Today's session is on Dickens and his illustrators, and more broadly on the place of illustration in the book culture of the nineteenth-century. The artist with whom Dickens is most closely associated, of course, is Hablot Browne, or Phiz: Victorian Web host the whole of Michael Steig's excellent 1971 monograph Dickens and Phiz. Check that out.
John Ruskin's thoughts on Wood Engraving are interested (there are several online editions of the Ariadne Florentina; here's one). J Hillis Miller's book on Illustration is interesting, too.
Monday 30 November 2009
Monday 23 November 2009
Carly Jones on Household Words
A response to Shu-Fang Lai’s article, ‘Fact or Fancy: What Can We Learn about Dickens from his Periodicals "Household Words" and "All the Year Round"?’
The foundation of Shu-Fang Lai’s article derives from a comment that one of Dickens’ friends made about the periodicals, claiming that Dickens put “himself, his thoughts, feelings and inspirations into each column.” In his article, Shu-Fang Lai questions the accuracy of this comment and after claiming that Dickens’ complete supervision over the periodical “defies common sense,” he underlines Dickens’ reliance in his sub-editor, William Henry Wills. Lai looks at primary sources in the form of letters to highlight the communication occurring between the sub-editor and Dickens whilst he was away with his family or busy with amateur theatricals. These letter confirm that Dickens wasn’t always able to oversee his periodicals before they were published as Will asserts that when the periodical, “has had the benefit of your revision, the touches you have given to it have improved it to a degree that seems to me marvellous.”
Shu Fag Lai continues to assert that Wills had a huge input in the content of Household Words and uses Lehmann’s (a member of staff from the satirical periodical Punch,) declaration that Wills was Dickens’ “alter ego” and Dickens himself even referred to Will as his “other self.” After discussing Wills’ input concerning content, Lai turns to describe the importance of style in Household Words along with the importance that the periodical’s demographic included the working class. Lai interestingly underlines that Dickens couldn’t get all his contributors to write in the way that he wished them to, that is without pretention, Latin and complicated language. An anonymous article, “Dr. Browns ‘Fallen Leaves’” is given as an example of someone who only makes one contribution to Household Words, presumably as his contribution fallen did not fit what Dickens’ wanted.
On a positive note, Lai’s article provides premises for an individual’s more in depth research on the editors input to the periodicals. It would also be interesting to research how closely the topics and style used in the articles, written by Dickens and other contributors, influence the serialised stories. One prime example is Dickens’s article ‘On Strike’ (published 11 February 1854) which seemingly influenced the content of Elizabeth Gaskell’s serialized novel, North and South. It seems in this article that her fictional strike at Milton is based on the real strike at Preston that Dickens discusses in his ‘On Strike’ article. Lai’s title asks, ‘what can we learn from Dickens?’ It however, seems to me that Lai should assert in his title that his article is concerned with Dickens’ position as editor of Household Words and not Dickens as a person.
The foundation of Shu-Fang Lai’s article derives from a comment that one of Dickens’ friends made about the periodicals, claiming that Dickens put “himself, his thoughts, feelings and inspirations into each column.” In his article, Shu-Fang Lai questions the accuracy of this comment and after claiming that Dickens’ complete supervision over the periodical “defies common sense,” he underlines Dickens’ reliance in his sub-editor, William Henry Wills. Lai looks at primary sources in the form of letters to highlight the communication occurring between the sub-editor and Dickens whilst he was away with his family or busy with amateur theatricals. These letter confirm that Dickens wasn’t always able to oversee his periodicals before they were published as Will asserts that when the periodical, “has had the benefit of your revision, the touches you have given to it have improved it to a degree that seems to me marvellous.”
Shu Fag Lai continues to assert that Wills had a huge input in the content of Household Words and uses Lehmann’s (a member of staff from the satirical periodical Punch,) declaration that Wills was Dickens’ “alter ego” and Dickens himself even referred to Will as his “other self.” After discussing Wills’ input concerning content, Lai turns to describe the importance of style in Household Words along with the importance that the periodical’s demographic included the working class. Lai interestingly underlines that Dickens couldn’t get all his contributors to write in the way that he wished them to, that is without pretention, Latin and complicated language. An anonymous article, “Dr. Browns ‘Fallen Leaves’” is given as an example of someone who only makes one contribution to Household Words, presumably as his contribution fallen did not fit what Dickens’ wanted.
