Take a photo of a barcode or cover
phileasfogg 's review for:
The Pickwick Papers
by Charles Dickens
Samuel Pickwick, a successful fifty-something businessman, virtually a child in his unworldliness and naivety, has recently retired from business. For the first time in his life he starts to take notice of the world around him. Accompanied by his eccentric younger friends, and guided by his more worldly manservant Sam Weller, he explores his world and has various adventures. Although he is seemingly an asexual being, many of his adventures place him in compromising positions with women, culminating in the famous trial of Bardell vs Pickwick, when his landlady sues him for breach of promise of marriage.
This is one of my favourite books, and probably the only book of this length I've read twice, and want to read again. It is a long book - the last edition I read was about 750 finely-printed pages.
It isn't perfect. The first 50 pages are pretty hard work: the idea is that these unknowledgeable men, the members of the Pickwick Club, play at being a kind of Royal Geographical Society, delivering learned papers about their weekend trips, as if they've been searching for the source of the Nile instead of pottering about near London. It might have raised a mild titter in 1836, when Pickwick started publication as a serial and the doings of the Royal Geographical Society were in the papers; now, not so much. The story goes that an artist, Robert Seymour, originated the serial as a vehicle for comical 'sporting' illustrations, and the little-known Dickens was hired to write some accompanying words. When Dickens took control of the project and started to phase out the sporting aspect, Seymour shot himself. How much of this story is true has been a matter of dispute. But it certainly helps to explain why the story and some of the characters take off and start to live after a fairly slow start. Or it may be that it took Dickens a while to get into his stride; this was his first attempt at a long work of fiction.
The short stories that intrude periodically in the early instalments, to give readers of the serial a break from Pickwick and his friends, are OK, but in this context they're a frustration. We want Pickwick! Thankfully they were dropped fairly soon, when it became clear that readers actually liked what they were reading and didn't need a break.
Critics have complained that the novel is aimless and unstructured, that it was clearly being made up as it went along. This is really one of its strengths. The other work it most reminds me of is the Hitch-Hiker Trilogy by Douglas Adams, the early instalments of which also benefited from being made up as it went along, when they started life as a radio serial. An artist on top form can do his or her best work when not trying to over-think it. Dickens' art was hampered for years when he made the youthful mistake of listening to the critics of this book. The novels that followed tend to have well-defined plots, generally featuring colourless heroes beset by monstrous villains. It took him a while to figure out how to do good plots and create main characters we might care about.
When the book really gets going, several characters provide some good comedy: Jingle, the con-man who manages to extract money from Pickwick several times; Sam Weller, Pickwick's manservant and namesake, who tries to keep his master out of trouble; and Tony Weller, Sam's father. Both times I read it I laughed out loud at the Ode to an Expiring Frog. (Google it. I just did and laughed again.) But it's Mr Pickwick that makes the book great.
Why do we love him? He isn't a 'proper' protagonist. He doesn't grow, he doesn't learn anything very profound, he doesn't exhibit any realistic imperfections, he doesn't strive for and achieve any goal, and all we learn about his past is that he must have been good at whatever line of business he was in.
Pickwick is a model of a kind of ideal but impractical human being: curious, benevolent, trusting, compassionate, forgiving, loving. Asexual, too; Pickwick's friends, and the other Sam, are interested in girls, but he doesn't seem to be interested in anyone, and if he ever was he doesn't say. He does not, so far as I can recall, mention religion: he doesn't need a reason to be decent. There is something strangely moving and also strangely entertaining just in following the adventures of a basically decent man. I have seldom been so moved by a book as when watching Pickwick's reaction to what he sees in the Fleet prison. He is of course too good to live, which is why he needs Sam Weller, also a decent man but more practical. It's no accident that they have the same name: together they make up a whole person.
This is one of my favourite books, and probably the only book of this length I've read twice, and want to read again. It is a long book - the last edition I read was about 750 finely-printed pages.
It isn't perfect. The first 50 pages are pretty hard work: the idea is that these unknowledgeable men, the members of the Pickwick Club, play at being a kind of Royal Geographical Society, delivering learned papers about their weekend trips, as if they've been searching for the source of the Nile instead of pottering about near London. It might have raised a mild titter in 1836, when Pickwick started publication as a serial and the doings of the Royal Geographical Society were in the papers; now, not so much. The story goes that an artist, Robert Seymour, originated the serial as a vehicle for comical 'sporting' illustrations, and the little-known Dickens was hired to write some accompanying words. When Dickens took control of the project and started to phase out the sporting aspect, Seymour shot himself. How much of this story is true has been a matter of dispute. But it certainly helps to explain why the story and some of the characters take off and start to live after a fairly slow start. Or it may be that it took Dickens a while to get into his stride; this was his first attempt at a long work of fiction.
The short stories that intrude periodically in the early instalments, to give readers of the serial a break from Pickwick and his friends, are OK, but in this context they're a frustration. We want Pickwick! Thankfully they were dropped fairly soon, when it became clear that readers actually liked what they were reading and didn't need a break.
Critics have complained that the novel is aimless and unstructured, that it was clearly being made up as it went along. This is really one of its strengths. The other work it most reminds me of is the Hitch-Hiker Trilogy by Douglas Adams, the early instalments of which also benefited from being made up as it went along, when they started life as a radio serial. An artist on top form can do his or her best work when not trying to over-think it. Dickens' art was hampered for years when he made the youthful mistake of listening to the critics of this book. The novels that followed tend to have well-defined plots, generally featuring colourless heroes beset by monstrous villains. It took him a while to figure out how to do good plots and create main characters we might care about.
When the book really gets going, several characters provide some good comedy: Jingle, the con-man who manages to extract money from Pickwick several times; Sam Weller, Pickwick's manservant and namesake, who tries to keep his master out of trouble; and Tony Weller, Sam's father. Both times I read it I laughed out loud at the Ode to an Expiring Frog. (Google it. I just did and laughed again.) But it's Mr Pickwick that makes the book great.
Why do we love him? He isn't a 'proper' protagonist. He doesn't grow, he doesn't learn anything very profound, he doesn't exhibit any realistic imperfections, he doesn't strive for and achieve any goal, and all we learn about his past is that he must have been good at whatever line of business he was in.
Pickwick is a model of a kind of ideal but impractical human being: curious, benevolent, trusting, compassionate, forgiving, loving. Asexual, too; Pickwick's friends, and the other Sam, are interested in girls, but he doesn't seem to be interested in anyone, and if he ever was he doesn't say. He does not, so far as I can recall, mention religion: he doesn't need a reason to be decent. There is something strangely moving and also strangely entertaining just in following the adventures of a basically decent man. I have seldom been so moved by a book as when watching Pickwick's reaction to what he sees in the Fleet prison. He is of course too good to live, which is why he needs Sam Weller, also a decent man but more practical. It's no accident that they have the same name: together they make up a whole person.