The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Book 2 Chapter 6

Fading Away

“I mun turn my face fro Coketown fur th’ time, and seek a fort’n, dear, by beginnin fresh.”
- Stephen Blackpool

My autocorrect went crazy because of the above quotation. Still, it is worth it because in this chapter we learn that Stephen is leaving his job in Coketown and beginning fresh. By shifting our perspective from Coketown to a new location Dickens is giving himself room to expand the plot.

Stephen leaves Bounderby’s house and meets both Rachael and the mysterious older woman he met outside Bounderby’s house last year. Now, that’s an interesting trio. The old woman tells Stephen that she has had a few health concerns in the last year. Her mission this year seems to be Louisa. She wants to know what Louisa looks like. Stephen then tells the ladies that he is no longer an employee of Bounderby. Stephen does not know where he will go. Stephen invites both women to his home for tea.

Stephen’s wife had not been with him for some time but he is still nervous about her unexpected return. Dickens notes that since Stephen’s wife had left there were “scantier moveables in his room, and greyer hair upon his head.” Apparently, as well as being a drunk, Stephen’s wife had stolen some of his possessions, whatever possessions a person like him could have had worth stealing. For Stephen, and the many poor of Coketown like him, the humble enjoyment of tea with bread and butter was like a feast. In these first few paragraphs Dickens continues to enhance the dignified character of Stephen.

Stephen learns that the old lady’s name is Mrs Pegler. When asked, Mrs Pegler says she had a son but he is not not to be spoken of. Stephen notices that the mention of her son causes Mrs Pegler to shake. Her teacup rattles. She states that she has “lost” her son. When the old lady hears the name Bounderby she becomes agitated. When she learns that it is Mrs Bounderby who is coming with her brother to see Stephen, she says she is going to hide in a corner of the room. Perhaps the worst kept secret in this novel is who Mrs Pegler is. Let’s see what this visit is about.

For Louisa, to be in Stephen’s room, is a revelation. Her education has taught her much theory and more facts, but how the poor live was certainly never part of her educational curriculum. She is much taken back by what she sees, or, in contrast to her own surroundings, what little there is to see. Louisa has come to offer help to Stephen. In this section of the chapter we see Louisa struggling to come to terms with her knowledge, her life, her connection to humanity. She knows that Stephen has lost his job. She knows he will struggle. We know, as readers, that there is at least a flicker of humanity in Louisa. She has seen the quiet dignity and honour of Stephen. No doubt such dignity and honour are alien characteristics to her. She offers money to Stephen to help him on his way. Stephen cries. Louisa stretches her hand out to touch him. That would make three women who have stretched their hand out to touch him. All are in the room. Could there be any significance to this?

While all this is going on we have the odious Tom, her brother, watching the activity. He is a whelp. A perfect name for him. Before leaving, he has a few words in private with Stephen. For some reason, Tom wants Stephen to stand outside the bank every day. Perhaps Bitzer will have a message from Tom to Stephen. Sounds suspicious. In any case we are told that Tom “wormed a finger, in the darkness, through a buttonhole of Stephen’s coat, and was screwing that corner of the garment right up, round and round, in an extraordinary manner.” This does not sound too promising for Stephen.

Stephen and Rachael escort Mrs Pegler back to her hotel. After that, they say their own goodbyes. Stephen’s next days are lonely, and he does as he was asked by Tom, and spends time standing outside the bank. No Bitzer comes, but Mrs Sparsit sees. And so the day of Stephen’s departure from Coketown comes. As befitting a man who is beginning a long journey, Dickens places Stephen on the top of a hill as he looks back at Coketown.

Did you notice that on this day the sun is shining, and Stephen is portrayed in a heroic manner. He is leaving his home, the person he loves, the life he has known for an unknown future. The chapter ends on a pastoral note as Stephen begins his outward journey as the trees “arched over him, whispering that he left a true and loving heart behind.”

Thoughts

Much happens in this chapter. We meet Mrs Pegler again, Stephen’s last days at the factory occur, he parts from Rachael and, curiously, he spends some time outside the bank at Tom’s bidding. What does it all mean?

Chapter 7

Gunpowder

“Mr James Harthouse began to think that it would be a new sensation if the face which changed so beautifully for the whelp, would change for him.”


With a chapter title such as “Gunpowder” dare I suggest something explosive must be on the horizon?

