Hey, Slow Down for Setting

Once long ago, I attended a writing workshop which gave me a negative impression about Charles Dickens' style that took years to change back again. The presenter said that 21st century authors should shun Dickens' setting descriptions, or skim them only as an example of what no longer works. For since the great man existed long before the advent of the screen, he assumed his readers could intuit next to nothing about his story settings. Therefore he walloped them with slabs of tedious information dumps we don't need.

 I deduced that modern readers, and especially young ones, appreciate racy, pacy writing that scatters setting descriptions so lightly, they're more like fairy dust. Readers should hardly register that they're even falling at all. It's a compliment to readers' good sense, this presenter thought, to assume we can use our own imaginations to sense what a place must look like. I left that session thinking it all sounded very reasonable, and resolved to keep my own settings as brief and light as possible. 

It took re-reading several old classics for this blog to show me what a lot of excellent material we sacrifice with such a ruthless attitude. By sneering at every long, descriptive passage we come across, we are knocking back two great invitations. One is to slow down for the time being to a pleasant, leisurely pace. The frenetic speed at which we are urged to whiz through our days robs that from us. And the other invitation is to indulge our inner five senses in some of the finest works of written art. For I now believe that taking time to enter right into the heart of the setting is akin to gazing at some of the most breathtaking masterpieces on art gallery walls.   

 Here's an invitation right now, for you to join me for a few selected moments from  Dickens' Martin Chuzzlewit. I read a disturbing article recently that in our current era, the average sentence length in fiction is gradually getting shorter to match social media trends. But if anyone can renew our affection for semi-colons, multiple commas and single sentences stretched out for as long as entire paragraphs, Dickens is surely our man. Let's give him a chance, because our attention spans and ability to exercise our minds' eyes are at stake. Here goes. 

MACRO VIEW: The Never-ending Swamp

Background: Two young men have alighted from a paddle steamer to their new home with utter dismay. Martin Chuzzlewit and Mark Tapley expected a thriving new township, but instead, this is what they get. 

'A flat morass, bestrewn with fallen timber; a marsh on which the good growth of the earth seemed to have been wrecked and cast away, that from its decomposing ashes vile and ugly things might rise, where the very trees that took the aspect of huge weeds, begotten of the slime from which they sprung, by the hot sun that burned them up; where fatal maladies seeking whom they might infect came forth at night in misty shapes, and creeping out upon the water hunted them like spectres until day; where even the blessed sun, shining down on festering elements of corruption and disease, became a horror. This was the realm of Hope through which they moved.' 

But hold on, there's more when the boys step outside to gauge what they have to work with.

'Their own land was mere forest. The trees had grown so thick and close that they shouldered one another out of their places, and the weakest, forced into shapes of strange distortion, languished like cripples. The best were stunted from the pressure and the want of room; and high about the stems of all grew long, rank grass, dank weeds and frowsy underwood: not divisible into their separate kinds but tangled all together in a heap; a deep jungle and dark with neither earth nor water at its roots, but putrid matter, formed of the pulpy offal of the two, and of their own corruption.' 

Not a pretty sight, but can't you just picture it?

SEMI-MACRO VIEW: The London Neighbourhood

Background: Mr Pecksniff and his daughters are heading for his favourite boarding house, run by Mrs Todgers, in her rather seamy section of the city. But at each visit, he forgets how difficult it is to navigate his way there. 

'You couldn't walk about Todgers' neighbourhood as you could in any other neighbourhood. You groped your way for an hour through lanes and bye-ways and courtyards and passages; and you never once emerged upon anything that might reasonably be called a street. A kind of resigned distraction came over the stranger as he trod these devious mazes, and giving himself up for lost went in and out and round about, and quietly turned back again when he came to a dead wall or was stopped by an iron railing, and felt that the means of escape might possibly present themselves in their own good time, but that to anticipate them was hopeless. Instances were known of people who being asked to dine at Todgers', had travelled round for a weary time with its very chimney pots in view, and finding it at last impossible of attainment, had gone home again with a gentle melancholy on their spirits, tranquil and uncomplaining. Nobody had ever found Todgers' on a verbal direction, though given within a few minutes walk of it. Cautious emigrants from Scotland or the North of England had been known to reach it safely by impressing a charity boy, town-bred, and bringing him along with them; or by clinging tenaciously to the postman; but these were rare exceptions and only went to prove the rule that Todgers' was in a labyrinth whereof the mystery was known but to a chosen few.' 

