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3.87 AVERAGE
3.87 AVERAGE
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
I wasn't sure for a little while if I would like the way the book was ending. At first it seemed like it might be unrealistic, with all the problems being solved and everyone being happy. To an extent, it is a happy ending. But certain elements keep it from being an unrealistic happy ending. For one, there is no reunion between Edith and Mr. Dombey, of which I am glad. Additionally, Mr. Dombey loses pretty much everything, but then comes to appreciate his family and his true friends. It is through losing everything that he finally becomes a happy man. The theme of one's possessions not making for a happy person is very similar to that in A Christmas Carol, but Dickens has developed that theme much more in this book. Excellent character development throughout the book. Loved the way the book ended!
reflective
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Above-average Dickens. This time of year makes me want to curl up with an old British domestic drama, and Chuck always delivers. This had no shortage of moralizing, predictable outcomes, saintly women, comical secondary characters, redemption, or bad guys meeting bad ends. In short: it filled the need.
Particular love for Toots and Captain Cuttle.
Particular love for Toots and Captain Cuttle.
A novel without a hero…
Paul Dombey is a wealthy, proud and cold man, with only one desire – to have a son to bear his name and to carry on the business he has built. His downtrodden wife has already given him a daughter, Florence, but what use is a daughter? What good is she in business? However, finally the son arrives – young Paul, who within a few hours will be motherless as Mrs Dombey dies, almost unremarked by anyone except the broken-hearted Florence. This is the tale of young Paul’s life…
Well, at least so the title would suggest. And for the first third of the book we do indeed follow Paul, as he grows into a weakly child and is sent off to school in Brighton where it is hoped the sea air will restore his health. *spoiler alert* Alas! ‘Tis not to be. Our little hero dies and we are left with a huge gaping hole, possibly in our hearts (I certainly sobbed buckets!), and most definitely in the book!
Dickens quickly regroups and from then on Florence is our central character and she does her best, poor little lamb. But Dickens’ heroines are only allowed a little latitude for heroism. They must be sweet, pure, loving and put-upon, and they must rely on male friends and acquaintances, mostly, for help in their many woes. So Dickens promptly introduces a new hero – young Walter Gay, nephew of Solomon Gills who owns a shop dealing in ship’s instruments. Walter promptly falls in love with Florence (they are both still children at this stage) and sets out to be her chief support and defender. For alas, although she is now Dombey’s only child, this merely makes him resent her even more. So we, the readers, mop up our tears over Paul and get ready to take Walter to our hearts instead. And what does Dickens do then? Promptly sends Walter to Barbados on a sailing ship so that he disappears for years, and for most of the rest of the book! I love Dickens, but I must admit he annoys me sometimes!
You’ll have gathered that I don’t think this is the best plotted of Dickens’ books. I had some other quibbles too – unlikely friendships, inconceivable romantic attachments, less humour than usual, especially in the first section. However, as always, there’s lots to love too. Florence, despite the restrictions placed on her, shows herself to be strong, resilient and intelligent. She is pathetic in her longing for her revolting father’s love, but that’s not an unreasonable thing for a child to be pathetic about. I’ll try to avoid more spoilers, but she does take control of her own future to a greater degree than most of Dickens’ heroines, and Dickens gives her a lovely dog, Diogenes, which allows her to have some love and cheerfulness in her lonely life.
In fact, there are a lot of rather good women in this one – good as characters, I mean, rather than morally good. I think they’re more interesting than the men for once. There’s Polly Toodles, young Paul’s wet nurse who is loved by both the children and has plenty of room in her generous heart for a couple of extra children despite her own large brood. Through her and her husband, we see the building of the railways in progress and Dickens is always excellent on the subject of industrialisation and the changes it brings to places and ways of life.
Then there’s Mrs Louisa Chick, Dombey’s sister, and her friend, Miss Lucretia Tox who is a beautifully tragic picture of faded gentility – a romantic heart with no one who wants the love she would so like to give. Although she’s a secondary character, I found her story quietly heart-breaking. Susan Nipper, Florence’s maid, is a bit of a comedy character, but again she is strong and resourceful, and loyal to her mistress, as indeed Florence is loyal to her. They provide an interesting picture of two women from very different classes and levels of education who nevertheless find themselves in solidarity against an unfair world. Mrs Pipchin, Paul’s landlady in Brighton, is not cruel to the children exactly, but she is cold and grasping – it’s all about the money with her.