On a positive note, Lai’s article provides premises for an individual’s more in depth research on the editors input to the periodicals. It would also be interesting to research how closely the topics and style used in the articles, written by Dickens and other contributors, influence the serialised stories. One prime example is Dickens’s article ‘On Strike’ (published 11 February 1854) which seemingly influenced the content of Elizabeth Gaskell’s serialized novel, North and South. It seems in this article that her fictional strike at Milton is based on the real strike at Preston that Dickens discusses in his ‘On Strike’ article. Lai’s title asks, ‘what can we learn from Dickens?’ It however, seems to me that Lai should assert in his title that his article is concerned with Dickens’ position as editor of Household Words and not Dickens as a person.
Tuesday 17 November 2009
Ellena's response to Judith Wilt
Ellena Johnstone, A response to: ‘Confusion and Consciousness in Dickens’s Esther’ by Judith Wilt
In her article Judith Wilt explores Esther’s narrative alongside its first-person counterparts in David Copperfield and Great Expectations. Given the usual negativity towards Dickens’s representations of women, Wilt is refreshingly positive about his attempt. She feels that ‘Dickens’ Esther Summerson shows him a new kind of horizon’ which ensured he was ‘committed to the wider anxieties of the Self-Other relationship, which are the female’s lot in the world.’ It might have been interesting to hear a little more about these ‘wider anxieties’ and how this new perspective influenced his depiction of women in the novel, but Wilt moves on a little too swiftly and, if a criticism can be brought against her, it is that she makes a great quantity of intriguing points but does not afford enough time to explore each fully. She does, however, make some interesting and original points. Particularly noteworthy is her observation that Esther’s narrative task is very different to that of David and Pip. She even controversially suggests Dickens’ rendering of Esther surpasses his male first person narratives in terms of credibility, writing that:
It was also fascinating to hear her take on of the idea that Esther’s marriage to Woodcourt is a reward for her loyalty to her Guardian, which some members of the seminar found troubling. She claims that it is ‘confused loyalty’ that moves Esther to accept her Guardian’s proposal in the first place, and that Esther realises, even cherishes the fact that, she will be entering into a sexless marriage. The latter point is, however much it rings true of the novel, mere speculation as nowhere in the text does Dickens’ actually suggest that the marriage will be confined to a platonic level, but it is interesting to think about none-the-less.
Essentially, Wilt makes some engaging points in her article but the reader would perhaps get more out of the essay if she selected a few key ideas and developed them more thoroughly. It is a minor point though; the article is on the whole accessible, well-written, original and definitely worth reading.
In her article Judith Wilt explores Esther’s narrative alongside its first-person counterparts in David Copperfield and Great Expectations. Given the usual negativity towards Dickens’s representations of women, Wilt is refreshingly positive about his attempt. She feels that ‘Dickens’ Esther Summerson shows him a new kind of horizon’ which ensured he was ‘committed to the wider anxieties of the Self-Other relationship, which are the female’s lot in the world.’ It might have been interesting to hear a little more about these ‘wider anxieties’ and how this new perspective influenced his depiction of women in the novel, but Wilt moves on a little too swiftly and, if a criticism can be brought against her, it is that she makes a great quantity of intriguing points but does not afford enough time to explore each fully. She does, however, make some interesting and original points. Particularly noteworthy is her observation that Esther’s narrative task is very different to that of David and Pip. She even controversially suggests Dickens’ rendering of Esther surpasses his male first person narratives in terms of credibility, writing that:
‘Since her purpose is the full telling of a story larger than herself and her own past, to an audience wider than herself and her own present or future, her feats of memory, her insights into to other minds, her happy presence at the crucial scenes of so many other lives are more credible than David’s or Pip’s.’Another key point in her essay concerned Esther’s modesty and how criticism has found it tiresome and pretentious; she quotes John Forster calling her narrative technique a ‘too conscious unconsciousness.’ Wilt believes Esther is uncomfortable about crediting her own virtues as a result of her upbringing and the insistence of her Aunt that she is nothing and worthless. This theme of nothingness and blankness pervades the novel, and Wilt cites Lady Deadlock’s constant boredom as a consequence of ‘a catastrophic personal blankness’ in her life brought about by the absence of her lover and child.
It was also fascinating to hear her take on of the idea that Esther’s marriage to Woodcourt is a reward for her loyalty to her Guardian, which some members of the seminar found troubling. She claims that it is ‘confused loyalty’ that moves Esther to accept her Guardian’s proposal in the first place, and that Esther realises, even cherishes the fact that, she will be entering into a sexless marriage. The latter point is, however much it rings true of the novel, mere speculation as nowhere in the text does Dickens’ actually suggest that the marriage will be confined to a platonic level, but it is interesting to think about none-the-less.