Our chapter begins with a look at Mr James Harthouse who is described as having a “genteel listlessness” which projects “a tolerable management of the assumed honesty in dishonesty.” These qualities seem to make him eminently qualified to be a politician. Should we be surprised? When we recall that Louisa’s response to her father telling her of Bounderby’s proposal with the words “what did it matter” we are faced with people who seem apathetic. Apathy comes in many forms. What happens when two such people meet each other?

In some ways, Harthouse reminds me of Steerforth. Both are financially comfortable and socially established. Will Louisa be another Emily? Louisa is an innocent, and I think her habit of watching fires and sparks is suggestive of something brewing beneath her languid surface.

The chapter presents us with Bounderby who remains a constant irritation. We learn that he now owns a country house of a man by the name of Nickits who overextended his credit. Bounderby has assumed the home’s ownership and now enjoys growing cabbages in the former flower-garden. We learn that Harthouse knows where and when Louisa will be alone on the estate. It is a place in an opening of “a dark wood, where some felled trees lay, and where she would sit watching the fallen leaves of last year, as she had watched the falling ashes at home.” What a wonderfully suggestive description. Let’s take a look. Louisa is alone in a “dark wood” near fallen trees where she watched “fallen leaves” just as she had previously watched “falling ashes.” To me, she is the innocent and Harthouse is the serpent. He comes to her in a “dark place” where the words “felled,” “fallen” and “falling” are used by Dickens. Meeting Louisa, Harthouse tells her that “You know I am a sordid piece of human nature, ready to sell myself at any time for any reasonable sum, and altogether incapable of any Arcadian preceding whatever.” Is he confessing to be evil? So devils walk the earth? What has Louisa taken from those words?

Louisa seems not to care. She only wants Harthouse if he can connect with her brother Tom. Their conversation is like a fencing match. Ultimately, Harthouse draws out from Louisa that Tom is a gambler, a losing gambler. Harthouse makes Louisa admit that she pays Tom’s debts. Subtle but persistent, Harthouse implants in Louisa’s mind how he can be of service to her and a help to Tom. Ah, to get to Louisa’s heart, he will travel through Tom's weaknesses. What is his endgame? Does he think by confessing himself to be less than perfect he will actually rise in Louisa’s esteem because he offers to help Tom? Clever.

Louisa and Harthouse meet Tom. Let’s look at how Dickens uses roses to be emblematic of what is occurring in the scene. We find Tom, Harthouse, and Louisa “among a disorder of roses.” Here, Tom plucks rosebuds and picks them “to pieces.” Tom then takes “to biting the rose-buds” and “tearing them away from his teeth with a hand that trembled like an infirm old man’s.” Why would Dickens use the phrase “disorder” to describe roses? Are the roses meant to symbolize anyone, or any group? Tom “ ties” and “tears” the rosebuds. What does this action suggest to you? Might the rosebuds represent someone or some group?

Tom blames his father, his mother and Bounderby for all his troubles. Tom admits he knows his sister married Bounderby for his own sake. Does this make Louisa a fool or a saint in your eyes? Tom tells Harthouse that he is a true friend. In his mind, Harthouse calls Tom an “ass” and a “whelp.” To Tom, Harthouse urges more care and concern for his sister. As the chapter ends we learn that Louisa has a smile upon her face “for some one else” besides Tom.

Oh, poor Louisa.

Chapter 8

Explosion

“The Bank’s robbed.”


The chapter opens in a curious and suggestive manner. We read that Harthouse is “smoking the rare tobacco that had had such a wholesome an influence on his young friend.” Harthouse is “reposing in the sunlight with the fragrance of his eastern pipe about him, and the dreamy smoke vanishing into the air, so rich and soft with summer odours …” Opium? I think so. Evidently, Harthouse has introduced Tom to its seductive pleasures. Tom is now in the clutches of two demons. The first is his addiction to gambling. The second is a very addictive drug.

Harthouse reflects on how he has gained Louisa’s confidence and confirmed that she is indifferent towards her husband. Harthouse has breached “the barrier behind which she has lived.” Dickens refers to Harthouse as a “Devil.” Dickens wants to make sure his readers do not miss the point. On his way back from a meeting Harthouse encounters Bounderby who is verging on self-explosion. The bank has been robbed of £150. Louisa and Mrs Sparsit join Bounderby. Did you note how Bounderby gives his arm to Mrs Sparsit and Harthouse gave his to Louisa? What might that signal or suggest? Bounderby reminds Harthouse (and the readers) that both Bitzer and Mrs Sparsit live at the bank. The money was put in the bank’s safe the night before by Tom. When Harthouse asks where Tom is, Bounderby says he is helping the police.