A major character later in the book is Edith Granger, whom Dombey condescendingly decides to marry. She reminded me very much of Estella in Great Expectations, in that she had been brought up to fulfil a purpose not of her own choosing; in her case, to marry a rich man. Mostly her inward struggle is portrayed very well. However, some of her actions seemed not just illogical but frankly unbelievable, so that I found my sympathy for her waning over the course of the book. And possibly the strongest female character is Alice, whom, since she appears only quite late on and is central to the book’s climax, I can’t say much about at all without spoilers, except that she is righteously full of rage and out for revenge, and Dickens does vengeful women brilliantly!
Oh, there are some men in it too, but I’ve run out of space! Maybe I’ll talk about them the next time I read the book…
Paul Dombey is a wealthy, proud and cold man, with only one desire – to have a son to bear his name and to carry on the business he has built. His downtrodden wife has already given him a daughter, Florence, but what use is a daughter? What good is she in business? However, finally the son arrives – young Paul, who within a few hours will be motherless as Mrs Dombey dies, almost unremarked by anyone except the broken-hearted Florence. This is the tale of young Paul’s life…
Well, at least so the title would suggest. And for the first third of the book we do indeed follow Paul, as he grows into a weakly child and is sent off to school in Brighton where it is hoped the sea air will restore his health. *spoiler alert* Alas! ‘Tis not to be. Our little hero dies and we are left with a huge gaping hole, possibly in our hearts (I certainly sobbed buckets!), and most definitely in the book!
Dickens quickly regroups and from then on Florence is our central character and she does her best, poor little lamb. But Dickens’ heroines are only allowed a little latitude for heroism. They must be sweet, pure, loving and put-upon, and they must rely on male friends and acquaintances, mostly, for help in their many woes. So Dickens promptly introduces a new hero – young Walter Gay, nephew of Solomon Gills who owns a shop dealing in ship’s instruments. Walter promptly falls in love with Florence (they are both still children at this stage) and sets out to be her chief support and defender. For alas, although she is now Dombey’s only child, this merely makes him resent her even more. So we, the readers, mop up our tears over Paul and get ready to take Walter to our hearts instead. And what does Dickens do then? Promptly sends Walter to Barbados on a sailing ship so that he disappears for years, and for most of the rest of the book! I love Dickens, but I must admit he annoys me sometimes!
You’ll have gathered that I don’t think this is the best plotted of Dickens’ books. I had some other quibbles too – unlikely friendships, inconceivable romantic attachments, less humour than usual, especially in the first section. However, as always, there’s lots to love too. Florence, despite the restrictions placed on her, shows herself to be strong, resilient and intelligent. She is pathetic in her longing for her revolting father’s love, but that’s not an unreasonable thing for a child to be pathetic about. I’ll try to avoid more spoilers, but she does take control of her own future to a greater degree than most of Dickens’ heroines, and Dickens gives her a lovely dog, Diogenes, which allows her to have some love and cheerfulness in her lonely life.
In fact, there are a lot of rather good women in this one – good as characters, I mean, rather than morally good. I think they’re more interesting than the men for once. There’s Polly Toodles, young Paul’s wet nurse who is loved by both the children and has plenty of room in her generous heart for a couple of extra children despite her own large brood. Through her and her husband, we see the building of the railways in progress and Dickens is always excellent on the subject of industrialisation and the changes it brings to places and ways of life.
Then there’s Mrs Louisa Chick, Dombey’s sister, and her friend, Miss Lucretia Tox who is a beautifully tragic picture of faded gentility – a romantic heart with no one who wants the love she would so like to give. Although she’s a secondary character, I found her story quietly heart-breaking. Susan Nipper, Florence’s maid, is a bit of a comedy character, but again she is strong and resourceful, and loyal to her mistress, as indeed Florence is loyal to her. They provide an interesting picture of two women from very different classes and levels of education who nevertheless find themselves in solidarity against an unfair world. Mrs Pipchin, Paul’s landlady in Brighton, is not cruel to the children exactly, but she is cold and grasping – it’s all about the money with her.
A major character later in the book is Edith Granger, whom Dombey condescendingly decides to marry. She reminded me very much of Estella in Great Expectations, in that she had been brought up to fulfil a purpose not of her own choosing; in her case, to marry a rich man. Mostly her inward struggle is portrayed very well. However, some of her actions seemed not just illogical but frankly unbelievable, so that I found my sympathy for her waning over the course of the book. And possibly the strongest female character is Alice, whom, since she appears only quite late on and is central to the book’s climax, I can’t say much about at all without spoilers, except that she is righteously full of rage and out for revenge, and Dickens does vengeful women brilliantly!
