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A review by tomleetang
Fingersmith by Sarah Waters
4.0
An homage to Dickens that focuses squarely on the female Victorian experience through its two women narrators, who are joined together by the kind of fantastical plot device that feels distinctly 19th Century.
Having recently read the Victorian-set The Crimson Petal and the White, there are some notable similarities - the looming horror of the madhouse, the narrowly circumscribed sphere of feminine life - but also some differences in style and purpose. Compared to The Crimson Petal, Fingersmith is more carefully plotted, more sensual than sexual, more dedicated to exploring its female characters (the men are reduced to ciphers, mere villains and perverts, the inverse of the criticisms levelled at Dickens' female characters); London is a central character in The Crimson Petal, whereas Fingersmith ventures into isolated asylums and eerie country houses.
This novel also addresses an issue that continues to plague society today: in a world where men (for the most part) have written the rules, women are often forced to turn on one other in order to advance. This is true throughout most of Fingersmith, before it wraps up with comforting scenes of female unity.
I finished feeling somewhat ambivalent about this novel. While I greatly enjoyed it, I couldn't help feeling that Sarah Waters relies principally on clever pastiche, which feels less fresh than the iconoclastic approach that characterises Michel Faber's Crimson Petal (a less subtle but more modern book). But for any lover of the Victorian novel, as indeed I am, this is a worthwhile way to spend your reading hours.
Having recently read the Victorian-set The Crimson Petal and the White, there are some notable similarities - the looming horror of the madhouse, the narrowly circumscribed sphere of feminine life - but also some differences in style and purpose. Compared to The Crimson Petal, Fingersmith is more carefully plotted, more sensual than sexual, more dedicated to exploring its female characters (the men are reduced to ciphers, mere villains and perverts, the inverse of the criticisms levelled at Dickens' female characters); London is a central character in The Crimson Petal, whereas Fingersmith ventures into isolated asylums and eerie country houses.
This novel also addresses an issue that continues to plague society today: in a world where men (for the most part) have written the rules, women are often forced to turn on one other in order to advance. This is true throughout most of Fingersmith, before it wraps up with comforting scenes of female unity.
I finished feeling somewhat ambivalent about this novel. While I greatly enjoyed it, I couldn't help feeling that Sarah Waters relies principally on clever pastiche, which feels less fresh than the iconoclastic approach that characterises Michel Faber's Crimson Petal (a less subtle but more modern book). But for any lover of the Victorian novel, as indeed I am, this is a worthwhile way to spend your reading hours.