Harthouse asks if anyone is suspected and wonders if it could be “Blackpot.” Bounderby corrects the name to Blackpool and comments that “show me a dissatisfied Hand, and I’ll show you a man that’s fit for anything bad.” Bounderby says that Stephen bolted just as his mother did so long ago. Mrs Sparsit has great pity for Bounderby. We learn that she continues to refer to Louisa as Miss Gradgrind and not Mrs Bounderby. Do you see any significance in this fact? Bounderby continues to fume in anger all day. For her part, Mrs Sparsit urges him to play a game of backgammon “as you used to do when I had the honour of living under your roof … I remember that Miss Gradgrind takes no interest in the game, but I shall be happy, sir if you will condescend.”

Well … games. Gamesmanship. Consider all the players and the games being played in this novel, indeed, in this chapter. How many can you think of? Here's one, I think. Immediately after the comment about games Harthouse and Louisa strolled out to the garden. Mrs Sparsit strains her eyes and ears to pick up their activity outside the window. Bounderby notices Sparsit’s focussed attention out the window and says “you don’t see a Fire, do you?” Sparsit says she is worried that Louisa might take a cold outside to which Bounderby replies “She never takes cold.” In a brilliant understatement Mrs Sparsit then replies “Really sir?” Sparsit knows Louisa is cold towards Bounderby and there may well be something heating up between Louisa and Harthouse. Let's reflect back to all the times Louisa has gazed at fires, their sparks, and their ashes. Here we see how Dickens further enhances the already established metaphor of Louisa and a fire. What a wonderful example of an extended metaphor.

That evening Tom returns to Bounderby’s house very late, but Louisa hears his come into the house. Quietly, she goes to his room and asks him if there is anything he wants to tell her. She wants Tom to tell the truth. Louisa knows that Tom must be the thief. He refuses to answer Louisa’s question. Louisa also wants to know if Tom has told anyone of their visit to Stephen Blackpool’s room where Stephen, Mrs Pegler, and Rachael were gathered. He answers no.

The chapter ends as Louisa leaves his room and Tom has a fit of remorse.

Chapter 9

Hearing the Last of It

“[Louisa’s] remembrances of home and childhood, were remembrances of the drying up of every spring and fountain in her young heart as it gushed out.”


We begin this chapter with more insight into Mrs Sparsit. Early in the chapter she is described as “a bird of of the hook-beaked order.” A bird of prey. But who is her prey? Certainly she dislikes Louisa, so much so she is unable - or unwilling - to call Louisa Mrs Bounderby. We learn Mrs Sparsit has a talent for “prowling about the house.” For some reason she likes Mr Harthouse very much. Why? My thought is Sparsit is well aware that there are sparks of fire between Harthouse and Louisa. Should Louisa stray towards Harthouse what a victory it would be for Mrs Sparsit. Mr Sparsit learns from Harthouse that he finds Louisa an attractive woman. Well now …

Sparsit presides over breakfast much to her own delight, as Louisa seems too languid to care much for Bounderby’s needs. In fact, over breakfast we see some sparks of discontent in their marriage - if one can call such a union a marriage. When pressed on her behaviour towards Bounderby, Louisa’s comment is “[w]hat does it matter,” her mantra for most everything and everyone with the exception of her brother Tom.

As Bounderby sets out for his day Mrs Sparsit places “a chaste kiss upon his hand” and murmurs “[m]y benefactor.” When Bounderby leaves the house Mrs Sparsit “shook her right- hand mitten at his portrait, made a contemptuous grimace at [his portrait] and said ‘Serve you right, you Noodle, and I am glad of it!’” Apparently the bloom is also off his rose in Mrs Sparsit’s mind.

Louisa receives news that her mother is very ill and so she rushes back into Coketown to be at her side. Louisa finds much at her childhood home. First, she has memories of her youth and how it faded over time. Louisa sees her younger sister Jane and Sissy. She finds her mother’s voice so faint she must bend down to hear it. Her mother’s voice seems to be coming from the bottom of a well. Louisa’s mother says that whenever she said anything to her husband she never heard the last of it. In consequence, she learned to say nothing. Her mother also says heard so many theories (which she calls Ologies) she doubts if there are any left, but yet feels there is something that her husband missed. Mrs Gradgrind intends to write her husband to find out what has been missed in their house but she dies before the letter is complete.