Essentially, Wilt makes some engaging points in her article but the reader would perhaps get more out of the essay if she selected a few key ideas and developed them more thoroughly. It is a minor point though; the article is on the whole accessible, well-written, original and definitely worth reading.
Monday 16 November 2009
Household Words: reading for 23rd Nov class
As you'll see from the course booklet, next monday's session is on Household Words. What I'd like you to do is start with the very first issue of Dickens's magazine, available in its entirety on Google Books, here. (Indeed, Google Books have the entire run of HW; so if you start and want to carry on ... for instance, if you want to discover what happens in Lizzie Leigh, the serialised story with which Dickens kicked off, you can just carry on reading).
So, to reiterate: please read the first issue of Household Words in its entirety by next week's class.
Dickens's personal contributions to Household Words have been collected and annotated by Michael Slater ("Gone Astray" and Other Papers from "Household Words," 1851-59; reviewed here by Lillian Naylor. And, here's Shu-Fang Lai’s 'Fact or Fancy: What Can We Learn about Dickens from His Periodicals "Household Words" and "All the Year Round"?'
Here's a review article by K. J. Fielding on a reprint of the complete run of Household Words' (1850-1859), that says a couple of interesting things.
There are some book-length studes, too. Sabine Clemm's Dickens, Journalism, and Nationhood: Mapping the World in Household Words (Taylor & Francis, 2008) is partly available through Google Books; as is John Drew's Dickens the Journalist (Palgrave Macmillan, 2003).
Women and Dickens
A few links for Monday's session: we are talking about the representation of women in Bleak House, and the representation of Esther in particular, as a way of trying to articulate a more cogent approach to the question of women in Dickens' fiction ... more cogent than just saying 'he doesn't do women very well, does he.'
The key text, even after all this time, is Michael Slater's Dickens and Women (Stanford Univ. Press 1983): chunks of which are available on Google Books. Definitely worth checking out.
There are many good articles on Esther herself. Here are a few:
Alex Zwerdling 'Esther Summerson Rehabilitated', PMLA (88:3/May, 1973), pp. 429-439. The splendidly named Zwerdling was one of the first to challenge the reading of Esther as a 'sentimental, insipid character' arguing instead for the psychological acuity of Dickens's comprehension of the effects of repression and isolation of the development of her consciousness: 'she is ... the unconscious spokesman of the many characters in Bleak House who have never known parental love [which] makes her tale the most important illustration of one of the novel's major concerns-the breakdown of the parent-child relationship.'
Judith Wilt, 'Confusion and Consciousness in Dickens's Esther', Nineteenth-Century Fiction (32:3/Dec 1977), 285-309. One of the best readings of the Esther's charactarisation and voice I have read; particularly good on Self/Other representations.
Timothy Peltason, 'Esther's Will', ELH (59:3 Autumn, 1992), 671-691. Interesting, although a little dense: reading of the novel via discourses of 'will'.
Eleanor Salotto, 'Esther Summerson's Secrets: Dickens's Bleak House of Representation' Victorian Literature and Culture, (25: 2/1997), 333-349. Salotto reads Esther's narrative voice not, as many critics do, as a straightforward articulation of 'angel-in-the-house' Victorian feminine ideology, but rather as a 'duplicitous' reappropriation of masculine idioms. Not sure how convinced I am, but it's an interesting read.
The key text, even after all this time, is Michael Slater's Dickens and Women (Stanford Univ. Press 1983): chunks of which are available on Google Books. Definitely worth checking out.
There are many good articles on Esther herself. Here are a few:
Alex Zwerdling 'Esther Summerson Rehabilitated', PMLA (88:3/May, 1973), pp. 429-439. The splendidly named Zwerdling was one of the first to challenge the reading of Esther as a 'sentimental, insipid character' arguing instead for the psychological acuity of Dickens's comprehension of the effects of repression and isolation of the development of her consciousness: 'she is ... the unconscious spokesman of the many characters in Bleak House who have never known parental love [which] makes her tale the most important illustration of one of the novel's major concerns-the breakdown of the parent-child relationship.'
Judith Wilt, 'Confusion and Consciousness in Dickens's Esther', Nineteenth-Century Fiction (32:3/Dec 1977), 285-309. One of the best readings of the Esther's charactarisation and voice I have read; particularly good on Self/Other representations.
