A
big takeaway from reading Nicholas Nickleby, far more than its story or
characters: Dickens’s boundless imagination.
Our
title character comes to London with his mother and sister Kate, impoverished
by the sudden passing of his father. There Nicholas meets his uncle Ralph, an
unscrupulous loanshark who takes an immediate dislike to his nephew. Ralph gets
Nicholas a job at a Yorkshire boarding school, which clears Ralph’s own path to
exploiting pretty Kate.
Can
Nicholas preserve his sanity amid the horrors of Dotheboys Hall? Just get a
load of what’s on the menu:
“They
have the brimstone and treacle, partly because if they hadn’t something or
other in the way of medicine they’d be always ailing and giving a world of
trouble, and partly because it spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than
breakfast and dinner. So it does them good and us good at the same time, and
that’s fair enough I’m sure.”
The
charming speaker is Mrs. Squeers. She and husband Wackford Squeers, Dotheboys’
one-eyed master, are two of the many villains Nicholas squares off against,
their outsized comic rascality dominating the first and best quarter of the
narrative. Looking back, it is a surprise to realize how small a portion of total
text the Squeers represent.
That’s good as far as the Squeers go (making a powerful impression in a relatively
short time), but bad for Nicholas Nickleby.
Returning
to London, Nicholas runs a gamut of life experiences that showcase Dickens’
ability to wordpaint different situations and deliver rich humor and insights
from each. But the accompanying story staggers with the weight of overt
authorial manipulation and contrivance.
The
more people Nicholas encounters, the more it turns out they have some
unguessed-at secret connection. He walks into one public house to chance upon a
drunken conversation about Kate. He walks into another to overhear an argument
about a young woman with whom he happens to be in love. That same woman centers
unknowingly in a scam being perpetuated by wily old Ralph.
“Why,
I don’t believe now,” Dickens has one character exclaim, “that there’s such a
place in all the world for coincidences as London is!”
The
bathos that threatens at times to engulf Oliver Twist runs deeper still here.
Nicholas takes up a companion at Dotheboys Hall, a tragic simpleton named Smike
who offers much rumination about man’s inhumanity to man. “In the churchyard we
are all alike, but here there are none like me. I am a poor creature, but I
know that well,” he sighs.
Smike
is mostly a silent presence; Dickens apparently at a loss as to what to do with
him other than trot him out whenever Nicholas’ decency needs burnishing.
Dickens’ ability to invent singular characters exceeds at times his notions of
what to do with them.
For
a long interlude, Nicholas and Smike join a traveling theatrical troupe run by
Vincent Crummles, where Nicholas earns money writing dialogue for the stage. Crummles
& Co. offer a comic highpoint, probably the purest for pure comedy in the
story as their stage-fed egos clash, but Nicholas’s sudden reinvention as successful
dramatist is one of many times Dickens seems to be throwing what he can into
the pot.
To
be fair, Nicholas Nickleby is a pot crammed with a lot of personality
and humor. The characterizations alone are every bit as good as you expect from
the boisterous author of The Pickwick Papers:
He
was a tough, burly, thick-headed gentleman, with a loud voice, a pompous
manner, a tolerable command of sentences with no meaning in them, and in short
every requisite for a very good member [of Parliament] indeed…
It
may be further remarked, that Miss Knag still aimed at youth, though she had
shot beyond it years ago; and that she was weak and vain, and one of those
people who are best described by the axiom, that you may trust them as far as
you can see them, and no farther…
It
was a satisfactory thing to hear that the old gentleman was going to lead a new
life, for it was pretty evident that his old one would not last him much
longer. The mere exertion of protracted chuckling reduced him to a fearful ebb
of coughing and gasping…
Add
to this the varied depictions of London – not as grimy as seen in Oliver
Twist but rough and tumble all the same – and you have a young artist at
the height of his powers. Nicholas Nickleby is a comic novel by an
author who knows what his audience wants and how to deliver same. At times, the
sheer joy of creation seems to get away from him.
