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A review by tomleetang
Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens
3.0
Charles Dickens said on beginning this novel: "I think Chuzzlewit is a hundred points immeasurably the best of my stories." No, Mr. Dickens, no. I can see why you would think that, because the ruse is good, and the writing sparkles as ever, but you seem to get lost in setting up the scene, resulting in a meandering, aimless start. It has happened to the best of writers, this trap of becoming so enamoured of an idea that they keep spinning it out, only to get entangled in their own web before they manage to catch anything good.
Dickens' contemporary public seems to have felt the same way as myself, resulting in a sharp plot change, sending Martin Chuzzlewit to America. And oh boy, does Dickens hate America. He loads up his irony shotgun and blasts both barrels into the heart of the USA, shooting down what he saw as a land mired in hypocrisy and obsessed with money.
Of course, these concerns have always been the stuff of Dickens narrative, and he often wrote about England in relation to these themes, but what seems to pique the author most is the spouting of 'land of the free, home of the brave' sentiments when the bitterness of slavery and the ethically dubious pursuit of the almighty dollar confront him at every turn.
"I reckon that they are made of pretty much the same stuff as other folks, if they would but own it, and not set up false pretences," as Mark Tapley sums up the situation.
And yet, for all it's amusing satire, how silly the whole American escapade is:
Fortunately, the American sojourn is only half the story. The other half, containing the alcoholic nurse Mrs Gamp and the insidious faux servility of Seth Pecksniff, is the stuff of great Dickens.
Even though this novel is not among Dickens' best, I still marvelled as ever at his incredible, inimitable use of language; his seemingly effortless ability to magic up endless parades of fantastical similes and metaphors; the way his syntax can be wielded as a weapon to make the reader laugh or weep. I felt desperately sad to realise this is the last Dickens novel I shall ever come to with a fresh eye.
Dickens' contemporary public seems to have felt the same way as myself, resulting in a sharp plot change, sending Martin Chuzzlewit to America. And oh boy, does Dickens hate America. He loads up his irony shotgun and blasts both barrels into the heart of the USA, shooting down what he saw as a land mired in hypocrisy and obsessed with money.
Of course, these concerns have always been the stuff of Dickens narrative, and he often wrote about England in relation to these themes, but what seems to pique the author most is the spouting of 'land of the free, home of the brave' sentiments when the bitterness of slavery and the ethically dubious pursuit of the almighty dollar confront him at every turn.
"I reckon that they are made of pretty much the same stuff as other folks, if they would but own it, and not set up false pretences," as Mark Tapley sums up the situation.
And yet, for all it's amusing satire, how silly the whole American escapade is:
Spoiler
Martin and Mark get there, get swindled, go into the wilderness for a bit, then turn right back around for England, vowing to warn their countrymen against emigration. America is for the Americans, for only they can stand to be in it, would be an accurate way of paraphrasing the whole affair.Fortunately, the American sojourn is only half the story. The other half, containing the alcoholic nurse Mrs Gamp and the insidious faux servility of Seth Pecksniff, is the stuff of great Dickens.
Even though this novel is not among Dickens' best, I still marvelled as ever at his incredible, inimitable use of language; his seemingly effortless ability to magic up endless parades of fantastical similes and metaphors; the way his syntax can be wielded as a weapon to make the reader laugh or weep. I felt desperately sad to realise this is the last Dickens novel I shall ever come to with a fresh eye.