Timothy Peltason, 'Esther's Will', ELH (59:3 Autumn, 1992), 671-691. Interesting, although a little dense: reading of the novel via discourses of 'will'.
Eleanor Salotto, 'Esther Summerson's Secrets: Dickens's Bleak House of Representation' Victorian Literature and Culture, (25: 2/1997), 333-349. Salotto reads Esther's narrative voice not, as many critics do, as a straightforward articulation of 'angel-in-the-house' Victorian feminine ideology, but rather as a 'duplicitous' reappropriation of masculine idioms. Not sure how convinced I am, but it's an interesting read.
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Paul May on Copperfield and Happiness
Paul May, ‘A response to Annette R. Federico 'David Copperfield and the Pursuit of Happiness' [Victorian Studies, Vol. 46, No. 1 (Autumn, 2003), pp. 69-95].
The premise for Federico’s essay stems from Dickens’ angst at his inability to feel contented, certainly whilst writing David Copperfield, and possibly for the duration of his life, as evidenced in John Forster’s The Life of Charles Dickens. ‘Where is happiness to be found then’, Dickens writes, ‘Is this my experience?’ Federico accordingly views the text as symptomatic of Dickens’ obsession with ‘his own frenetic pursuit of happiness’, as a result of being unable to reconcile his personal experiences of delight with both his prolific success as an author, and his eminent fame. This leads her to see the text as an indictment to follow David’s experiences in the world as Dickens’ own ‘intimate study’ of ‘the conscious desire for happiness in one’s life, and the right to pursue it’. In this manner, Federico seeks to assess one of the core principles which define David Copperfield as a Bildungsroman; as the hero, it is David’s burden to achieve happiness, ‘a task that is neither confirmed by David’s apparent success, nor denied by his repression and self-negation’, and is ineffably intertwined with Dickens’ own existential state.
To Federico, an assessment of David’s desire for ‘perfect happiness’ is worthless without a consideration of the cultural perception of happiness in the nineteenth century, and its apparent influence on David’s ideals. She therefore decides to devote much of the essay to exploring Victorian cultural and philosophical texts which ‘point to the seriousness with which [they] addressed the moral implications of the pursuit of happiness’, with reference to the notion that any prospect of ‘happiness’ is convoluted by utilitarian and utopian theory, in addition to Victorian consumerism and individualism. Her choice of theorists (most frequently Carlyle, Mill and Sidgwick) is careful in that it their contentions are often in direct response to one another, and allows her to assemble them into a dialectic argument. This attempt to synthesise does not, however, prevent Federico’s critical tone implicitly conveying her preference towards the progressive, considered views of Mill (as well as simply devoting more of the text to him), despite her accrediting Carlyle as having ‘the prophetic voice of the Victorian sage’. Concisely, she surmises that the utilitarian ‘doctrine’ for acquiring happiness was doomed to be flawed by its preoccupation with happiness itself, which vanquishes any prospect of its fruition, as demonstrated by Carlyle’s suggestion that ‘we should cease babbling about “happiness,” and leave it resting on its own basis, as it used to do!’. She proceeds to remonstrate Carlyle’s stoic declarations with Mill, who sought to ‘claim happiness for philosophy and rational analysis’ in a manifestly Socratic way, but criticises him for ‘[seeming] not to have considered what happiness might actually feel like until his own personal crisis compelled him to ask himself what would make him happy’. She surmises from this comparison, that the clear divide between utilitarian thinking, ie. ‘the greatest happiness principle’, and Carlyle’s condemning position on ‘a philosophy that guarantees an individual the right to pursue his or her own happiness implicitly endorses the abdication of duty, labor, and the pursuit of justice’ were both fundamentally inconducive to both equitable and selfish happiness. She finds Mill and Carlyle to be especially unable to reconcile this conflict, as utilitarian morality is fundamentally at odds with industrial capitalism, with it being implausible to ‘be realised in anything other than a utopia’, and concludes solely with the purpose of proving that the question ‘Am I happy?’ is certainly ‘one of the clearest imperatives of the age’.
Armed with this understanding, Federico asserts that David ‘must both ask and answer’ these essential questions of individualist happiness in David Copperfield. The novel certainly asks these questions, as she is unquestionably correct in finding this to be key in the novel’s premise, and the Autobiographical Fragment certainly confirms this. But it certainly does not seek to truly answer them to any ascertainable degree; David certainly cannot be assumed to be ‘perfectly happy’ at the end of the novel. After marrying Agnes, he discloses: ‘And now, as I close my task, subduing my desire to linger longer, these faces fade away’, and Federico doesn’t fail to notice this tone of ‘regret and self-suppression’. After all, were Dickens’ himself endowed with the answers while writing David Copperfield, he surely wouldn’t have written to John Forster with such musings as ‘I seem to be sending some part of myself into the Shadowy World’.