Oh, there are some men in it too, but I’ve run out of space! Maybe I’ll talk about them the next time I read the book…
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Classic Dickens--hypocritical villains, brooding misers, lots and lots of weather. Also a great deal too much self-castigation on the part of virtually every female character in the book: Florence, emotionally and physically abused by her utterly revolting father, comes back to him at the end of the book with the words "Forgive me" on her lips. The only reason I didn't hurl the book across the room at this point was because, like all Dickens novels, it is also outrageously compulsive reading. Damn him. Edith Dombey, however, is a masterpiece, especially if you ignore the penultimate chapter (I much prefer to think of her living in the South of Italy on her own, unrepentant and maybe posing as a widowed countess.) Brilliant winter read.
I wish I had enjoyed my first book of the year more. I think most of the reason for my frustration with it was because, for the most part, the protagonists did not seem to act like human beings and seemed somewhat one-note, and this made the novel seem even longer than it already was. Yes, I know Dickens was paid by the word, but still. I suppose I have been spoiled by Trollope, whose characters seem more well-rounded and to actually have good reasons for what they do.
And I'm still unclear as to the motives of Mr. Carker. If the story had included some clear depiction of the wrongs done to him, I would have enjoyed it a lot more. This is especially true because the book occasionally hinted that he had had something to do with encouraging the estrangement between father and daughter. But it was never more than hinted, and no reason for any such behavior seemed apparent. Again, if Florence had somehow been more connected with the firm, or had the potential to be, this would have actually made sense, but she wasn't.
It's also unclear what actually motivated the marriage between Mr. Dombey and Edith. There didn't seem to be much affection between the two when they met or at any point during their "courtship," and there was certainly no love lost between the two after the marriage, even before Mr. Carker got involved. There was no discussion whatsoever about another possible motive, which would have been to obtain another heir for Mr. Dombey. However, given the couple's interactions before and even during the marriage ceremony (not to mention afterwards), I can't imagine they would have ever had a sex life sufficient for such a purpose. And the marriage occurred way too late after Fanny's death for it to be explained by the desire to provide a new mother for the children (and Paul had died by this point anyway). Even if Mr. Carker ultimately manipulated them into it for his own purposes, I can't see what desires he would have been playing off, given that there was no romantic love and the possibility of obtaining a new heir was never brought up. And what would Mr. Dombey be doing taking marriage advice from his business subordinates anyway?
Make no mistake, Dickens is an excellent writer as shown in his depictions of a town torn apart by the construction of a railroad and his almost poetic exploration of the relationship between a speeding train and death, but I just couldn't get past the apparent lack of any reasonable motives for so many of the characters' actions, or how the fate of the firm did not seem related to Florence or anything she did, and for a book named for the firm instead of for the main character, this seemed especially unreasonable.
Spoiler
I also would have liked to see the collapse of the firm more closely related to Mr. Dombey's treatment of Florence than to Mr. Carker's breaches of fiduciary duty and reckless self-dealing. If, for example, Florence had known of the problems, and could have told Mr. Dombey about them in time to save the firm if only he had only interacted with her instead of wanting nothing to do with her, then I would have liked it a lot more. Then the collapse of his firm would have been a reasonable consequence of his behavior toward Florence, as opposed to something that ultimately seemed unrelated.And I'm still unclear as to the motives of Mr. Carker. If the story had included some clear depiction of the wrongs done to him, I would have enjoyed it a lot more. This is especially true because the book occasionally hinted that he had had something to do with encouraging the estrangement between father and daughter. But it was never more than hinted, and no reason for any such behavior seemed apparent. Again, if Florence had somehow been more connected with the firm, or had the potential to be, this would have actually made sense, but she wasn't.
It's also unclear what actually motivated the marriage between Mr. Dombey and Edith. There didn't seem to be much affection between the two when they met or at any point during their "courtship," and there was certainly no love lost between the two after the marriage, even before Mr. Carker got involved. There was no discussion whatsoever about another possible motive, which would have been to obtain another heir for Mr. Dombey. However, given the couple's interactions before and even during the marriage ceremony (not to mention afterwards), I can't imagine they would have ever had a sex life sufficient for such a purpose. And the marriage occurred way too late after Fanny's death for it to be explained by the desire to provide a new mother for the children (and Paul had died by this point anyway). Even if Mr. Carker ultimately manipulated them into it for his own purposes, I can't see what desires he would have been playing off, given that there was no romantic love and the possibility of obtaining a new heir was never brought up. And what would Mr. Dombey be doing taking marriage advice from his business subordinates anyway?