And so, as our chapter ends, we do not learn what it is Mrs Gradgrind wanted to say to her husband. Louisa does not know either. I wonder if a clue to her unspoken words resides in the presence of Jane and Sissy. And why have we not heard about Sissy for so long?

Book Two Chapter 10

Mrs Sparsit’s Staircase

“And there Louisa always was, upon it. And always gliding down, down, down!”


In this short chapter we find one large and looming symbol. Mrs Sparsit’s dislike of Louisa is transformed to a large staircase case upon which Louisa is imagined as constantly descending. Each moment of Mrs Sparsit’s life is invested in either shaking her fist at Bounderby’s picture or imagining Louisa’s constant fall from grace. In order to intensify the nature of Sparsit’s anger, Dickens refers to her eyes as “Hawk’s eyes.” Later in the chapter we read that Mrs Sparsit “kept her black eyes wide open.” When we link these descriptions with that found in chapter 9 where Sparsit is referred to as “a bird of the hook-beaked order” an image of a Raptor emerges, a bird of prey. Here prey is Louisa. Linked to her description as a carnivore, the staircase becomes another means of understanding Sparsit’s unsavoury nature.

Sparsit enjoys watching Louisa and Harthouse stroll in the twilight. To her, Louisa is descending a staircase towards destruction. Mrs Sparsit is aware of the interest developing between Louisa and Harthouse but she “has not the smallest intention of interrupting the descent.” Indeed, she is eager to see her wishes accomplished. Sparsit is patient. She keeps her eyes on the stairs but never “shook her right mitten (with her fist in it) at the figure coming down.

Thoughts

Do you think Mrs Sparsit dislikes Mr Bounderby or Louisa more?

Peter wrote: "she is the innocent and Harthouse is the serpent. He comes to her in a “dark place” where the words “felled,” “fallen” and “falling” are used by Dickens...”

Oh, you're good, Peter. I didn't pick up on any of this imagery. Well done.

As for Tom being a "whelp", I often think animals should feel insulted when we use their vocabulary (so to speak) to describe humans in a disparaging way. Youth usually equals innocence. In Tom's case, youthful indiscretions and immaturity. But how long can we blame his age? At what point do we expect the whelp to grow up and fend for himself?

Peter wrote: "Louisa’s comment is “[w]hat does it matter,” her mantra for most everything..."

This mantra of Louisa's quite reminds me of Lady Dedlock's boredom. Both are with husbands they don't love, both seem to suffer depression. Lady Dedlock watches the rain fall; Louisa watches the ashes. Interesting use of the elements.

Jane and Sissy

Louisa seems to notice that her father's absence, coupled with Sissy's presence, has made her sister's upbringing much different from her own:

Louisa had ... thought that her sister’s was a better and brighter face than hers had ever been: had seen in it, not without a rising feeling of resentment, even in that place and at that time, something of the gentleness of the other face in the room....

I'm sad that there is resentment there, but it's certainly understandable.

‘Serve you right, you Noodle'

Does anyone know, was Noodle a common insult in Victorian times? It's impossible not to think of Boodle, Coodle, Doodle, and Foodle in Bleak House and the Toodle family in Dombey. Did Dickens just love the -oodle sound? It is fun to say, I admit. I think I'm going to start using "noodle" as a disparagement. :-)

But more important to our discussion, what is the deal with Mrs. Sparsit? I still can't quite figure her out. Did she love Bounderby at some point (or does she still?) Is her disdain for Louisa merely jealousy? What is her motivation? Whatever the case, I find the mystery of it intriguing, and Mrs. Sparsit is one of the reasons I keep coming back. She reminds me a bit of Uriah Heep, but I don't find her annoying. I'm looking forward to seeing what she's up to. The staircase symbolism, by the way, is incredibly heavy-handed. I much prefer when Dickens is a bit more subtle (e.g. the Garden of Eden imagery that Peter picked up on in chapter 7).

I had another moment of appreciating Dickens' uncanny knack for writing a passage that reaches through the centuries and connects with something in my life as recently as yesterday. (This is a personal aside, so feel free to skip.) This passage seemed so timely:

The dreams of childhood—its airy fables; its graceful, beautiful, humane, impossible adornments of the world beyond: so good to be believed in once, so good to be remembered when outgrown, for then the least among them rises to the stature of a great Charity in the heart, suffering little children to come into the midst of it, and to keep with their pure hands a garden in the stony ways of this world, wherein it were better for all the children of Adam that they should oftener sun themselves, simple and trustful, and not worldly-wise—what had she to do with these?