How
else to explain the insufferable Cheeryble brothers? Charles and Ned are
prosperous international merchants who take Nicholas under their wing and turn
the tide for all good people from ruin to prosperity. Later they are joined by
their nephew Frank, every bit as kind-hearted, who takes a special interest in
Kate Nickleby.
Dickens
may have seen a need to offset the otherwise dismal portrait he paints of English
mercantilism at the dawn of the Industrial Age. The Cheerybles are certainly a
positive counterweight to devious Ralph Nickleby and the gang of usurers and
conmen who hover around him.
But
the Cheerybles kill dead any suspense about how Nicholas will extract himself
from his uncle’s coils. Money solves everything here.
Ralph
Nickleby has the most potential of any character in this book for investing it
with real personality. He starts out a cold and material-minded man, then experiences
some minor stirrings of conscience. But Nicholas’ solidly-upright manner eventually drives him
to a still-blacker path.
“As
a portion of the world affect to despise the power of money, I must try and
show them what it is,” Ralph harrumphs.
This
line triggers Ralph’s emergence in the second half as a dedicated villain, his hatred
of Nicholas overriding all. Dickens’ idea here seems solid, personifying the
harsh nature of capitalist excess, but the coolness and disinterest that once typified
Ralph in a realistic way is replaced by stock villainy. I wasn’t looking for a
Scrooge-like redemption from Ralph, but how he involves himself in assorted
schemes against his nephew were another way the plot felt less organic to me than
forced.
My
main hesitation against recommending Nicholas Nickleby is its length. Though
not Dickens’ longest novel (David Copperfield and Dombey And Son clock in at 357,500 words apiece), Nickleby’s 323,700 words did weigh me down,
particularly when Dickens in the second half spends so much of it detailing
Nicholas’s preoccupation with propriety in his pursuit of Madeline Bray as well
as Kate’s budding romance with Frank Cheeryble. It is here the age of the novel
really tells.
The
perfection of brother and sister both is indeed stultifying. Even one of Ralph’s
company pronounces himself impressed by it:
“I
do believe now, upon my honour I do believe, that the sister is as virtuous and
modest a young lady as she is a handsome one; and of the brother, I say this,
that he acted as her brother should, and in a manly and spirited manner. And I
only wish with all my heart and soul that any one of us came out of this matter
half as well as he does.”
Dullness
never overtakes Nicholas Nickleby. Something engaging or involving is
always just around the corner. Whereas Pickwick Papers plays as pure
sunlight and Oliver Twist often dark as midnight, Nicholas Nickleby
is more in the line of tragicomedy, as with the Dotheboys sequence where the
laughs come hard against real human misery.
Social
justice remains a concern. When it connects, it’s marvelous:
There
are some men, who, living with the one object of enriching themselves, no
matter by what means, and being perfectly conscious of the baseness and
rascality of the means which they will use every day toward this end, affect
nevertheless – even to themselves – a high tone of moral rectitude, and shake
their heads and sigh over the depravity of the world.
That’s
a counterargument to the inclusion of the Cheerybles, as they offer both
Nicholas and the reader an out in the form of real hope in an otherwise cruel
world. They don’t add anything to the novel’s comic qualities, but with them
around the humor is never quite so black.
The
role of female characters for Dickens remains problematic. They are often
played here as comic harpies or worse. Dismissive treatment as that is, it
works better than the one-note goodness of Kate and Madeline.
Most
taxing at times is Nicholas’ mother, a pedantic ditz who drones on and on about
everything. “…although there was no evil and little real selfishness in Mrs. Nickleby’s heart, she had a weak head and a vain one,” Dickens explains.
But
she does entertain us, too; something which can also be said of Nicholas
Nickleby as a whole. Not Dickens’ greatest work, but one crammed with comic
invention as well as wry observations about life: “Quadruped lions are said to
be savage only when they are hungry; biped lions are rarely sulky longer than
when their appetite for distinction remains unappeased.”
Nickleby serves as a solid
if wobbly stepping stone for author and reader alike in appreciating his
unique approach to life and art. Enjoyable more for its parts than its whole,
but enjoyable all the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment