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Bleak House

Lady Dedlock

Author: Charles Dickens
First published: 1852-53, by Bradbury and Evans

WARNING: Plot spoiler

Bleak House is Dickens’s great indictment on the Victorian legal system, but also his critique of a world that refuses to endorse love in anything but its most conventional and socially-acceptable forms. As in all of Dickens’s novels, there are many stories within Bleak House, but my favorite is the harrowing story of Lady Dedlock and her daughter Esther Summerson. Running alongside the ancient and irresolvable case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce, the Dedlock/Esther Summerson plot is the story at the very center of the book—the story that gives the stagnant world of Bleak House not only its momentum, but an emotional force unparalleled in Dickens.

Lady Dedlock and Esther are dead to each other in the sense that neither one knows about the others’ true identity. Lady Dedlock (formerly not a lady at all, but the aptly named Honoria Barbary), believes her child to have died at birth, and Esther, ushered away to hide her mother’s disgrace (Lady Dedlock was not married when she had Esther), is never told what happened to her mother. (“I had never worn a black frock, that I could recollect. I had never been shown my mama’s grave.”) They go through life apart, unaware of each others’ existences, longing for each other all the while and suppressing their longing as the culture demands. (Esther grows up haunted by the bitter castigations of her godmother/aunt: “Your mother, Esther, is your disgrace, and you were hers.”)

One of my favorite scenes not just in Bleak House but in all of Dickens, is the reunion scene between Esther and Lady Dedlock. It is so riveting for the momentary joy Esther experiences and the calamity that shatters the moment, rendering the joy immediately tragic. Discovering who her mother is at last, Esther briefly peeks through an open window into her past; but the window slams shut in an instant when Lady Dedlock, the condemned prisoner of a stratified world, announces that she and Esther can never speak to each other again.

“My child, my child!” she said. “For the last time! These kisses for the last time! These arms upon my neck for the last time! We shall meet no more. To hope to do what I seek to do, I must be what I have been so long. Such is my reward and doom. If you hear of Lady Dedlock, brilliant, prosperous, and flattered; think of your wretched mother, conscience-stricken, underneath that mask! Think that the reality is in her suffering, in her useless remorse, in her murdering within her breast the only love and truth of which it is capable! And then forgive her, if you can; and cry to Heaven to forgive her, which it never can!”

Esther’s and Lady Dedlock’s story is a story of repeated deaths and births. Esther is born, but “dies” in childbirth, and the mother “dies” along with her. Esther is haunted by this dead mother throughout her life, until the dead mother comes back to life, only to “murder” herself and her daughter again. They continue apart, dead to each other once more, until their final reunion in chapter 59 of the novel, when Esther discovers Lady Dedlock’s disguised body at the gates of the poor man’s graveyard: “. . . it was my mother, cold and dead.”

The BBC’s 2005 production of Bleak House, starring Gillian Anderson as Lady Dedlock, is one of my favorite literary adaptations of all time. Though the writers did alter many parts of the book (including, sadly, the excision of the greatest chase scene in all of English literature—Bucket’s pursuit of Lady Dedlock through the night), the attention to the mood, lighting, and themes of Dickens’s original could not be more faithful.

Nicholas Nickleby

Nicholas Nickleby

Author: Charles Dickens
First published: 1838-39, by Chapman and Hall

Nicholas Nickleby is not my favorite book by Dickens. In fact, it is one of my least favorite books by Dickens. But it is an extremely important book in Dickens’s career because, though he was already quite famous when it was first published in 1839, it was the book that in many ways made him an author.

At the time of Nicholas Nickleby, Dickens was still writing almost exclusively under his pseudonym “Boz.” But with Nickleby, he started putting his real name to his work, and in the front of the first edition of the book his publishers, Chapman and Hall, provided an engraved portrait of the young and handsome author—the antecedent to the modern-day dust jacket photo. Nicholas Nickleby was also the first novel for which Dickens, after much negotiation, came away owning the exclusive copyright.

The story of Nicholas Nickleby is typical early Dickens stuff—a melodramatic hero too perfect and honorable to be believed, a family plagued by ruin, mercenary and lecherous villains, damsels in distress, the bucolic Eden of the countryside contrasted with the stink and soot of London. It is the brother volume to the more familiar Oliver Twist, which Dickens was writing for another publisher (Richard Bentley) at the very same time. It’s no coincidence that the two greatest and most famous Dickens stage adaptations—Lionel Bart’s Oliver! (1960) and David Edgars’s Nicholas Nickleby (1980)—are of these two fast-paced and episodic books from this particular time period.

Nicholas Nickleby is really like two novels. The first half is rambling and quixotic, reaching back to Dickens’s first novel, The Pickwick Papers (1837), and the discursive traditions of the 18th century. The second half is more coherent and dramatic, demonstrating the roots of the elaborate and magnificent plots that Dickens would go on to create in his later novels. My favorite characters in Nicholas Nickleby are probably the Cheerbyle brothers, who appear magically in the middle of the book to save the day, and mark a kind of transition point in the novel. They are not memorable for their language or complexity, but rather for the ridiculous degree of benevolence that they bestow on all who cross their path. (Think Scrooge at the other end of the spectrum.) Their generosity is so absurd and unbelievable that you can’t help but come away from the book laughing, and laughing hard.

The Great Gatsby

Long Island

Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald
First Published: 1925, by Charles Scribner’s Sons

If ever there were a book about holding on to the past, The Great Gatsby is that book. How my heart goes out to Gatsby every time I see him reaching toward that faraway green light across the bay! The light of Daisy Buchanan, the light he’s kept burning all his life. But this book is about more than reaching back. It’s also a beautiful, harrowing, and detailed picture of The Jazz Age, a story about the tenacity of love/obsession, and not least a story about class warfare and resentment.

Fitzergerald is a master of style and metaphor, and my favorite trick of his is the creation of explosive description by way of casting aside the literal meaning of words. Take this sentence for instance:

The moon had risen higher, and floating in the Sound, was a triangle of silver scales, trembling a little to the stiff, tinny drip of the banjoes on the lawn.

The moon’s reflection is a triangle of scales, rippling like the surface of a fish skin, trembling as if it were human. Accompanying the movement is the music from Gatsby’s party, pelleting the lawn with moisture. The banjos are dripping! Only Fitzgerald could turn music into raindrops so convincingly.

Here again, he maintains his watery theme, transforming moonlight into something damper—something capable of saturating clothes:

A universe of ineffable gaudiness spun itself out in his brain while the clock ticked on the washstand and the moon soaked with wet light his tangled clothes upon the floor.

And here, he levitates Tom and Daisy’s massive, foreboding house:

The Buchanan’s house floated suddenly toward us through the dark rustling trees.

I also love Fitzgerald for the relentless details he provides, details that transport you back to that roaring time and place. He plays Three O’Clock in the Morning for us, “a neat, sad little waltz of that year,” which dates the story to 1922; and lets the saxophones wail all night at Gatsby’s parties, “while a hundred pairs of golden and silver slippers [shuffle] the shining dust.”