes I like to go to a smorgasbord. I may not be in the mood for a great steak dinner, but I would like a little prime rib, a little beef, a dab of chicken, some mashed potatoes, a spoonful of macaroni and cheese, and then go back up to the buffet and try a little Fettuccine Alfredo. Maybe for dessert, I want just a tiny slice of pie, a little banana pudding, a half-scoop of ice cream, and a tiny piece of fudge. Variety! That's what we are getting here. These are short stories by Charles Dickens, who is not primarily remembered for these little ditties. They are inserted in this novel, while having nothing to do with the plot, which we have all agreed does not exist yet, but they are there for our amusement. I, for one, enjoy short stories. And, I like the fact that this novel is not the run-of-the-mill "introduce a problem, fall in love with the hero, and root for him until the end." This novel is more about its author feeling himself out, seeing what he is capable of, with observations, satire, comedy, short stories, poems, songs, and then when he gets around it, he tells a very interesting story, right smack dab in the middle of his area of expertise (that's probably a slight spoiler), when this book turns into a traditional novel, much more than it is about the actual characters.

Were these characters memorable? Well, the Brits still have a parade around Christmas in honor of Charles Dickens and one of the two main characters is Mr. Pickwick. Not to mention again, what we have already mentioned, that these four main characters have found themselves in many other works of fiction.

I will propose this and see if you come near to the same conclusion at the end. It takes Dickens awhile to develop these characters, but by the time he is done, they are each described and "felt" in depth; not the depth of a tragedy or a romance, but in the depth of a Comedy, which probably should be a little lighter and little closer to the surface.

Everyman wrote: "It has been conjectured that Mr. Pickwick was on the point of delivering some remarks which would have enlightened the world, if not the Thames, when he was thus interrupted; ..."

So Dickens intentionally prevents us from hearing the remarks which Pickwick was intending to make and which would have enlightened us, presumably, as well as the world.

So the question remains, what is the dickens is Dickens doing with these stories? (Sorry, but I just couldn't resist.) "

You bring up a good point. Throughout this work, I was asking myself when are these "observers" going to "observe" something. When is the poet (Snodgrass) going to write a poem? When is the sportsman (Winkle) going to excel at a sport? When is the lady's man going to land himself a woman? I am not going to spill any of the beans, but so far, up to Episode 4, none of that has happened. And, I think that is the point. It is satire. Mr. Pickwick fancies himself the world's greatest observer, yet when it comes his turn to give his opinion, something happens, it doesn't matter what happened, some gentlemen interrupted him or something, but the important thing was that he never got around to commenting. That is the irony. The great observer left the story (or whatever it was) unobserved.

We see the very same type of irony in the shooting expedition. Mr. Winkle is a self-proclaimed sportsman. This was his moment to shine. Yet, what happens? He doesn't kill the most game. He nearly kills his friend, instead.

I like how the brilliant author led up to this: "Mr. Winkle advanced, and levelled his gun. Mr. Pickwick and his friends cowered involuntarily to escape damage from the heavy fall of rooks, which they felt certain would be occasioned by the devastating barrel of their friend."

He built him up as a marksman, and then we find Winkle apologizing, "I declare I forgot the cap!"

I don't want to say that Mr. Dickens was making them out to be failures. At this point, none of them are turning out to be what they thought they were. I think this does tell us something, and perhaps we could have a deeper discussion on what Dickens' point was. Is he trying to say something about human aspirations and failings, but doing so in a light-hearted way?

Jonathan wrote: "Throughout this work, I was asking myself when are these "observers" going to "observe" something. When is the poet (Snodgrass) going to write a poem? When is the sportsman (Winkle) going to excel at a sport? When is the lady's man going to land himself a woman? I am not going to spill any of the beans, but so far, up to Episode 4, none of that has happened. And, I think that is the point. It is satire. "

That's a good point. Satire or, perhaps, caricature stereotypes, if that isn't the same thing.

There's an interesting moment in Chapter 9 where Dickens becomes an observer/participant in the action:

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion, to behold the placid and philosophical expression of Mr. Pickwick's face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as he stood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive waist of their corpulent host,

It appears that Dickens is saying that he is the one beholding the situation. If not, who is?

Everyman wrote: "There's an interesting moment in Chapter 9 where Dickens becomes an observer/participant in the action:

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion, to behold the placid and ..."


One might in fact think so, i.e. of Dickens as an on-looker here. But isn't that what you call an intrusive narrator, one of the things, by the way, that make me so fond of 19th- and 18th-century literature, but that most people nowadays find hard to put up with: a narrator that comments on the action, on characters, on things in general, and even on story-telling and novel-writing as such. I've just finished The Warden, where there is an abundance of instances when Trollope comments on novel-writing-habits, e.g. at the end:

"Our tale is now done, and it only remains to us to collect the scattered threads of our little story, and to tie them into a seemly knot. This will not be a work of labour, either to the author or to his readers; we have not to deal with many personages, or with stirring events, and were it not for the custom of the thing, we might leave it to the imagination of all concerned to conceive how affairs at Barchester arranged themselves."

Most modern readers hate to be reminded of the fact that they are only reading a novel, but as for me, I really enjoy hearing the tongue-in-cheek voice of the author sometimes. In the extract you quoted above, Everyman, I find this half-ironic distance to a milder degree - young Mr. Dickens imagining himself to be part of the fiction he created, just like Buster Keaton, when the projectionist dreams himself into a film in "Sherlock Jr.".

Tristram wrote: " One might in fact think so, i.e. of Dickens as an on-looker here. But isn't that what you call an intrusive narrator, one of the things, by the way, that make me so fond of 19th- and 18th-century literature, but that most people nowadays find hard to put up with: a narrator that comments on the action, on characters, on things in general, and even on story-telling and novel-writing as such."

I think Dickens is doing something slightly different from the intrusive narrator (which, I hasten to say, I also enjoy greatly in Victorian literature.) The Intrusive Narrator usually either makes general social, scientific, historisal, or similar objective comments (George Eliot is famous for this), or directly addresses the reader (as, for a classic example, Thackeray does in Vanity Fair).

But I think Dickens is doing something a bit different. He is reacting to the action of his characters not as the outside author, but as though he were an actual character standing there in the scene with the other characters and watching them from that vantage point.

I greatly enjoyed the episode with Miss Wardle and Jingle, the pursuit, and even the aftermath (though frankly I hope we're done with Jingle -- I think Dickens has gotten as much out of him as he can reasonably expect to). While still a bit slapstick, this seemed a definite move toward more realism and less sheer fantasy.

Everyman wrote: "I greatly enjoyed the episode with Miss Wardle and Jingle, the pursuit, and even the aftermath (though frankly I hope we're done with Jingle -- I think Dickens has gotten as much out of him as he c..."

I was amused by Jingle's jingles, but I rather cringed at his wretched and cunning schemes which threw an ugly mess of egg on Tracy Tupman's face. I don't like when people are falsely accused or mistakenly perceived as villains as was the case for our lovable lady's man. Setting aside his heinous deeds, I think he (Jingle) is a necessary villain. Does not every great book need one? What should we do without him?

Everyman wrote: "There's an interesting moment in Chapter 9 where Dickens becomes an observer/participant in the action:

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion, to behold the placid and ..."

I've thought about this all day, and for the life of me, I don't see how this part of the text is out of the ordinary. Is it because he provides color commentary on the scene, rather than just delivering the facts? If that's the case, I don't catch the distinction between this description of events, and what Thackeray does in Vanity Fair, which I think you are reading as well, at the end of Chapter 8:

Otherwise you might fancy it was I who was sneering at the practice of devotion, which Miss Sharp finds so ridiculous; that it was I who laughed good-humouredly at the reeling old Silenus of a baronet - whereas the laughter comes from one who has no reverence for prosperity, and no eye for anything beyond success.

I see these two passages as having the same type of narration in that they both give the author's opinion of the goings-on. Dickens gives his opinion of the scene calling it "a beautiful sight...to behold", whereas Thackeray gives his opinion on his main character (whom we must not call a heroine) saying that she "has no reverence except for prosperity, and no eye for anything beyond success."

My question is: Is it quite unusual for a narrator to give such opinions? For example, when the narrator says something like, "Mr. So-and-so was an obnoxious bloke, with a beautiful wife..."