The essay is perhaps at its most incisive when questioning whether Dickens suggests that happiness can be attained by the Carlyean assumption that ‘there is no such this as such fulfilment on this earth’ outside of ‘steady, plain, hard-working qualities’ (David Copperfield, p. 512). Federico assesses whether any of the characters truly find fulfilment with this notion: whether Mrs. Gummidge appears to be truly satisfied when she is useful, and if Steerforth’s inability to be ‘contented’ stems from his lack of productivity. This prospective ‘answer’ to individual fulfilment is clearly left unresolved by Dickens; despite David’s growing success as a writer, Federico finds this inconclusive, as he so seldom details ‘the rewards he receives from it’. The fine line between unhappiness and happiness seems to ‘have a deeper source for Dickens than in productive labor’, she surmises. While acknowledging the possibility that Dickens is suggesting that the joy of work cannot compete with ‘the desire for lasting passion and transcendent, enduring love’, is this assumption not futile when considering David’s relationship with Dora? David claims to have been initially vested in a ‘headlong passion’, but it is not long before he suffers ‘unhappiness and remorse’ (p. 689), and is forced, as Federico rightly admits, to take a lesson in ‘prudence and good sense’.
Annette Federico’s essay provides a fantastically expansive and multifaceted analysis of the various streams of philosophical doctrines devoted to the ‘pursuit of happiness’ abundant in the nineteenth century, and closely assesses their influential value on David Copperfield, despite becoming increasingly unable to surmise that Dickens’ rendering of this struggle truly colludes with any of them. She clearly wishes to avoid a biographical study (erstwhile briefly hinting at the ‘valuable’ work done by other critics), yet what it is that she ascertains that Dickens is conveying, regarding the most equitable approach to pursuing happiness, seems to depend mostly on her own intuitive (and mostly biographical) analysis of David’s meditations on happiness in the text. Oddly, she is forced to conclude rather banally by merely praising Dickens’ selection of ‘happiness’ as a moral theme, and praising the manner in which in the novel enforces ‘the liberal reader’s involvement in the hero’s quest for happiness’ – a seemingly unsatisfying conclusion to an essay so impeccably precise in its theoretical assessment of nineteenth century philosophical criticism.
The premise for Federico’s essay stems from Dickens’ angst at his inability to feel contented, certainly whilst writing David Copperfield, and possibly for the duration of his life, as evidenced in John Forster’s The Life of Charles Dickens. ‘Where is happiness to be found then’, Dickens writes, ‘Is this my experience?’ Federico accordingly views the text as symptomatic of Dickens’ obsession with ‘his own frenetic pursuit of happiness’, as a result of being unable to reconcile his personal experiences of delight with both his prolific success as an author, and his eminent fame. This leads her to see the text as an indictment to follow David’s experiences in the world as Dickens’ own ‘intimate study’ of ‘the conscious desire for happiness in one’s life, and the right to pursue it’. In this manner, Federico seeks to assess one of the core principles which define David Copperfield as a Bildungsroman; as the hero, it is David’s burden to achieve happiness, ‘a task that is neither confirmed by David’s apparent success, nor denied by his repression and self-negation’, and is ineffably intertwined with Dickens’ own existential state.