There's a few pages more of this. I admit to being initially impatient to move on with the actual plot, then realised that my restlessness made me just such another hapless wanderer, as frustrated with the written description as these characters were in time and space. So I made up my mind to slow down and enjoy the hopeless meandering, and it became a really fun read. 

SEMI-MICRO VIEW: Mrs Gamp's Bedroom

Background: The boozy, chatty hired nurse, Mrs Sarah Gamp, rents a room in the house of Mr Sweedlepipe the barber, and here is what you'll find between her four walls.  

'The bed itself was decorated with a patchwork quilt of great antiquity, and at the upper end upon the side nearest the door hung a scanty curtain of blue check, which prevented the Zephyrs which were abroad in Kingsgate Square from visiting Mrs Gamp's head too roughly. Some rusty gowns and other articles of that lady's wardrobe depended from the posts; and these had so adapted themselves by long usage to her figure, that more than one impatient husband coming in precipitately at about the time of twilight had been for an instant stricken dumb by the supposed discovery that Mrs Gamp had hanged herself.'

'The chest of drawers having been originally made to stand upon the top of another chest, had a dwarfish, elfin look alone; but in regard of its security it had a great advantage of the bandboxes, for as all the handles had been long ago pulled off, it was very difficult to get at its contents. This indeed was only to be done by one or two devices; either by tilting the whole structure forward until all the drawers fell out together, or by opening them singly with knives like oysters.' 

Once again, although nothing to do with the actual story, slowing down for setting offers benefits of its own.

MICRO VIEW: Mrs Betsey Prig's Pocket

Background: Mrs Gamp's fellow nurse, the large and gruff Mrs Prig, is expected for morning tea. Here is what she brings. 

'Mrs Prig, looking steadfastly at her friend, put her hand in her pocket and with an air of surly triumph drew forth either the oldest of lettuces or youngest of cabbages, but at any rate a green vegetable of an expensive nature, and of such magnificent proportions that she was obliged to shut it up like an umbrella before she could pull it out. She also produced a handful of mustard and cress, a trifle of the herb called dandelion, three bunches of radishes, an onion rather larger than an average turnip, three substantial slices of beetroot, and a short prong or antler of celery; the whole of this garden stuff having been publicly exhibited but a short time before as a twopenny salad, and purchased by Mrs Prig on condition that the vendor could get it all into her pocket. Which had been happily accomplished, in High Holborn, to the breathless interest of a Hackney-coach stand. And she laid so little stress on this surprising forethought that she did not even smile, but returning her pocket into its accustomed sphere, merely recommended that these products of nature should be sliced up, for immediate consumption, in plenty of vinegar.' 

So what do you think, having come out the other side? In over 800 pages, Dickens just keeps the scenes rolling, but those I chose represent his skill in highlighting macro and micro views alike. He can paint verbal brush strokes of sweeping panoramas and also home in on tiny details. And having convinced myself to slow down for the duration, I'm keen to continue with the occasional reflective, labyrinthine book, for they offer both rest and stimulation. And few things provide us with both at once.

PS, in case you wonder about the photo up the top, I took it down on the beach at Port Willunga, south of Adelaide. It's the wreck of an old jetty which may have been in its heyday while Dickens still wielded his pen. 

 

'Martin Chuzzlewit' by Charles Dickens

While writing Martin Chuzzlewit - his sixth novel - Dickens declared it 'immeasurably the best of my stories.' He was already famous as the author of The Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist.

Set partly in America, which Dickens had visited in 1842, the novel includes a searing satire on the United States. Martin Chuzzlewit is the story of two Chuzzlewits, Martin and Jonas, who have inherited the characteristic Chuzzlewit selfishness. It contrasts their diverse fates of moral redemption and worldly success for one, with increasingly desperate crime for the other. This powerful black comedy involves hypocrisy, greed and blackmail, as well as the most famous of Dickens's grotesques, Mrs Gamp.

MY THOUGHTS: 

I was on the look-out for my next Dickens novel, and chose Martin Chuzzlewit because of its claims of comic genius and well-beloved characters. It didn't let me down. 

