NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, PART 2

I’m still wholeheartedly enjoying Nicholas Nickleby. I’m now more than halfway through (page 484 of 770) and hope to finish by the end of the month. What I love about the book is that it’s basically about the Nicklebys forming a new family after the death of their husband/father, but the new family is an unconventional one, full of assorted pleasant, eccentric people who meet by chance, show each other kindness in the face of adversity, and bond together against the evil people in the world and the alienation of modern life. It’s a very contemporary idea (the “tribe” replacing the nuclear family), and it means Dickens gets to take a break from the grotesque caricatures he’s so deservedly known for and indulge in gentler portraits of a whole bunch of lovable, downright cuddly characters. I’ve grown quite fond of the Kenwigses, the Brothers Cheeryble are so wonderful I want to put them in my pocket and take them home, and John Browdie had me practically cheering aloud in Chapter 39. Here are two particularly adorable bits of description:

• Tim Linkinwater and his old, blind pet blackbird: “Tim would utter a melodious chirrup, and cry ‘Dick’; and Dick, who, for any sign of life he had previously given, might have been a wooden or stuffed representation of a blackbird indifferently executed, would come to the side of the cage in three small jumps, and, thrusting his bill between the bars, turn his sightless head towards his old master—and at that moment, it would be very difficult to determine which of the two was the happier, the bird, or Tim Linkinwater.”

• Miss La Creevey: “Here was one of the advantages of having lived alone so long. the little bustling, active, cheerful creature existed entirely within herself, talked to herself, made a confidant of herself, was as sarcastic as she could be, on people who offended her, by herself; pleased herself, and did no harm. If she indulged in scandal, nobody’s reputation suffered; and if she enjoyed a little bit of revenge, no living soul was one atom the worse. One of the many to whom, from straitened circumstances, a consequent inability to form the associations they would wish, and a disinclination to mix with the society they could obtain, London is as complete a solitude as the plains of Syria, the humble artist had pursued her lonely, but contented way for many years; and, until the peculiar misfortunes of the Nickleby family attracted her attention, had made no friends, though brimful of the friendliest feelings to all mankind. There are many warm hearts in the same solitary guise as poor Miss La Creevey’s.”

All that said, I hate Mrs. Nickleby. I know she’s supposed to be silly comic relief, but she’s even worse than Mrs. Bennett in Pride and Prejudice—she prattles on and on like a moron, not only boring but dangerous besides, because she’s completely oblivious to reality and thus useless to help or protect her children. Ugh. Oh, but I must admit totally love the villain, Ralph Nickleby—I can’t help it, maybe it’s because thanks to the movie I envision him as Christopher Plummer, or maybe it’s just because he’s just the kind of villain I always end up falling for, chillingly dastardly in his selfishness but with just a glimmer of humanity that makes him sad and tragic.

A few other choice bits:

• As a euphemism for pregnancy, Dickens says “in an interesting condition.” I love it.

• After the doctor declares the Kenwigs’ baby “The finest boy I ever saw in all my life,” Dickens notes, “It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a complete answer to those who content for the gradual degredation of the human species, that every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last.” Hee.

• Best line out of context (and pretty funny in context, too): “You know, there is no language of vegetables which converts a cucumber into a declaration of attachment.”