Make no mistake, Dickens is an excellent writer as shown in his depictions of a town torn apart by the construction of a railroad and his almost poetic exploration of the relationship between a speeding train and death, but I just couldn't get past the apparent lack of any reasonable motives for so many of the characters' actions, or how the fate of the firm did not seem related to Florence or anything she did, and for a book named for the firm instead of for the main character, this seemed especially unreasonable.
Dombey and Son is classic Dickens, with creepy villains, innocent youngsters, caricatures of every segment of society, tragic happenings, deserved comeuppances, and a moral so strongly portrayed it's like being hit over the head with a club. Dickens is never subtle. And yet there is such a wonderful slyness to his most perverted characters that subtlety is rendered obsolete. Of those who've read the book, who will ever hear the name Carker again and not picture a human with a shark's grin? His is the most toothsome, malicious smile ever depicted.
Like much of Dickens, I felt the story dragged in places. Yes, Dickens had a well-honed talent for creating suspense and tension, but because his books were written as serials, the pacing is sometimes uneven. This is certainly the case with Dombey and Son. The whole first third of the book seems to go by at a crawl. We are introduced to a variety of characters, particularly the namesake Mr. Dombey, his son Paul, and his daughter Florence, and then we are left to follow young Paul's growth practically in real time. It becomes excruciating at times, waiting for something to happen. This is not helped, of course, by Dickens' habit of writing as if he were (because he was) being paid by the word. He is never one to take the shorter road in terms of writing.
Once the action begins for real, it takes off. I don't want to reveal any plot points, but suffice to say Dickens does a fine job of expostulating his main thesis, which is to show a dysfunctional family and the effects of that dysfunction on all around it. Yes, the ending could be described as maudlin, but as I've noted in previous reviews of Dickens works, I think that has a lot to do with the time in which the story was written and what audiences expected.
On a side not, I will say that as a huge fan of Louisa May Alcott and being someone who has read Little Women at least 50 times, I am surprised that this is the first time I have ever read Dombey and Son. When Laurie, in Little Women, is leaving for college, Jo helps him pack and hands him his copy of Dombey and Son. I never attributed anything more than a fondness for Dickens to this scene until I read the book. Now I understand the significance of Alcott singling out that particular book, a book rife with gender inequality and a father's marked preference for his son over his daughter. Hopes and expectations wrapped up in males are ultimately replaced by different but no less worthy actions by females. It is the perfect choice for inclusion in Little Women.
I would recommend this book for anyone who enjoys Dickens or family melodrama. It's a challenging read due to Dickens' style and verbosity, as well as uneven pacing, but in the end is worth it if you're a fan of Victorian literature.
Like much of Dickens, I felt the story dragged in places. Yes, Dickens had a well-honed talent for creating suspense and tension, but because his books were written as serials, the pacing is sometimes uneven. This is certainly the case with Dombey and Son. The whole first third of the book seems to go by at a crawl. We are introduced to a variety of characters, particularly the namesake Mr. Dombey, his son Paul, and his daughter Florence, and then we are left to follow young Paul's growth practically in real time. It becomes excruciating at times, waiting for something to happen. This is not helped, of course, by Dickens' habit of writing as if he were (because he was) being paid by the word. He is never one to take the shorter road in terms of writing.
Once the action begins for real, it takes off. I don't want to reveal any plot points, but suffice to say Dickens does a fine job of expostulating his main thesis, which is to show a dysfunctional family and the effects of that dysfunction on all around it. Yes, the ending could be described as maudlin, but as I've noted in previous reviews of Dickens works, I think that has a lot to do with the time in which the story was written and what audiences expected.
On a side not, I will say that as a huge fan of Louisa May Alcott and being someone who has read Little Women at least 50 times, I am surprised that this is the first time I have ever read Dombey and Son. When Laurie, in Little Women, is leaving for college, Jo helps him pack and hands him his copy of Dombey and Son. I never attributed anything more than a fondness for Dickens to this scene until I read the book. Now I understand the significance of Alcott singling out that particular book, a book rife with gender inequality and a father's marked preference for his son over his daughter. Hopes and expectations wrapped up in males are ultimately replaced by different but no less worthy actions by females. It is the perfect choice for inclusion in Little Women.