Old Martin Chuzzlewit is a grouchy and cynical rich man who's convinced that most people in his life are solely after his money. He adopts a young orphan girl named Mary Graham, and tells her outright that although she'll inherit nothing, he'll provide her financial needs for as long as he's alive, in return for her looking after him. This is his orchestration to ensure that it will be in at least one person's best interests to keep him alive. But when his grandson, also named Martin, falls in love with Mary, family harmony gets rocky. It culminates in young Martin leaving home in a huff, to make his own way without his grandfather's help. 

Young Martin claims he's lucky to have dodged the Chuzzlewit traits of stubbornness and selfishness, while his attitude and behaviour prove that he's inherited generous doses of both. Martin has been brought up as an entitled brat, but at 21, he's young enough to change, and we anticipate that this story will rip the scales from his eyes. Indeed, I was thinking early on, 'Hooray, this boy will get character development!' 

He's so full of himself near the start that when his new friend Tom Pinch gives him a generous handout, young Martin reflects what a great guy he must be to have made such a positive impression on Tom! I still find him easy to like, even at this stage. Mary gives Martin credit for trying to be resourceful and independent although he's been stripped of everything, and so should we. He has plenty of get-up-and-go, and although he's self-centered, he isn't cruel and manipulative like the story's villain, his cousin Jonas (or second cousin, if we're splitting hairs). And best of all, unlike this story's shadier characters, he is teachable!

Martin makes an impulsive decision to head across the ocean to seek his fortune in America. He's accompanied by the merry Mark Tapley, a long-term optimist who brushes off all compliments that he's an uplifting guy to have around. Mark believe he's never been put to the test, and is always seeking an opportunity horrendous enough to deserve the praise. Seriously, this guy leaves Pollyanna far behind. Needless to say, America delivers what he's looking for.

It seems Martin Chuzzlewit was a controversial book of its time, as well as being Dickens' only novel with part of the action taking place on foreign soil. (With the exception of the French action in A Tale of Two Cities.) Some Americans resented him for showing them in a really bad light. But considering their current history at his time of writing, I think they provided the sort of story fodder he liked to jump on. He saw a nation that regarded individual freedom so highly they broke away from Britain in an intense war to achieve it, calling the Motherland a despot and tyrant, then without blinking committed the atrocity of keeping slaves. How could a satirist and hater of hypocrisy like Dickens possibly resist? 

I love it when the migrating duo invests in a land package, sight unseen, in the inaptly named town of Eden, then arrive to discover a foetid, pestilential swamp which has killed several people. So while Mark gets the opportunity to put his jollity to the ultimate test, the place becomes a stunning eucatastrophe for Martin, revealing his personal shortcomings in a way nothing else ever has. There is always plenty happening plotwise in the story, but this pause for a reflective payoff between setting and character is my favourite part.

Other characters are brilliantly executed too, such as the pious-speaking Mr Pecksniff, whose audacious hypocrisy has no limits. This tubby fraud aims to come across in a kindly, paternal style similar to Mr Pickwick from The Pickwick Papers, but he's a real wolf in sheep's clothing. For a start, he claims to teach students architecture, but plagiarises their designs and dodges discovery like a pro. 

I think my second favourite part of the story is when archetypal good guy, Tom Pinch, accidentally discovers the true colours of the man he has idolised from boyhood. Understanding the real Pecksniff should be liberating but it's a huge blow for Tom to face the fact that a lifetime of admiration has been entirely misplaced. As the narrator puts it, 'The star of his whole life from boyhood had become in a moment putrid vapour. The man he venerated had never existed. Pecksniff had gone out of the world. Never been in it.' Wow, Tom's experience begs the question, what do we do under such circumstances? Do we consider years of delusion a sad write-off, or somehow manage to weave them into our life review as a valuable lesson learned?  

I find the trajectory of the cruel and heartless villain, Jonas Chuzzlewit, intriguing. His downfall doesn't have to be as rough as he makes it, until he feels the need to keep endlessly covering up his cover-ups. Scarily enough, he reminded me of some of the boys I knew at school. Is a nasty, brutal nature one of destiny's tools? In other words, although it's obvious on the surface he didn't have to make the choices we read, did his vicious streak actually drive him to do it? It all started with greed, of course. 