The circumstance was that I was watching my 3-year-old granddaughter and the subject of baby teeth came up, which led to the story of the Tooth Fairy. When I mentioned it later to my daughter, knowing she would be questioned about this in great detail later, I was told that they've decided that their kids will not be getting visits from the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, etc. Instead, they'll be told that these are just characters. I almost called my daughter "Gradgrind" in that moment, but she wouldn't have gotten the reference. Maybe a reference to little Susan and her mother in "Miracle on 34th Street" would have been better understood.

I get their reasons -- my granddaughter is an exceptionally literal, fact-based kid (a bit of a Gradgrind, herself), and will wear you down with the need to really get to an understanding about things. But it still made me a bit sad. Fairy tales play a part to teach concepts like morality, the golden rule, religious beliefs, etc. in age-appropriate ways. Plus, I'm not really sure how one interacts with a kid without those cultural touchstones. Guess we'll figure it out as we go along. I wonder if she and her sister, like Louisa, will someday feel an emptiness, not having a connection with those "airy fables" to think back on.

Mary Lou wrote: "Peter wrote: "Louisa’s comment is “[w]hat does it matter,” her mantra for most everything..."

This mantra of Louisa's quite reminds me of Lady Dedlock's boredom. Both are with husbands they don't ..."

Hi Mary Lou

Yes, Lady Dedlock and Louisa, both imprisoned by boredom. I think most Victorian women must have been bored to some degree, especially those with any spunk or character. It makes me appreciate Caddy Jellyby even more.

Sissy is female with promise, but for some reason Dickens seems to have put her into a corner for quite some time. She really only gets a cameo in this week’s commentaries. I think it too late for June Gradgrind to play any significant role in the novel.

I too puzzle over Mrs Sparsit. She is a touch of humour in an otherwise bleak book. Can’t you just envision her shaking a fist at Bounderby’s portrait? And he is, indeed, a noodle. Let’s start using that word in our day-to-day conversations.

Mary Lou wrote: "I had another moment of appreciating Dickens' uncanny knack for writing a passage that reaches through the centuries and connects with something in my life as recently as yesterday. (This is a pers..."

Mary Lou

Oh, my. Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Alice in Wonderland, the Easter Bunny. Each parent will raise their children as they see fit.

Our grandchildren are fed a constant diet of Sissy and Sleary’s Circus. I itch for the day I can show our eldest grandson the wonderful John Tenniel pictures in Alice in Wonderland.

Mary Lou wrote: "I had another moment of appreciating Dickens' uncanny knack for writing a passage that reaches through the centuries and connects with something in my life as recently as yesterday. (This is a pers..."

Oh, Mary Lou, there must be so many wonderful things about being a grandparent, but letting someone else make those calls would be the hard part! I had one child hold on for years to his tooth fairy belief even after the other kids started saying it was "just your parents" because he liked the game, while the other was furious with me when he found out I had been "lying." I guess there's no one right way to do it.

I keep saying it but I like this book. The slow fall of Louisa and Tom is done so dramatically, with Sparsit and Harthouse plotting in the background and Boundary presiding so cluelessly over it all. I find it believable and sad and very very tense, and true to the characters of everyone involved.

It's unfortunate that the Stephen story is less well-developed so far. On reflection, I don't think this is because it's a shorter book. I get the sense instead that Dickens thought he ought to care about the Stephens since class and industrialization were seen as the great political questions of his times, but it wasn't where his interests lay, and it shows.

I find I can't blame him for trying, though. He wanted to help.

Mary Lou wrote: "I had another moment of appreciating Dickens' uncanny knack for writing a passage that reaches through the centuries and connects with something in my life as recently as yesterday. (This is a pers..."

Your story about your daughter reminded me of a quote from Terry Pratchett's 'Hogfather', which I will post down here:

“All right," said Susan. "I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need... fantasies to make life bearable."

REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

"Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little—"

YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.

"So we can believe the big ones?"

YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.

"They're not the same at all!"

YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET—Death waved a hand. AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME...SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.

"Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point—"

MY POINT EXACTLY.”

A tidbit I learned this morning, while talking with my husband about his Dungeons and Dragons-world with islands that have Celtic names. Dublin comes from Dubb Lain (I hope I write it correctly, my husband at least pronounced it like that), which apparently means 'Black Pool'. So of course I got a little curious if there might have been a connection. I don't know of course. But I did find this: in 1853 (so not that long before Hard Times was published) the Great Industrial Exhibition was in Dublin, and it was said to be better than the one in London ...

