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A review by heyimaghost
Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens
4.0
This is my second time reading Martin Chuzzlewit, and I have to say I both enjoyed it more and less this time. I remember when I read it the first time, I really didn't care for the America bits, despite always being happy to encounter Mark Tapley again. This time, I looked forward to those bits but was so often bored by the Jonas storyline and so often infuriated with Pecksniff, that I found them difficult to read. So upon further consideration, I changed my ranking from five to four stars. I think everyone recognizes that this is a flawed novel, but all of Dickens' novels are flawed, especially his early novels.
I feel like his biting criticism of people's flaws is never with sharper teeth than in this novel. He doesn't seem angry, but his strikes against society are each powerful, deep, and true. His attacks against American exceptionalism and hypocrisy are still as strong as they were nearly two hundred years ago, and I can see how they would've been upset about it. But as he points out, Americans are always complaining about the state of the country, but as soon as someone criticizes it--Well, we're the greatest country on the planet and don't you forget. I especially liked Mark Tapley's encounter with a former slave. It was a particular thing of disgust for Dickens, and he comes back to the hypocrisy of a country claiming to be the home of liberty while defending certain human beings being viewed as property many times. He also attacks America's tendency to use liberty as an excuse to bully, which we still see quite a lot today. Another running joke, that I didn't notice the last time I read it, was Americans constant tendency to correct Martin on facts about England, which is funnily enough, still a common trait. But to any Americans taking offence and thinking Dickens was too harsh towards our homeland--well, let the man speak for himself: 'As I had never in writing fiction had any disposition to soften what is ridiculous or at home, so I then hoped that the good-humoured people of the United States would not be generally disposed to quarrel with me for carrying the same usage abroad.'
And now I want to talk about plot details that will spoil pretty much the whole latter half of the book, so if you haven't read the book, stop now.
Spoilers ahead.
Seriously, I don't even need to warn you on a book this old, but I'm doing it as a courtesy.
I want to talk a bit about Tom Pinch and Mercy Pecksniff.
First off, I saw a complaint earlier that I never really thought of, but couldn't stop thinking of as I reread this novel. Martin Chuzzlewit is not the protagonist. Neither one is. Tom Pinch is the real hero of the novel. Dickens of course knew this, as he chose to end the novel, not describing Martin and Mary's later life with the closing paragraphs, but to talk of Tom Pinch at his organ. I'm also almost certain, there are more pages devoted to Tom Pinch to both the elder and younger Martin Chuzzlewits.
Partly for this reason, but also simply because Tom Pinch deserves more than he got, I find his ending somewhat disappointing. I felt this way the first time I read it. Of course Martin will end up with Mary, but if that's the case, why did Dickens write Pinch as being in love with her? Just to show his selflessness in never making any advancement in that area, but always being a faithful friend to both, suffering in silence and without complaint. If that's so, isn't Tom more worthy of Mary? But of course, Dickens needed to make a redemption arch for Martin, but it seems poor rewards for a character who never needed a redemption, who was always good. He seems to be saying with his words it's a good thing to be selfless and noble, but he says with his characters and his plotline, it's better to be selfish and to see the error of your ways.
Now on to Mercy Chuzzlewit, née Pecksniff. Her storyline is a bit more difficult to unpack. Her marriage to Jonas Chuzzlewit was bound to be tragic, and upon first meeting her, her sister Charity, and her father, I felt like it serves her right. But when we find her after the marriage has taken place and she realizes that her pet name of 'griffin' for Jonas was all too accurate. I don't remember any particular moment when Jonas actually lays a hand on her, but her change in attitude of a cheerful, sprightly thing to a subdued and anxious woman speaks for itself. And while she was admittedly less grating than her sister, she was as haughty and hypocritical as her father could've wished before her marriage. Afterwards, she shows no amount of joy, but she shows sympathy and pity and even unselfish love towards Tom Pinch when she encounters him later and towards the commonly forgotten and often abused old clerk of Jonas's father, Old Chuffey, her only friend in a house where she is belittled and, yes, abused. (I could speak about the abuse of Chuffey and also of his revelations that redeemed the character of Jonas's father somewhat in my eyes, but I feel like I'm growing long-winded.) Dickens shows in the novel through Martin and through Mercy that suffering can bring sympathy with our fellow man, and teach us humanity. And while I agree with that, there was always something I didn't like about Mercy's story. I'm probably reaching for this, but it occurred to me the first time I read it. I don't really like the idea that the redemption of a haughty young woman is to be abused by her husband. I don't think Dickens was trying to say that. Still, there's a part at the end when she's speaking to Martin Chuzzlewit the Elder that she says, 'I wouldn’t recall my trouble such as it is and has been—and it is light in comparison with trials which hundreds of good people suffer every day, I know—I wouldn’t recall it to-morrow, if I could. It has been my friend, for without it no one could have changed me; nothing could have changed me. Do not mistrust me because of these tears; I cannot help them. I am grateful for it, in my soul. Indeed I am!' I know there is a part when Martin says a similar thing regarding his and Mark's illnesses in America, but it just doesn't sit well with me. I also don't like that her happy ending is the live a secluded life as a widow.
I don't know how to solve these problems. Maybe Tom could've ended up with Mercy. Maybe Dickens could've written it so Tom was always secretly in love with Mercy, but she treated him disdain all the time she knew him (as she did already in the novel). After her troubles taught her the value of a good person such as Tom--and such as Chuffey, for that matter--and after Jonas kills himself to escape conviction and execution, a romance could've blossomed between them. It's just a thought.