On the whole, Martin Chuzzlewit was really enjoyable and interesting, but I've now read enough Dickens to sense straight off that it probably won't be in my Top 5. I think I would have liked the threads of young Martin and the villainous Jonas to converge even more than they did. And although I loved young Martin, I was never a fan of old Martin. Just because a guy has money gives him no right to play God with other people's lives, throwing tantrums if they came up with ideas before he does. His autocratic attitude could have easily resulted  in the death of his grandson, who he treats like dirt just to prove a point. That's taking tough love to a sick extreme! I can't imagine how Mary could have stayed devoted to the old codger, since he started playing messy games with the guy she loved. (Whenever old Martin hobbles onto a scene, I imagine him looking like Mr Burns from The Simpsons, and wonder if it's just me, for Dickens doesn't describe him as such.)

Romance is quite low key. I like the Mary/Martin relationship, but we don't really get enough of it. Instead, we get the super-sentimental John Westlock/Ruth Pinch match up, which verges on sickly sweet, plus the two Pecksniff girls vying with each other for that horrible Jonas Chuzzlewit, which is just off this planet. I mean, of all the men out there... why?!!  

But hey, it's given me lots of food for thought. 

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'Clover' by Susan Coolidge

NOTE: At one time, I wouldn't have reviewed such an old volume on my blog, since it would have been difficult for the average reader to get their hands on. But in recent years, great strides have been made by generous sites such as Project Gutenberg and even Amazon to bring these old treasures back to life as free e-books. So if you're inspired to carry on with these charming tales of Katy Carr's siblings, they are easy to find and cost nothing!

MY THOUGHTS:

Some readers think this series is a trilogy that ends with What Katy Did Next, but in fact there are two more to round it off. I always knew about Clover, because there was an old copy owned by my mother in the bookshelf when I was little. But I remembered few details from my last read, which was way back in my childhood, and enjoyed this re-read more than ever. It's a simple story, but quite compelling.

It's refreshing to have the attention turned to another member of the Carr family, especially when it's loyal and generous Clover, who always rejoiced in Katy's good fortune without a twinge of envy, even when that meant missing out on long trips to Europe herself. After Katy's startlingly simple wedding, Clover's story begins. The youngest Carr sibling, Phil, takes on a significant role too.

Seventeen-year-old Phil has a worrisome cough which bothers his dad, because tuberculosis is rife in their time and place. So Dr Carr decides to send Phil to St. Helen's, a small town in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, to regain his health. And because he can't pack up his medical practice and go too, Clover is appointed as Phil's guardian. Settling down in a faraway state which has a uncivilised reputation and trying to convince a stubborn teenage male to take it easy are equally daunting prospects for Clover, but she resolves to tackle them by taking one day at a time.

Then there's the Mrs Watson factor. Anxious Dr Carr unintentionally complicates things further by connecting the pair of them with an elderly lady who he hopes may be able to lend a wise helping hand from time to time. But Mrs Watson turns out to be a helpless, talkative airhead who makes Clover's job far harder. She provides some excellent comic relief, and making Clover exasperated with her meddling father is just the start.  

Guess who else has settled down on a nearby ranch sixteen miles out of town? It's cheeky, henpecked cousin Clarence Page from What Katy Did at School, who has now grown up and become very good looking. He's living with a British friend, the equally attractive but more refined Geoff Templestowe. And there's also a third guy in the wings named Thurber Wade, a rich young local. These are regarded by new friends as three 'Clover leaves', any of whom she might pluck if she pleases.

I loved the descriptions of the setting and environment. Colorado has never been on my bucket list of places to visit before, but now I want to go there to experience that bracing, restorative air, stunning mountain views and bright flowers. One of the book's main themes is how travellers from the eastern states are usually overwhelmed by the stunning beauty, and surprised by the mod cons in the cities and towns, as they all expect something wild and untamed. Clover and Phil are no exception. It's always a pleasure for me to slow down with a pastoral novel, so I'd rate this book high just for its beautiful sense of place.

There are spoilers below this line, as I want to discuss Clover's three romantic options. So if you want to be totally surprised as the story unfolds, read no further.  

Poor Clarence shows up really well. In a way, it would have been sweet if Clover had fallen for the scrappy young cousin who took her good influence on board so long ago, but Susan Coolidge had other plans for both of them. I'm glad in retrospect that his proposal was rejected, because this gives Clarence's character a chance to shine. He leaves Laurie from Little Women far behind when it comes to taking no for an answer with dignity and thoughtfulness. I liked this boy all along, and respect him even more now. I applaud Clarence's mature decision to make no ripples for the new lovebirds Clover and Geoff, because they're his closest friends, and jeopardising his relationships with them would be plain stupid. Way to go, Clarence!