Jantine,

That quote is fantastic and wise and witty and it also makes me regret that I have never read anything by Pratchett so far because it just does not seem to be my genre.

Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, they have all been companions of my children in their early years, and when they started disbelieving in Santa, for instance, I jocularly tried by mere logic to prove his existence to them, and they eagerly gave counter arguments. I read fairy tales to my son and am still reading them to my daughter at night because she just insists on her fare of them, and I also made up a lot of stories for my son. They had recurring characters, like two giants Moloch and Hoi, evil (but rather dumb) dwarfs, who live in a cave underneath the lake next to our house, a bland guy called Dietmar (modelled on a former neighbour of mine), who always had good ideas, but no one would take any notice of him and them because he was so bland, a rabbit who wanted to become a tax advisor, a voracious anarchist called Der dicke Wilhelm (Fat William), and a thief named Der rote Klaus, who would always put an empty box in the place of the things he absconded with, an inventor of robots who still lived with his mum, and a dozen others. The funny thing is that my son, aged 13, still likes talking about them from time to time.

My children and I also have a game which goes like this: One of us makes up the title of a book, and another one gives a short synapsis of a possible story going with it.

What shall I say? My children don't really believe in all those characters but they both have the gift of the gab and they are not any worse for it. They have also been able at a very early age to detect and use irony, and my son also likes writing stories. Unfortunately, he is not a very avid reader.

My daughter was a fan of a series of children's books which I found rather boring, and when I read them to her I found them so boring that I ended up inventing curious and over-the-top things and putting them into the stories. Then my daughter would say - she wasn't able to read at that time - in an arch voice, "I'm sure it doesn't say that in the book." After a while, when I stuck to the text, she was impatient and wanted me to "improve" it. Children just love these things, don't they?

I repeatedly said that Hard Times was not a favourite of mine, but I am starting to like the novel more this time than on my last reading: This week I thoroughly enjoyed Mr. Bounderby's indignation at Harthouse's dwelling on the fact that 150 Pounds was not such a large sum, and I also got a lot of entertainment from Mrs. Sparsit's presence in the story. As to her motives, I think it is pure resentment: In her heart of hearts, she is jealous of Mr. Bounderby, the parvenue, who enjoys a life in luxury, whereas she, a born lady, is reduced to keeping another person's house. I don't really think that she was ever in love with Bounderby, but she certainly had set her cap on her employer, for purely mercantile reasons, and now is strongly dissatisfied with seeing the "prize", and oh, what a prize it is, to Louisa. Like Mary Lou, however, I would say that "Mrs. Sparsit's Staircase" is a very contrived in-your-face metaphor.

I also agree that it is very gripping to see the slow decline of Tom and Louisa's fortunes and Harthouse's sneaky machinations.

As to Stephen, this week he annoyed me again: Just fancy the gullibilty and unbearable meekness of that man, waiting in front of the bank for hours, after a long day's work, instead of just going home. The inimitable Ambrose Bierce once said that only Christians and camels receive their burdens kneeling, but he forgot about Stephen Blackpool, the Noodle.

Mary Lou wrote: "As for Tom being a "whelp", I often think animals should feel insulted when we use their vocabulary (so to speak) to describe humans in a disparaging way. Youth usually equals innocence. In Tom's case, youthful indiscretions and immaturity. But how long can we blame his age? At what point do we expect the whelp to grow up and fend for himself? "

I found it very moving when Louisa probed her brother about any possible implications in the robbery, and in this situation I had the feeling that there were some qualms and prickings of conscience in Tom. I see Tom in the same line as Charley Hexam or Rob the Grinder: On the one hand Dickens uses them to show the harmful effects of the educational system and some beliefs typical of Victorian society, but on the other hand there is still the question of how much responsibility can be ascribed to the young men themselves for behaving the way they do. Their characters may have been deformed by their upbringing, but surely, does this really acquit them of any responsibility for being self-centred, under-handed and creepy? After all, each of these boys had a least one family member who was truly concerned about them. An interesting question.

I’m not going to come to the defence of Stephen Blackpool on a white charger, but will offer a comment and a thought or two.

Dickens has the habit of over simplifying many of his characters so much that they cease to be either believable or individuals. Such characters, and Stephen is one, become metaphors for larger issues and concepts. Think of the Pilgrim’s Progress. It was a favourite book of Dickens. In it, people or a place take on a name and then expand into the concept and example of that name.

