Status Updates From Mary Reilly

The curious psychological relationship of Dr. Jekyll to Edward Hyde might be best explained by...untangling the complex threads that so loosely knit the conscious to the unconscious. It is a mysterious connection and one that would surely repay study, for who among us has not felt...the press of an unconscious desire to create havoc? Is it not the fear of this impulse that drives us to insist upon social order?

It does seem clear, and rather sad as well, that Jekyll closed himself up in his cabinet in a state of despair, knowing that he could no longer keep Edward Hyde at bay. To share one’s body with a dangerous criminal is not a fate anyone would willingly embrace, but to share one’s consciousness as well, which it seems was in some degree Jekyll’s unhappy condition, this must be terror indeed.

That this involved losing a foot or so in height a total change of features and coloring as well as a stripping away of the effects of age...strains credulity, but surely Jekyll would have found...moving pictures...equally as incredible. Theexperiment...must then gradually have gotten out of control requiring more and more of the chemical to effect the transformation back into Jekyll, until at last no amount would do

She rarely used punctuation at all and her method of capitalizing proper names was erratic, though it is interesting to note that she always failed to capitalize the word “i” and never failed to capitalize the word “Master.”

Are we seriously not going to find out about the possible botched abortion, the murder, or the poison? Interesting note from the author to the audience that they'll publish the prequel [if this book sells well enough, nudge nudge].

All the time the truth was right before my eyes and especially that last night when I held Master up in the yard and saw the change come upon his face, and those other eyes looking out at me for a moment, but I would not understand, as if I was too stubborn to know it.
How many times did he tell me?

I could almost feel pity for him in that moment, as one feels pity for some dangerous animal what has caught his leg in a trap, so I did not want to help him for fear of my life, still it were no pleasure to see him struggle.

“Ever the serious moralist, aren’t you Mary,” he said. “And no pity in that hard heart for anyone who strays from your narrow little system of just deserts.”

"I wish I was one who could find solace in prayer, but I am not. To put things down, that is my way, but I fear this time nothing will help me and I wonder is it safe even to write what I now know?"

In the Victorian Gothic tradition, there's something of the epistolary style here, the enlightenment psychology that suffuses stories like Dracula and Frankenstein. But less imagination.

“Perhaps he is working at something to make himself well.” We was at dinner and all of us, even Mr. Poole, fell silent and looked at Mr. Bradshaw with surprise, for first none of us has ever gone so far as to say Master is ill, and second it seemed that this was a very good explanation for the strangeness we all feel. After a moment Mr. Poole said, “Mr. Bradshaw, I think you may be right.”...88% of the story done...

“So,” Master said, seeming to talk to himself, for he did not look at me, “the final act will be played out in this poor theatre.” Then he sighed and turned his attention to me.

As with so many other scenes in this book, it's entirely unclear how Jekyll comes to this insight, much less what the act in question will be, yet Martin still manages to increase our anticipation yet again, despite very little drama.

I do not think my heart is hard but only that my reason has not gone soft, as seems to happen to so many at the thought of old age and illness, then death, which is what we mun each look forward to, whether we have lived well or badly.

Only took Mary 130 pages to work up the courage for a candid conversation. Not that I wasn't enjoying the drudgery, subtext and fog--but maybe now things can start moving:

“Running for his life.” I said nothing. “It is marvellous, you see, Mary, how he does love his own life.”
“So do we all, sir,” I said.
Master responded very quick, as if I had contradicted him, “No. Not as he does.”
“I see, sir,” was all I said.

And then, as I was sitting there on the bench with all the world of people coming and going about me and the cold stinging my cheeks, I felt such a sadness come over me, for though I understand why I cannot be like others and look forward to the future, making plans and provisions for a shared life, still it is hard to bear.

I began to think on my whole life, of the places I’ve worked and how I have always tried to do my best and bear my burdens without shirking or complaining, because it has seemed to me there is no other way and, in truth, I am too proud to do otherwise.

“How do I do what, sir?”
“Live as you do. Always at your work, day after day, never complaining, but not like so many, not like a dumb animal in harness, but always so quick with an answer, so calm, so observant. I have the feeling you don’t miss much, though you say little.”

“To such a person,” Master went on, “the sensation of being right carries with it a wealth of indignation, what we sometimes call righteous anger, often out of all proportion to the seriousness of the situation. Dramatic gestures, overstatements, even some confusion about the truth are not uncommon in such a state.”

“You needn’t look after me, then, Poole,” he said. “I’m not likely to take anything that isn’t mine.”
...“For the moment the only assistance I require is that you open the door and stand aside, rather than standing between it and my speedy departure,” or some such rude remark that shocked Mr. Poole into doing just as he was told, and in a moment Mr. Hyde was out of the house.

“And it seems to me also, Mary, that there are many who have no difficulty in being good. Yourself, for example.”
“Being and doing is different, sir,” I said. “I have no will to cause pain and suffering, as some do, if that’s what you mean. But as for doing good... I only think of doing what I mun to stay as I am.”
“Which is good,” Master said, as if to pay me a compliment.
...
“No, sir,” I said. “Which is safe.”

That good is what always needs trying, as it is work for us and don’t seem to come natural, whereas havoc comes of its own accord. And also it does seem to me that the two words won’t go together, as force can never do aught but evil.