I would recommend this book for anyone who enjoys Dickens or family melodrama. It's a challenging read due to Dickens' style and verbosity, as well as uneven pacing, but in the end is worth it if you're a fan of Victorian literature.
Paul Dombey, the extremely wealthy owner of a shipping company, wants a son to continue his business. His entire being rests on having a son to fill the '& Son' part of his company. The novel opens with the birth of the desired son, the mother dying nearly immediately after. Dombey's six-year-old daughter, Florence, receives a hug from her mother before her mother's passing, while her father simply ignores her, as he's done since her birth; Florence has been continually and deliberately neglected for being a daughter.
The son, christened Paul after his father, is a sickly child. He is sent (with his sister) to the seaside for his health and then stays for his education. He's an odd child, described as being "old fashioned" and is closest to Florence.
The story continues in typical Dickens fashion: commentary on social themes (the emergence of railways in England, using money to control people and situations, marriages arranged for financial gains, etc. etc.), mysterious connections among the characters, and speaking of characters, there are more eccentric characters than you can shake a stick at (a sailor with a hook for a hand who's dealt with perils galore at sea but is terrified of his landlady, "The Game Chicken" a wild companion of the hilarious Mr. Toots, etc. etc.)
Overall, the theme of the book centers around pride and arrogance. It's not nearly my favorite Dickens, but still worthy of a read.
Dawn, with its passionless blank face, steals shivering to the church beneath which lies the dust of little Paul and his mother, and looks in at the windows. It is cold and dark. Night crouches yet, upon the pavement, and broods, somber and heavy, in nooks and corners of the building. The steeple-clock perched up above the houses, emerging from beneath another of the countless ripples in the tide of time that regularly roll and break on the eternal shore, is grayly visible, like a stone beacon, recording how the sea flows on; but within doors dawn, at first, can only peep at night, and see what is there.
Hovering feebly round the church, and looking in, dawn moans and weeps for its short reign, and its tears trickle on the window-glass, and the trees against the church-wall bow their heads, and wring their many hands in sympathy. Night, growing pale before it, gradually fades out of the church, but lingers in the vaults below, and sits upon the coffins. And now comes bright day, burnishing the steeple-clock, and reddening the spire, and drying up the tears of dawn, and stifling its complaining; and the sacred dawn, following the night, and chasing it from its last refuge, shrinks into the vaults itself and hides, with a frightened face, among the dead, until night returns, refreshed, to drive it out. (pp. 418-419)
The son, christened Paul after his father, is a sickly child. He is sent (with his sister) to the seaside for his health and then stays for his education. He's an odd child, described as being "old fashioned" and is closest to Florence.
The story continues in typical Dickens fashion: commentary on social themes (the emergence of railways in England, using money to control people and situations, marriages arranged for financial gains, etc. etc.), mysterious connections among the characters, and speaking of characters, there are more eccentric characters than you can shake a stick at (a sailor with a hook for a hand who's dealt with perils galore at sea but is terrified of his landlady, "The Game Chicken" a wild companion of the hilarious Mr. Toots, etc. etc.)
Overall, the theme of the book centers around pride and arrogance. It's not nearly my favorite Dickens, but still worthy of a read.
Dawn, with its passionless blank face, steals shivering to the church beneath which lies the dust of little Paul and his mother, and looks in at the windows. It is cold and dark. Night crouches yet, upon the pavement, and broods, somber and heavy, in nooks and corners of the building. The steeple-clock perched up above the houses, emerging from beneath another of the countless ripples in the tide of time that regularly roll and break on the eternal shore, is grayly visible, like a stone beacon, recording how the sea flows on; but within doors dawn, at first, can only peep at night, and see what is there.
Hovering feebly round the church, and looking in, dawn moans and weeps for its short reign, and its tears trickle on the window-glass, and the trees against the church-wall bow their heads, and wring their many hands in sympathy. Night, growing pale before it, gradually fades out of the church, but lingers in the vaults below, and sits upon the coffins. And now comes bright day, burnishing the steeple-clock, and reddening the spire, and drying up the tears of dawn, and stifling its complaining; and the sacred dawn, following the night, and chasing it from its last refuge, shrinks into the vaults itself and hides, with a frightened face, among the dead, until night returns, refreshed, to drive it out. (pp. 418-419)