2011 Reading #65: Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
Books 1-10.
Books 11-20.
Books 21-30.
Books 31-40.
Books 41-50.
Books 51-60.
61. Red Dragon by Thomas Harris.
62. Rules for Radicals by Saul D. Alinsky.
63. Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin.
64. Redemption In Indigo by Karen Lord.
65. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. So, yeah. That happened? Having loved Nicholas Nickleby and Great Expectations and been impressed--in different ways--by A Tale of Two Cities and The Pickwick Papers, I am surprised to be reporting that I did not enjoy this novel very much. Reason #1: Plot-wise, this thing is a sloppy mess. Understand, if I were writing even a single serial, let alone three at once, my plots would likely be incoherent; I'm not saying I could do better. But it's all over the place; plot elements repeat, multiple characters serve the same functions, the thing moves and stalls and makes three-point-turns and idles in alleys and then careens towards its conclusion much like Sikes on the run after Nancy's murder. Reason #2: False advertising. This novel is not about Oliver Twist, not really; Oliver is, through no fault of his own, timid, sickly, occasionally noble, and entirely without agency in the novel. He's nearly as irritating and unpleasantly saintly as Fanny Price, and the only novel I can think of named for a character that is less about that character than this one is Titus Groan. What Dickens is actually interested in here is not Oliver but London's criminal underworld, and when he focuses on that the novel can be engaging, amusing, and tragic, if inconsistent. Dickens seems to believe that some people are just born good and retain some of that goodness regardless of their circumstances--Nancy and Charlie Bates are redeemed, more or less, by their actions in the end, but why Fagin and the forces he represents are able to corrupt them and not Oliver is not clear. Which brings me to Reason #3 that I did not enjoy this much: Fagin, who is referred to throughout as "The Jew," as though no more need be said, or as if he were a known super-villain of the period. Yes, Dickens' characters tend towards the grotesque, and yes, anti-Semitism is the water that he was soaking in, but even so this is an egregious and unpleasant portrait. I found myself thinking about how many writers there are like Dickens, who write hateful shit about this religion or that race, or who hated women or the poor or what have you, and yet who have other merits such that we forgive those flaws. And I wondered when we will get to the point where the writers who are revered are ones who don't need to be forgiven for throwing out needless slurs and judgments based upon unthinking prejudices. It would be nice to think we might get there at some point.
Books 11-20.
Books 21-30.
Books 31-40.
Books 41-50.
Books 51-60.
61. Red Dragon by Thomas Harris.
62. Rules for Radicals by Saul D. Alinsky.
63. Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin.
64. Redemption In Indigo by Karen Lord.
65. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. So, yeah. That happened? Having loved Nicholas Nickleby and Great Expectations and been impressed--in different ways--by A Tale of Two Cities and The Pickwick Papers, I am surprised to be reporting that I did not enjoy this novel very much. Reason #1: Plot-wise, this thing is a sloppy mess. Understand, if I were writing even a single serial, let alone three at once, my plots would likely be incoherent; I'm not saying I could do better. But it's all over the place; plot elements repeat, multiple characters serve the same functions, the thing moves and stalls and makes three-point-turns and idles in alleys and then careens towards its conclusion much like Sikes on the run after Nancy's murder. Reason #2: False advertising. This novel is not about Oliver Twist, not really; Oliver is, through no fault of his own, timid, sickly, occasionally noble, and entirely without agency in the novel. He's nearly as irritating and unpleasantly saintly as Fanny Price, and the only novel I can think of named for a character that is less about that character than this one is Titus Groan. What Dickens is actually interested in here is not Oliver but London's criminal underworld, and when he focuses on that the novel can be engaging, amusing, and tragic, if inconsistent. Dickens seems to believe that some people are just born good and retain some of that goodness regardless of their circumstances--Nancy and Charlie Bates are redeemed, more or less, by their actions in the end, but why Fagin and the forces he represents are able to corrupt them and not Oliver is not clear. Which brings me to Reason #3 that I did not enjoy this much: Fagin, who is referred to throughout as "The Jew," as though no more need be said, or as if he were a known super-villain of the period. Yes, Dickens' characters tend towards the grotesque, and yes, anti-Semitism is the water that he was soaking in, but even so this is an egregious and unpleasant portrait. I found myself thinking about how many writers there are like Dickens, who write hateful shit about this religion or that race, or who hated women or the poor or what have you, and yet who have other merits such that we forgive those flaws. And I wondered when we will get to the point where the writers who are revered are ones who don't need to be forgiven for throwing out needless slurs and judgments based upon unthinking prejudices. It would be nice to think we might get there at some point.