Thurber Wade is not a main character, and seems to serve three purposes. He brings the feelings of the other two rivals to the surface. He enables some lovely expeditions to explore more of the beauty of Colorado, which the other two guys simply couldn't afford. And he makes the 3-leaf Clover analogy possible. But Thurber Wade never had a chance. We all knew that.

No surprise really, it's Geoff Templestowe! Coolidge has given us a delicately written romance here, but it was always clear that he was going to be the guy. And on the whole, Clover's attraction to him is based on his character rather than his looks, which is what we'd expect from her. One of my favourite reflections of hers is this. 'I wonder what makes him so different from other people. He never says fine flourishing things like Thurber Wade, or abrupt, rather rude things like Clarence, or inconsiderate things like Phil, or satirical, funny things like the doctor. But he's always doing something kind.' 

Well, potential spouses do have a way of being on their best behaviour. And they usually follow up by letting a few annoyances slip through the cracks once they become actual husbands. 

We'll see what comes to light in In the High Valley.

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'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd' by Agatha Christie

Considered to be one of Agatha Christie's most controversial mysteries, The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd breaks the rules of traditional mystery.

The peaceful English village of King’s Abbot is stunned. The widow Ferrars dies from an overdose of veronal. Not twenty-four hours later, Roger Ackroyd—the man she had planned to marry—is murdered. It is a baffling case involving blackmail and death, that taxes Hercule Poirot’s “grey cells” before he reaches one of the most startling conclusions of his career.

MY THOUGHTS:  

My mum was always a great fan of the queen of crime when I was little, and collected many of her books. I never read them all but do appreciate knowing they're always on hand at Mum's place, just in case I want to grab hold of one for a vintage mystery fix if I feel like it. I've seen this crime classic mentioned frequently lately, as one of Christie's most brilliant and celebrated for its impeccable execution. One site even said that if you're only ever going to read one Agatha Christie, let this be the one. I promise I went into it with no idea what to expect, to see if it would blow me away as it has many others.

It was first published in 1926, and set in a tiny village named King's Abbot. The story's narrator is Dr James Sheppard, the friendly local GP. His patient Mrs Ferrars has just committed suicide by taking a lethal overdose of tablets. It turns out a ruthless blackmailer who knew she'd poisoned her husband has been extorting money from her ever since his death, and she's finally had enough of the stress. Mrs Ferrars leaves a letter to her fiance, Roger Ackroyd, revealing the identity of her blackmailer, but he's murdered in his study before he finishes reading the letter. Ackroyd is stabbed in the neck from behind with a sharp, ornamental weapon from one of his own drawers. 

The weird thing is that the killer makes a late night phone call to let the doctor know that another patient of his has bitten the dust. One of the biggest questions in this story is why on earth the anonymous murderer would preempt discovery, rather than wait for it to unfold naturally the following morning. It's so unusual, detective Hercule Poirot is certain that once the answer comes to light, they'll have their killer. 

The suspect who most evidence seems to indicate is Ackroyd's handsome stepson, Captain Ralph Paton, who disappeared after the murder. But almost everyone present beneath Ackroyd's roof that evening have personal secrets of their own, mostly fueled by being short of money. There's his widowed sister-in-law, Mrs Cecil Ackroyd, and her beautiful daughter Flora, along with a game shooter named Hector Blunt, and Ackroyd's vigilant personal secretary, Geoffrey Raymond. And the staff members include Parker the butler, Mrs Russell the housekeeper, and Ursula Bourne the parlour maid. Everyone is hiding something which they fear may cast them in a suspicious light. 

There are some interesting musings, including Poirot's theory about women's intuition (females take heaps of detail on board in their subconscious minds, and later assume there's something psychic about it) and the mind of a blackmailer (it's easy for any ordinary man to acquire a substantial income by doing nothing more difficult than keeping quiet about something). His sidekick Dr Sheppard comments that as each new revelation comes to light, the whole case is like the shake of a kaleidoscope. The thing changes its aspect entirely. 

I think the big revelation is rightfully considered controversial. Some readers think Dame Agatha was playing silly games with us, while others believe she was boldly treading ground traversed by no mystery author before her. I'll say no more, except that the murderer was so cocksure they got away with it, I'm glad Poirot was called on the case to prove them wrong! 

Did I figure it out myself? No, in all honesty, but nor was I totally floored by the announcement. 

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