To Federico, an assessment of David’s desire for ‘perfect happiness’ is worthless without a consideration of the cultural perception of happiness in the nineteenth century, and its apparent influence on David’s ideals. She therefore decides to devote much of the essay to exploring Victorian cultural and philosophical texts which ‘point to the seriousness with which [they] addressed the moral implications of the pursuit of happiness’, with reference to the notion that any prospect of ‘happiness’ is convoluted by utilitarian and utopian theory, in addition to Victorian consumerism and individualism. Her choice of theorists (most frequently Carlyle, Mill and Sidgwick) is careful in that it their contentions are often in direct response to one another, and allows her to assemble them into a dialectic argument. This attempt to synthesise does not, however, prevent Federico’s critical tone implicitly conveying her preference towards the progressive, considered views of Mill (as well as simply devoting more of the text to him), despite her accrediting Carlyle as having ‘the prophetic voice of the Victorian sage’. Concisely, she surmises that the utilitarian ‘doctrine’ for acquiring happiness was doomed to be flawed by its preoccupation with happiness itself, which vanquishes any prospect of its fruition, as demonstrated by Carlyle’s suggestion that ‘we should cease babbling about “happiness,” and leave it resting on its own basis, as it used to do!’. She proceeds to remonstrate Carlyle’s stoic declarations with Mill, who sought to ‘claim happiness for philosophy and rational analysis’ in a manifestly Socratic way, but criticises him for ‘[seeming] not to have considered what happiness might actually feel like until his own personal crisis compelled him to ask himself what would make him happy’. She surmises from this comparison, that the clear divide between utilitarian thinking, ie. ‘the greatest happiness principle’, and Carlyle’s condemning position on ‘a philosophy that guarantees an individual the right to pursue his or her own happiness implicitly endorses the abdication of duty, labor, and the pursuit of justice’ were both fundamentally inconducive to both equitable and selfish happiness. She finds Mill and Carlyle to be especially unable to reconcile this conflict, as utilitarian morality is fundamentally at odds with industrial capitalism, with it being implausible to ‘be realised in anything other than a utopia’, and concludes solely with the purpose of proving that the question ‘Am I happy?’ is certainly ‘one of the clearest imperatives of the age’.
Armed with this understanding, Federico asserts that David ‘must both ask and answer’ these essential questions of individualist happiness in David Copperfield. The novel certainly asks these questions, as she is unquestionably correct in finding this to be key in the novel’s premise, and the Autobiographical Fragment certainly confirms this. But it certainly does not seek to truly answer them to any ascertainable degree; David certainly cannot be assumed to be ‘perfectly happy’ at the end of the novel. After marrying Agnes, he discloses: ‘And now, as I close my task, subduing my desire to linger longer, these faces fade away’, and Federico doesn’t fail to notice this tone of ‘regret and self-suppression’. After all, were Dickens’ himself endowed with the answers while writing David Copperfield, he surely wouldn’t have written to John Forster with such musings as ‘I seem to be sending some part of myself into the Shadowy World’.
The essay is perhaps at its most incisive when questioning whether Dickens suggests that happiness can be attained by the Carlyean assumption that ‘there is no such this as such fulfilment on this earth’ outside of ‘steady, plain, hard-working qualities’ (David Copperfield, p. 512). Federico assesses whether any of the characters truly find fulfilment with this notion: whether Mrs. Gummidge appears to be truly satisfied when she is useful, and if Steerforth’s inability to be ‘contented’ stems from his lack of productivity. This prospective ‘answer’ to individual fulfilment is clearly left unresolved by Dickens; despite David’s growing success as a writer, Federico finds this inconclusive, as he so seldom details ‘the rewards he receives from it’. The fine line between unhappiness and happiness seems to ‘have a deeper source for Dickens than in productive labor’, she surmises. While acknowledging the possibility that Dickens is suggesting that the joy of work cannot compete with ‘the desire for lasting passion and transcendent, enduring love’, is this assumption not futile when considering David’s relationship with Dora? David claims to have been initially vested in a ‘headlong passion’, but it is not long before he suffers ‘unhappiness and remorse’ (p. 689), and is forced, as Federico rightly admits, to take a lesson in ‘prudence and good sense’.
Annette Federico’s essay provides a fantastically expansive and multifaceted analysis of the various streams of philosophical doctrines devoted to the ‘pursuit of happiness’ abundant in the nineteenth century, and closely assesses their influential value on David Copperfield, despite becoming increasingly unable to surmise that Dickens’ rendering of this struggle truly colludes with any of them. She clearly wishes to avoid a biographical study (erstwhile briefly hinting at the ‘valuable’ work done by other critics), yet what it is that she ascertains that Dickens is conveying, regarding the most equitable approach to pursuing happiness, seems to depend mostly on her own intuitive (and mostly biographical) analysis of David’s meditations on happiness in the text. Oddly, she is forced to conclude rather banally by merely praising Dickens’ selection of ‘happiness’ as a moral theme, and praising the manner in which in the novel enforces ‘the liberal reader’s involvement in the hero’s quest for happiness’ – a seemingly unsatisfying conclusion to an essay so impeccably precise in its theoretical assessment of nineteenth century philosophical criticism.
Monday 9 November 2009
Bleak House 1
Today's session is on mud and fog. Some of it will be riffing off Steven Connor's reading of the novel, 'Deconstructing Dickens: Bleak House', in his excellent Blackwell's 'Rereading Literature' volume Charles Dickens (Blackwell 1985). You might want to check that out.