Well, that's all I should really say. There's so much more to unpack in this novel, but I think I've said all I could say that might not have been said elsewhere.
I feel like his biting criticism of people's flaws is never with sharper teeth than in this novel. He doesn't seem angry, but his strikes against society are each powerful, deep, and true. His attacks against American exceptionalism and hypocrisy are still as strong as they were nearly two hundred years ago, and I can see how they would've been upset about it. But as he points out, Americans are always complaining about the state of the country, but as soon as someone criticizes it--Well, we're the greatest country on the planet and don't you forget. I especially liked Mark Tapley's encounter with a former slave. It was a particular thing of disgust for Dickens, and he comes back to the hypocrisy of a country claiming to be the home of liberty while defending certain human beings being viewed as property many times. He also attacks America's tendency to use liberty as an excuse to bully, which we still see quite a lot today. Another running joke, that I didn't notice the last time I read it, was Americans constant tendency to correct Martin on facts about England, which is funnily enough, still a common trait. But to any Americans taking offence and thinking Dickens was too harsh towards our homeland--well, let the man speak for himself: 'As I had never in writing fiction had any disposition to soften what is ridiculous or at home, so I then hoped that the good-humoured people of the United States would not be generally disposed to quarrel with me for carrying the same usage abroad.'
And now I want to talk about plot details that will spoil pretty much the whole latter half of the book, so if you haven't read the book, stop now.
Spoilers ahead.
Seriously, I don't even need to warn you on a book this old, but I'm doing it as a courtesy.
I want to talk a bit about Tom Pinch and Mercy Pecksniff.
First off, I saw a complaint earlier that I never really thought of, but couldn't stop thinking of as I reread this novel. Martin Chuzzlewit is not the protagonist. Neither one is. Tom Pinch is the real hero of the novel. Dickens of course knew this, as he chose to end the novel, not describing Martin and Mary's later life with the closing paragraphs, but to talk of Tom Pinch at his organ. I'm also almost certain, there are more pages devoted to Tom Pinch to both the elder and younger Martin Chuzzlewits.
Partly for this reason, but also simply because Tom Pinch deserves more than he got, I find his ending somewhat disappointing. I felt this way the first time I read it. Of course Martin will end up with Mary, but if that's the case, why did Dickens write Pinch as being in love with her? Just to show his selflessness in never making any advancement in that area, but always being a faithful friend to both, suffering in silence and without complaint. If that's so, isn't Tom more worthy of Mary? But of course, Dickens needed to make a redemption arch for Martin, but it seems poor rewards for a character who never needed a redemption, who was always good. He seems to be saying with his words it's a good thing to be selfless and noble, but he says with his characters and his plotline, it's better to be selfish and to see the error of your ways.
Now on to Mercy Chuzzlewit, née Pecksniff. Her storyline is a bit more difficult to unpack. Her marriage to Jonas Chuzzlewit was bound to be tragic, and upon first meeting her, her sister Charity, and her father, I felt like it serves her right. But when we find her after the marriage has taken place and she realizes that her pet name of 'griffin' for Jonas was all too accurate. I don't remember any particular moment when Jonas actually lays a hand on her, but her change in attitude of a cheerful, sprightly thing to a subdued and anxious woman speaks for itself. And while she was admittedly less grating than her sister, she was as haughty and hypocritical as her father could've wished before her marriage. Afterwards, she shows no amount of joy, but she shows sympathy and pity and even unselfish love towards Tom Pinch when she encounters him later and towards the commonly forgotten and often abused old clerk of Jonas's father, Old Chuffey, her only friend in a house where she is belittled and, yes, abused. (I could speak about the abuse of Chuffey and also of his revelations that redeemed the character of Jonas's father somewhat in my eyes, but I feel like I'm growing long-winded.) Dickens shows in the novel through Martin and through Mercy that suffering can bring sympathy with our fellow man, and teach us humanity. And while I agree with that, there was always something I didn't like about Mercy's story. I'm probably reaching for this, but it occurred to me the first time I read it. I don't really like the idea that the redemption of a haughty young woman is to be abused by her husband. I don't think Dickens was trying to say that. Still, there's a part at the end when she's speaking to Martin Chuzzlewit the Elder that she says, 'I wouldn’t recall my trouble such as it is and has been—and it is light in comparison with trials which hundreds of good people suffer every day, I know—I wouldn’t recall it to-morrow, if I could. It has been my friend, for without it no one could have changed me; nothing could have changed me. Do not mistrust me because of these tears; I cannot help them. I am grateful for it, in my soul. Indeed I am!' I know there is a part when Martin says a similar thing regarding his and Mark's illnesses in America, but it just doesn't sit well with me. I also don't like that her happy ending is the live a secluded life as a widow.
I don't know how to solve these problems. Maybe Tom could've ended up with Mercy. Maybe Dickens could've written it so Tom was always secretly in love with Mercy, but she treated him disdain all the time she knew him (as she did already in the novel). After her troubles taught her the value of a good person such as Tom--and such as Chuffey, for that matter--and after Jonas kills himself to escape conviction and execution, a romance could've blossomed between them. It's just a thought.
Well, that's all I should really say. There's so much more to unpack in this novel, but I think I've said all I could say that might not have been said elsewhere.