I see Stephen as a person like that. In HT Stephen and his fellow workers are referred to as “hands.” This synecdoche sums up a group into a part. In a similar fashion, I would suggest, Stephen is representative of a good and honest man. True, he is overdone. He is too good, too true, too helplessly trapped, and a romantic, and yes, too difficult to understand.

What he also is can be understood by looking at the other males in the novel. Sissy’s father seems to have left her without any guilt, Bounderby is a pompous, arrogant man, Tom is well-named as a whelp, Harthouse is a model of a lethargic and cavalier man with no morals and Mr Gradgrind is, to date, more in love with his blue books and utilitarian philosophy than he is with his wife or children. Bitzer is robotic and lacks a sense of compassion. It’s all a rather rather depressing and chilling list of men and their flaws.

With Stephen, we have a man who must balance on the other side of all the other males who have some physical, mental, moral or moronic deficiency. So yes, I too think he is a bit over-the-top good, but he is also carrying all the weight of what it means to be a good man.

Peter,

You are making a very good case for Stephen, with regard to his role in the novel - namely that of a positive male counter-figure, and indeed he has a lot of weight on his shoulders in that respect.

Still, I have two problems with Stephen:

The first is that as a literary creation he is not very interesting because of his one-dimensionality. If we take Mr. Gradgrind, we may find him a very unlikeable fellow and a terrible father at that, but as a literary creation, he works very well because for all the harm he does, he means well - and this gives him potential for development in the course of the novel. He is a convinced utilitarian but not an evil-minded egoist like Mr. Squeers, another of Dickens's earlier schoolmasters. I am not so sure of Mr. Harthouse's complexity as a character but at least it is interesting to witness him worm his way into the confidence of both Tom and Louisa. As to Bounderby, I always find something to laugh about him, and that's why reading about him does not bore me despite his one-dimensionality.

I have the impression that Dickens generally did not succeed very well in creating really interesting and multi-dimensional positive characters - Arthur Clennam may be an exception to this rule, at least he springs to mind immediately. Dickens's positive characters are all too holy for real life. I'm reading Le Fanu's The Tenants of Malory right now, and the male protagonist is wonderfully ambivalent so that I enjoy reading about his thoughts and how he tries to justify his own egoism in terms of higher principles. I seldom find that in Dickens - young Martin Chuzzlewit might come near this, though.

My second reason for disliking Stephen is his readiness to be a martyr and a scapegoat. All this show of deriving nobility from being a victim is just not my cup of tea, and this loitering in front of the bank after a hard day's work is just one tangible example. Plus, Dickens seems to use Stephen as a tool of deligitimizing the workers' right to fend for themselves, to create unions, to go on strike and so on. We may note that Stephen does not really have any political or intellectual reason for not joining the union - which is described in a very one-sided way by Dickens - and that his only reason is because he gave a promise to Rachel. If we compare this novel with North and South, we may find that Gaskell was far superior to Dickens in presenting the social question and all its dark side effects (e.g. the way to deal with blacklegs) in a more complex way. In Stephen, I think, Dickens shows his own paternalistic way of looking at the workers.

Tristram wrote: "Peter,

You are making a very good case for Stephen, with regard to his role in the novel - namely that of a positive male counter-figure, and indeed he has a lot of weight on his shoulders in that..."

Hi Tristram

Yes, I agree with you on much of what you say about Stephen. I too find his stated position regarding the union to be weak, or actually rather non-existent. While Dickens champions the working man, he keeps an endorsement of the trade union movement at arm’s length. Gaskell is much more assertive and detailed about the values and flaws of the trade union movement in North and South. I think North and South is the best 19C novel based on the Industrial Revolution.

In some ways Dickens’s position regarding individuals and their connection to the trade union movement is like Dickens belief in living a Christian life while, at the same time, being very critical of the institution of the church and its ministers. In both instances - the trade union movement and the church - it seems to me Dickens promotes the individual who is good but criticizes the formal institution that allegedly speaks for and represents the individual.

Tristram wrote: "I also made up a lot of stories for my son ..."

Oh, Tristram - do put them down on paper (or screen, as the case may be). They sound wonderful. Imagine your son's delight if he could read those stories of yours to his children and grandchildren someday. When they get published (in English, please!) I want an autographed copy.

Re: Stephen --

I appreciate Peter's assessment that "he's carrying all the weight of what it means to be a good man".