Lottie Niemiec's response to Schaumberger
Lottie Niemiec, 'Partners in Pathology: David, Dora and Steerforth' - Nancy E Schaumberger
Schaumberger writes an intriguing psychoanalytic analysis of these three characters, the main points of which are, to paraphrase, that Steerforth is the way he is because he was loved by his mother only for his achievements and that she, essentially, lives through him. She claims that Dora grows up as a pseudo-wife to her father, while yet remaining a child, she therefore cannot overcome her ideas of being a child-wife, thus in her adult life she remains very immature. David is only able to become an adult and the ‘hero of [his] own life’ because both Dora and Steerforth die, leaving him with more mature companions such as Agnes and Traddles. She claims further that Dora and Steerforth are ‘prisoners of childhood’ - unable to move successfully into adult life. While her argument at its most basic is appealing - her analysis of Steerforth is primarily a sympathetic one - one can take her claims much further to suggest that David can connect (albeit inadequately) with Dora and Steerforth because they act as extensions of himself. If one is to take this view, then Mr Murdstone becomes almost a nurturing influence, rather than a tyrannical usurper. If Mr Murdstone had not married his mother, David could have remained a child, like Dora, under the loving protection of his immature mother, or he could have become as roguish as Steerforth, resulting from a childish hero-worship, if Mr Murdstone had not removed him from school and sent him to work. Only once this heroic figure from childhood is dead can David become his own hero. David’s marriage to Dora at such a young age is a way of entering adult life too soon, when neither party was ready for it, and they are punished for this by Dora’s inadequacy and early death. Yet by the time she dies, David has realised his mistakes, grown, and become a working, responsible adult. At the moment that Betsey Trotwood comes to London penniess and must rely on her nephew to take care of her, the roles are reversed. David has become the protector, she the protected, and David embraces this role whole-heartedly by writing to earn a living.
Schaumberger claims that Dora and Steerforth were David’s two mistaken friendships, yet I would have to disagree. David learns from Steerforth that one cannot always have what one wants, and if take what you want selfishly, the consequences are painful for others. From Dora he learns the importance of adult responsibility and the pain, yet almost welcome release, of death. Dora’s death allows him to finally realise his love for Agnes; it allows Dickens to use his great theme of rebirth - for David at least - as he is released from a disastrous marriage and allowed to love again. Here Schaumberger agrees, stating that only when Dora and Steerforth die is David free to ‘embark on the final growth spurt of self-realization that leads to his happy second marriage and increasingly successful writing career.’
Although not clearly stipulated, Schaumberger hints that Steerforth is David’s alter-ego, his doppelganger. If this is so, then Steerforth’s elopement with Emily can be seen as David’s repressed desire to do the same. Furthermore, both David and Steerforth grew up with females that love them: Agnes and Rosa Dartle. Rosa’s scar is significant: not only is there an underlying sexual suggestion (Steerforth throwing a hammer at her and splitting her lip, rendering her unattractive to other men for the rest of her life), it suggests the danger of turning your back on freely given love; that anger is destructive and leaves emotional - and physical - scars. When Steerforth dies, the events are set in motion for David to have the opportunity of seizing the love that was denied Steerforth. David does not turn his back on Agnes a second time.
Dora herself receives redemption through recognition that she should not have been the woman David married, that Agnes would be infinitely better for him. Therefore she can be seen also to be a part of David’s subconscious, as she understands what David cannot until he has reflected for many months abroad.
Dora and Steerforth are violently opposed in character. Dora is essentially warm-hearted, honest but weak, Steerforth cold-hearted, false, yet physically strong. Dora lost a mother, Steerforth a father; David both. Dora does not have a feminine influence in her life, a woman to encourage her to be self-sufficient and strong. Steerforth does not have a masculine influence, one to dissuade him from his roguish tendencies - indeed, he is violently overshadowed by females - his mother and Rosa Dartle. David himself has no mother or father, but he seems to acquire these figures during the course of his life. In Mr Murdstone he finds a violent, hard-hearted father; in Peggotty a gentle, caring mother. Later Mr Micawber stands as a father incapable of making the right financial choices, but a father nonetheless that stands by his family and teaches David how to sell and make deals.
Betsey Trotwood is the most nurturing of his pseudo-parents, she is quick, morally upright, extremely caring and guides David always in the right direction. But it is in the sister figure of Agnes (his ‘Angel’) that he finds enduring love.
Schaumberger’s analysis is therefore thought-provoking, but it does not touch deeply on her rather weak suggestions. Her theories may be correct, but her writing style suggests she is reticent about stating her conclusions too forcefully.
