When Nicholas Nickleby is left penniless after his father's death, he appeals to his wealthy uncle to help him find work and to protect his mother and sister. But Ralph Nickleby proves both hard-hearted and unscrupulous, and Nicholas finds himself forced to make his own way in the world. His adventures gave Dickens the opportunity to portray an extraordinary gallery of rogues and eccentrics, such as Wackford Squeers, the tyrannical headmaster of Dotheboys Hall, a school for unwanted boys; the slow-witted orphan Smike, rescued by Nicholas; and the gloriously theatrical Mr. and Mrs. Crummles and their daughter, the 'infant phenomenon'. Like many of Dickens's novels, Nicholas Nickleby is characterised by his outrage at cruelty and social injustice, but it is also a flamboyantly exuberant work, revealing his comic genius at its most unerring.MY THOUGHTS:
When I was a teenager in the mid-eighties, I was part of a school excursion to watch an epic stage play of this at the Adelaide Festival Theatre. It was eight hours long. Two four hour acts with an intermission for tea. We were all stiff, sore, and brain fagged by the time it ended just before midnight. That memory is essentially what crosses my mind when I think of Nicholas Nickleby, but as part of my quest to read and review all Dickens' major works, the time came to pick up the book.
It begins with the desperate attempts of the two Nickleby kids, Nicholas and Kate, to earn a living following the sudden death of their destitute father. Their miserly Uncle Ralph resents any hints that he's in a financial position to help. He believes that since his brother made a hash of his own affairs, it's preposterous that he, Ralph the penny pincher, should step up and lend a helping hand.
And there are hints of an even deeper reason for Ralph's antipathy to his nephew, that stem from his historical bitter envy of his brother. (In his own words, he suspects that people consider him a, 'crafty hunk of cold and stagnant blood with no passion but love of savings and no spirit beyond a thirst of gain.' Hmm, does he remind you of any of Dickens' later creations?)
Meanwhile Nicholas and Kate's garrulous and naive widowed mother, who simply cannot read a room, keeps building ridiculous castles in the air for her children, driving everyone crazy with her high hopes and rambling, random chatter.
I reckon anyone who's ever felt overwhelmed by the demands of the job market will find this story highly relatable, while simultaneously discovering how dismal the Victorian employment prospects were. The Nickleby siblings keep having to start clean slates through no fault of their own.
The term 'sexual harassment' hadn't been coined back then, but the appalling behavior of a 'gentleman' and his minions puts Kate in a terrifying position. Keep in mind that amorous gentry could force their way on innocent girls, then discard them to a lifetime of shame while they go on their own merry way. Sir Mulberry Hawk is determined to stalk the helpless Miss Nickleby, and the predatory overtones of his name surely weren't accidental on Dickens' part. His younger, more pathetic sidekick, Lord Frederick Verisopht, also has an apt name.
The Nicholas Nickleby Wiki Page suggests that Kate is a fairly passive character, typical of other Dickensian heroines, but I strongly disagree. To me, Kate's plight reveals the appalling limitations of her culture and era, rather than any softness in her own character. She does everything she possibly can to stand up for herself. She tells Sir Mulberry in no uncertain terms that he's a despicable creep! Then she pro-actively appeals for back-up to the very people who stand in a position to help; her uncle and her employer. The fact that they reject her pleas indicates that Kate's support network has failed her, and certainly not that she is a weakling.
To anyone who suggests passivity, I'd say, 'What the heck would you have her do then?' That sicko is determined to keep hitting on her at all costs. Thank heavens Kate has a brother who'll step in when he's made aware of what's going on, for not every girl in her position was so lucky.
Uncle Ralph's role in selling out his niece for favor with these men is truly as loathsome as Nicholas says. And all the while, he tries to keep his gruff front in place so he won't need to feel any stirrings of conscience. Here is Ralph's rationale for resisting the protection he owes Kate, as his dead brother's child. 'I am not a man to be moved by a pretty face. There is a grinning skull beneath it, and men like me who look and work below the surface see that and not its delicate covering.'
Okay, so I've hopefully established Kate is no pliable putty-girl, but I can't say the same for Nicholas' love interest, Madeline Bray; a stunningly beautiful, self-sacrificing girl chained by love and duty to a no-good scoundrel of a father. I don't think choosing to live as a doormat to a jerk of a dad is an admirable action, yet Madeline is among the first in a string of Dickens heroines who do that very thing. (Think Florence Dombey, Lizzie Hexam, Amy Dorrit. Ladies, come on!) On the other hand, Madeline is incredibly courageous for the horrific step she intends to carry out to get the hound of debt of her father's back. She is both passive and brave, which results from her priorities being skewed.
In all honesty, this book drags at times. It took me so long to read, and I persevered mostly for Nicholas' sake. I love this gallant, polite and tactful young hero who'll strongly protest only when pushed too far by jerks and arses. The fact that Nicholas makes so many strong protests in the course of this story indicates how many jerks and arses exist in the world.
In fact, there are brilliantly delineated characters of all sorts. To mention just a few more, there's the tyrannical, one-eyed schoolmaster, Wackford Squeers, and his heartless wife; the seamstress, Madame Mantalini, whose honey-tongued wastrel of a husband's indiscretions catch up with everybody, and the demanding wilting daisy, Mrs Wititterly. There are also the exceptionally kind Cheeryble brothers, and poor young Smike, that 'listless, hopeless, blighted creature.'
This is Dickens third novel, overlapping with his second, Oliver Twist, since he was working on both at the same time for a while. He was still only 26 years old as these installments were being released, and in some ways, his youthfulness shows.
Spare a thought for poor Fanny Squeers, the plain daughter of the brutal headmaster, whose romantic overtures to the good-looking Nicholas are rebuffed a little too soundly. Fanny's friends keep poking fun at her in the area where it hurts most, her inability to bag herself a husband. Having them rub it in so much verges into bad taste. It's fairly obvious that a young man wrote it, with no sympathy for the sad desperation of this girl to make a decent match.
Also, I've seen the rumour that Mrs Nickleby was patterned on his own mother, Elizabeth Dickens, who reportedly missed seeing it completely, (in the spirit of the dense Mrs Nickleby herself), thinking that such a ridiculous woman could never possibly exist. Hmm, perhaps lampooning his mother so thoroughly in a story is another sign of a juvenile author. (You know, just because you can doesn't mean you should.)
Finally, he describes the decrepitude of Arthur Gride with the relish of a young man. 'His nose and chin were sharp and prominent, his jaws had fallen inwards from loss of teeth, his face was shrivelled and yellow, save where the cheeks were streaked with the colour of a dry winter apple, and where his beard had been, there lingered yet a few grey tufts which seemed, like the ragged eyebrows, to denote the badness of the soil from which they had sprung.'
I'd certainly recommend Nick Nick to anyone with any interest in Victorian literature. It's a very cool ride, but be sure to put plenty of time aside. It takes a bit of grit.
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