We all know Dickens' ideal woman. Does Dickens have an ideal man? The men he portrays positively are often father figures - John Jarndyce, Mr. Brownlow, Captain Cuttle, etc.
His protagonists are often younger men who are good, but have some maturing to do - Nicholas, Pip, David, Oliver, etc. Of course, there are also the bad guys.

Stephen seems to be more like a male version of the angelic damsel in distress who is being victimized and needs saving - Kate Nickleby, Emma Haredale, Pet Meagles, and the like. Which is kind of interesting. Who will save Stephen?

We have no doubt as to how Dickens sees the ideal woman (and I daresay most men would agree -- at least with a spunkier version, e.g. Dolly Varden). Stephen, though, lacks the essential characteristics that would make him the ideal man and a stereotypical romantic hero. Namely, he's a weenie. Women - traditionally, at least* - don't want bombast, but I think most want someone who has a backbone and will "man up" when the time comes. Cary Grant's charm and humor, Jimmy Stewart's integrity, and John Wayne's mettle. Stephen Blackpool has the integrity, but none of the other tools in his personality to make make that integrity meaningful. Which not only prevents him from being a manly hero, but also makes him a boring, tedious character, despite his goodness.

(*I say traditionally -- it seems that many of today's generation claim to prefer more pacific men - the current complaint of "toxic manhood", and all of that - but I wonder how far that would go if they truly needed some protection and their partner didn't step up...)

Okay - I'm responding to my own comment. It's been that kind of week...

I'm now thinking of Ruth and Tom Pinch. Ruth fits the ideal woman mold, of course. Tom is something like Stephen, but I'm fond of him, and I think others would say the same. So, what's the difference between these two men? As I see it, brotherhood. Tom has male friends who have the characteristics he lacks. Together, he and Martin and John Westlock combine to give us those heroic attributes. Stephen, on the other hand, seemingly has no male friends. Surrounded by women, he has nearly become one of them. The poor guy could use a shot of testosterone.

Mary Lou wrote: "Okay - I'm responding to my own comment. It's been that kind of week...

I'm now thinking of Ruth and Tom Pinch. Ruth fits the ideal woman mold, of course. Tom is something like Stephen, but I'm fo..."

Hi Mary Lou

Tom Pinch is a perfect example to offer in contrast to Stephen. I agree with your assessment. I like Tom better as well.

As for Stephen. Yes. He is surrounded by women. I never thought of it that way.

Tristram wrote: "I have the impression that Dickens generally did not succeed very well in creating really interesting and multi-dimensional positive characters."


Betsey Trotwood!

Peter wrote: "Hi Tristram Yes, I agree with you on much of what you say about Stephen. I too find his stated position regarding the union to be weak, or actually rather non-existent."

Yes. Really annoying.

Mary Lou wrote: "(*I say traditionally -- it seems that many of today's generation claim to prefer more pacific men - the current complaint of "toxic manhood", and all of that - but I wonder how far that would go if they truly needed some protection and their partner didn't step up...)"

Just get a dog. ;)

Way ahead of you, Julie. Dogs number 8 and 9 with me now. :-)

Mary Lou wrote: "Tristram wrote: "I also made up a lot of stories for my son ..."

Oh, Tristram - do put them down on paper (or screen, as the case may be). They sound wonderful. Imagine your son's delight if he co..."

Oh dear, I keep forgetting these stories a few weeks after making them up and don't have the time to write them down. Perhaps my children will one day?

Mary Lou wrote: "Okay - I'm responding to my own comment. It's been that kind of week...

I'm now thinking of Ruth and Tom Pinch. Ruth fits the ideal woman mold, of course. Tom is something like Stephen, but I'm fo..."

Another notable difference between Tom and Stephen is that while Tom can be diffident and tends to forget his own legitimate interests in the wake of the two Steamships Number One Pecksniff and young Martin, he can take up a cudgel for people he likes like his sister and Mary. There is quite a lot of pluck in Tom, whereas I haven't noticed any in Stephen so far.

Indeed, I think too that it's why we like Tom better than Stephen. Being a 'softy' is okay, as long as someone stands up when the time is there. Toxic masculinity was mentioned, and that is mostly the 'too much of anything' like Bounderby. I think even today people prefer men who know their feelings and own that they prefer playing the organ beautifully over making a fuss, but who indeed know to step up when the time comes. But doesn't the same go for women? We all like Dolly Varden better than Ruth after all ;-)

Very true, Jantine. Male or female, we all appreciate a little spunk when it's called for.