Am I missing the point?

Jonathan wrote: "Everyman wrote: "There's an interesting moment in Chapter 9 where Dickens becomes an observer/participant in the action:

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion, to behol..."

I think that it is very typical of 19th century literature (and earlier literature as well) to have an omniscient narrator who may even comment on the action and the characters etc by e.g. calling them obnoxious. As I said above I have the impression that even 1st person narrators of those periods tend to be neutral - although then The Moonstone comes to my mind, spoiling my thesis to a certain degree -, but all in all we can rely on narrators like Esther Summerson and even Pip.

In some instances, like in the one that Everyman quoted from our Pickwickians, or the ones you and me contributed, the narrator's voice becomes obvious in a way that makes us notice we are reading something that is being narrated. I just love that kind of writing, which is perhaps also why Tristram Shandy is my favourite novel.

Maybe my ramblings were able to clear up things a bit? ;-/

Jonathan wrote: "I was amused by Jingle's jingles, but I rather cringed at his wretched and cunning schemes which threw an ugly mess of egg on Tracy Tupman's face. "

I'm glad. I wouldn't really like to be friends with anybody who wasn't upset at Jingle's behavior. Either they're not very involved readers, or they're not very nice people.

I don't like when people are falsely accused or mistakenly perceived as villains as was the case for our lovable lady's man. Setting aside his heinous deeds, I think he (Jingle) is a necessary villain. Does not every great book need one?

I do think almost every book needs either an actual or a perceived villain. We are, after all, as humans need a touch of the negative; a diet of only positive would soon lose its interest. (Which is why you seldom if ever see successful newspapers which only report the good news.) It's a common complaint of Paradise Lost that Milton made Satan a much more interesting character than God; if you had a choice of palling around with one of them in a bar, I think more people would pick Satan.

Jingle is, so far at least, a satisfactory villain because in the end he really doesn't do any serious harm to anyone. Or at least to anyone who doesn't deserve it; I haven't yet found out the long term effects on Miss Rachel, but in her case, it's her own fault.

Jonathan wrote: "I see these two passages as having the same type of narration in that they both give the author's opinion of the goings-on."

Well, yes, but Thackeray is up front about it. He shows himself as the author intruding into the text.

There are generally two ways I see authors going beyond the normal process of narrating a story and entering personally into the text. One is by direct entry, as in the passage you quoted from Vanity Fair. This is fairly common in Victorian literature -- Thackery does it multiple times. (Sometimes the author doesn't specifically self-identify, but it's clear enough.)

A second is the author adding supplemental material. A classic example here is Eliot, in Middlemarch, who in a number of places interjects supplemental material into the text; perhaps the best known example is the "pier glass" interjection at the start of Chapter 27. For those who don't know it, I quoted it below.

Perhaps I'm making too much of a little thing, but I see the PP incident as something a bit different from both of these. But it's not a big deal.

The episode from Middlemarch:

An eminent philosopher among my friends, who can dignify even your ugly furniture by lifting it into the serene light of science, has shown me this pregnant little fact. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now against it a lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a fine series of concentric circles round that little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are going everywhere impartially and it is only your candle which produces the flattering illusion of a concentric arrangement, its light falling with an exclusive optical selection. These things are a parable. The scratches are events, and the candle is the egoism of any person now absent...

Tristram wrote: "Jonathan wrote: "Everyman wrote: "There's an interesting moment in Chapter 9 where Dickens becomes an observer/participant in the action:

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and co..."

Yes, I now understand why your screen name is Tristram.

Everyman wrote: "Jonathan wrote: "I see these two passages as having the same type of narration in that they both give the author's opinion of the goings-on."

Well, yes, but Thackeray is up front about it. He sho..."

I have not read that one yet, but it's on my shelf. I can see in the passage how she is giving some personal history of the discussion she presents. Yes, that is quite a bit odd, not something one sees everyday. As far as your observation on the PP narration, it does seem to me that the omniscient narrator does step down from wherever he is and step into the scene, to a point. I understand what you are saying there. Maybe, its just that I'm reading VF and Thackeray does that every few pages, and therefore nothing like this seems out of the ordinary in comparison.