Schaumberger writes an intriguing psychoanalytic analysis of these three characters, the main points of which are, to paraphrase, that Steerforth is the way he is because he was loved by his mother only for his achievements and that she, essentially, lives through him. She claims that Dora grows up as a pseudo-wife to her father, while yet remaining a child, she therefore cannot overcome her ideas of being a child-wife, thus in her adult life she remains very immature. David is only able to become an adult and the ‘hero of [his] own life’ because both Dora and Steerforth die, leaving him with more mature companions such as Agnes and Traddles. She claims further that Dora and Steerforth are ‘prisoners of childhood’ - unable to move successfully into adult life. While her argument at its most basic is appealing - her analysis of Steerforth is primarily a sympathetic one - one can take her claims much further to suggest that David can connect (albeit inadequately) with Dora and Steerforth because they act as extensions of himself. If one is to take this view, then Mr Murdstone becomes almost a nurturing influence, rather than a tyrannical usurper. If Mr Murdstone had not married his mother, David could have remained a child, like Dora, under the loving protection of his immature mother, or he could have become as roguish as Steerforth, resulting from a childish hero-worship, if Mr Murdstone had not removed him from school and sent him to work. Only once this heroic figure from childhood is dead can David become his own hero. David’s marriage to Dora at such a young age is a way of entering adult life too soon, when neither party was ready for it, and they are punished for this by Dora’s inadequacy and early death. Yet by the time she dies, David has realised his mistakes, grown, and become a working, responsible adult. At the moment that Betsey Trotwood comes to London penniess and must rely on her nephew to take care of her, the roles are reversed. David has become the protector, she the protected, and David embraces this role whole-heartedly by writing to earn a living.
Schaumberger claims that Dora and Steerforth were David’s two mistaken friendships, yet I would have to disagree. David learns from Steerforth that one cannot always have what one wants, and if take what you want selfishly, the consequences are painful for others. From Dora he learns the importance of adult responsibility and the pain, yet almost welcome release, of death. Dora’s death allows him to finally realise his love for Agnes; it allows Dickens to use his great theme of rebirth - for David at least - as he is released from a disastrous marriage and allowed to love again. Here Schaumberger agrees, stating that only when Dora and Steerforth die is David free to ‘embark on the final growth spurt of self-realization that leads to his happy second marriage and increasingly successful writing career.’
Although not clearly stipulated, Schaumberger hints that Steerforth is David’s alter-ego, his doppelganger. If this is so, then Steerforth’s elopement with Emily can be seen as David’s repressed desire to do the same. Furthermore, both David and Steerforth grew up with females that love them: Agnes and Rosa Dartle. Rosa’s scar is significant: not only is there an underlying sexual suggestion (Steerforth throwing a hammer at her and splitting her lip, rendering her unattractive to other men for the rest of her life), it suggests the danger of turning your back on freely given love; that anger is destructive and leaves emotional - and physical - scars. When Steerforth dies, the events are set in motion for David to have the opportunity of seizing the love that was denied Steerforth. David does not turn his back on Agnes a second time.
Dora herself receives redemption through recognition that she should not have been the woman David married, that Agnes would be infinitely better for him. Therefore she can be seen also to be a part of David’s subconscious, as she understands what David cannot until he has reflected for many months abroad.
Dora and Steerforth are violently opposed in character. Dora is essentially warm-hearted, honest but weak, Steerforth cold-hearted, false, yet physically strong. Dora lost a mother, Steerforth a father; David both. Dora does not have a feminine influence in her life, a woman to encourage her to be self-sufficient and strong. Steerforth does not have a masculine influence, one to dissuade him from his roguish tendencies - indeed, he is violently overshadowed by females - his mother and Rosa Dartle. David himself has no mother or father, but he seems to acquire these figures during the course of his life. In Mr Murdstone he finds a violent, hard-hearted father; in Peggotty a gentle, caring mother. Later Mr Micawber stands as a father incapable of making the right financial choices, but a father nonetheless that stands by his family and teaches David how to sell and make deals.
Betsey Trotwood is the most nurturing of his pseudo-parents, she is quick, morally upright, extremely caring and guides David always in the right direction. But it is in the sister figure of Agnes (his ‘Angel’) that he finds enduring love.
Schaumberger’s analysis is therefore thought-provoking, but it does not touch deeply on her rather weak suggestions. Her theories may be correct, but her writing style suggests she is reticent about stating her conclusions too forcefully.
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