Little Dorrit

Remember that famous line in Catcher in the Rye about "all that David Copperfield kind of crap"? Well pbbbtt... on you J.D Salinger, Charles Dickens is one of my favorite writers.

Years before, I had read Little Dorrit and I vaguely recall that it is about a seamstress, but admittedly I've completely forgotten the plot. I don't think that it is one of Dickens greater known novels like David Copperfield or Great Expectations. In fact, I was a little surprised to see it in the tiny library that serves my husband's military base.

Thus far, I haven't been disappointed in Little Dorrit but then I have only finished the first and part of the second chapter. My goal is to write about each chapter that I read until I finish. If you've read the novel please feel free to jump into the discussion.

Chapter one opens in a Marseilles prison. Dickens describes the August heat of the region adequately-I really don't think that describing surroundings is one of this writer's strong points.

In a jail cell are two prisoners: Monsieur Rigaud and the Italian, John Baptist. This is the area where Dickens shines as a writer. He is able to make his characters come alive. Already I dislike Monsieur Rigaurd and feel a fondness for the small, good natured, John Baptist.

Rigaurd views himself as a gentleman and to prove this he asks his fellow jail mate: "Have I ever done anything here? Ever touched the broom or spread the mats, or rolled them up, or found the draughts, or collected the dominoes, or put my hand to any kind of work? Have you ever thought of looking to me to do any kind of work?" John Baptist Cavalletto's response of "Never" seems to please Rigaurd.

One part of the chapter that seemed unrealistic to me, was the fact that the jailer brings his young daughter with him when he feeds the prisoners. Perhaps jails were safer in the 1800's then they are now. Having the very young, innocent child pass dinner to the prisoners does help to differentiate between the of the two prisoners.

Someone has sent Rigaurd a large meal to supplement his daily prison share of bread. As the little girl passes the food to him she seems to dread touching his soft, smooth, well-shaped hand. Yet her attitude toward the little dark Italian is notably different. She put the lump of coarse bread into the swart, scaled, knotted hands of John Baptist with ready confidence and when he kissed her hand, had herself passed it caressing over his face.


Once the jailer and his little daughter have left, Rigaurd begins to defend himself to the quiet John Baptist. Rigaurd first points out that there was nothing strange about the death of his wife's first husband. Men over sixty are likely to die after all and the widow was a beautiful woman of twenty-two. Her young age and his handsome appearance made it only natural that she would marry him-according to Monsieur Rigaurd.

Unfortunately, the first husband settled his will completely on his young wife, so she has charge of the purse strings. This, combined with the fact that her family dislikes and distrusts her new husband, is the source of many arguments between the young couple. As Rigaurd says of his treatment toward his wife: I may have slapped her face-nothing more. I have a light hand; and if I have been seen apparently to correct Madame Rigaud in that manner, I have done it almost playfully. Oddly enough, the family of his young wife aren't pleased with his manner of correcting his bride.

One day, the new groom and his bride take a scenic walk along a cliff overlooking the ocean. According to Rigaurd, his wife flies at him in rage, screaming loudly and then throws herself over the cliff. Neither the woman's family or the authorities believes the husband's story and he is imprisoned. Now he is waiting to see the judge who will decide if he goes free or gets the guillotine.

A guard of soldiers arrive to take Rigaurd before the judge. There is fear that an angry mob will tear him apart before he reaches his trial. John Baptist watches him leave under the protection of the guards.

The beginning of the second chapter confused me. It opens with a dialog between two men, Mr. Meagles and Mr. Clennam. At first I thought that John Baptist was talking to someone.

Apparently a group of english travelers have been detained on suspension of carrying the plague. Mr and Mrs. Meagles are traveling with their daughter, Pet,(I assume that this is a nickname) and Pet's maid, Tattycoram.

Tattycoram's real name is Harriet Beadle. At a young age, she was taken from a foundling hospital to work as Pet's personal maid. The name Tatty came about because Mr. Meagle felt that she would be happy to recieve something as fond as a nickname and Coram was the name of the hospital's benefactor. It seems arrogant to change a person's name but it seems that the Meagles meant well.

Their daughter Pet is described as a lovely but spoiled girl of twenty. Alreadyin the novel she seems, to me, to be very close to her parents. Mr. Meagles explains that she was concieved when the Meagles were older. Pet was not always an only child. Her twin sister died while still a toddler. This probably explains why Dickens describs Pet as being a little spoiled.

An interesting character in this chapter is Miss Wade, a very reserved Englishwoman who seems to want no company. She does display some hidden passion while discussing what her feelings would be if she had ever been imprisoned. If I had been shut up in any place to pine and suffer, I should always hate that place and wish to burn it down, or raze it to the ground. I know no more.

I haven't gotten any further in the novel, but I will try and continue to post as I read.

Shameless Plug

By the way, Amazon gives me a tiny bit of money for each book that you buy through my website. If enough books are sold then I can buy even more books! Hooray! So, if you are interested in any of my reviews and want to read the corresponding book, please click on the books that are listed on my blog to do so. I really, really, really want to buy more books. LOL

According to Wikipedia, NC-my location- is 77% Protestant and only 10% Roman Catholic. This means that as a convert to Catholicism, I get asked a LOT of questions. Personally, this doesn't bother me but it is very important for my children to understand not just what they believe but why they believe it. Amy Welborn's book PROVE IT is not only informative but at times humurous as well. I found myself learning a lot from this little book. I also very much appreciate that she was not mean spirited in her defense of Catholic beliefs while at the same time presenting the truth of our faith without any sugar coating. I am going to assign this book to my sixth grader this year.

My Favorite Poem

This was written by William Ernest Henly. The poem is a reflection of the author's own resilince after having his leg amputated.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of Circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of Chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Tough Women

Everyone has pet peeves and I have mine. Occasionally I will have a discussion with other women in which they imply that somehow women had no real internal strength until the coming of 1960's feminism. Usually it is a young woman speaking and she expresses gratitude for being born in an era when she is allowed to be 'a strong woman."

Um...have these ladies never read books written by women prior to the 1960's or studied history? Simply because our fore mothers' daily lives were not written down in history books does not mean that they were weak, helpless creatures. In fact, I would imagine that our female ancestors had more internal fortitude then any modern young woman today.

The majority of our fore mothers were not sitting around bored, drinking tea and embroidering beautiful tapestries. They were resilient women who endured a lot of suffering without complaint. I dare say that they would be a bit contemptuous of their descendants for having become so weak and whiny.

Think logically for a moment about life before the twentieth century. Poverty was common. Not simply the belt tightening kind of poverty but intense suffering and hunger. Men and women both were expected to work hard for their bread. Even those women who did not have to work outside the home had to do household work without the appliances that we depend on today. There was no washing machine or bread maker. You couldn't just turn on the oven. You had to heat up a wood or coal stove. Your child needs winter clothes? Sister, you better know how to sew.

In 1853, chloroform was invented and it was administered to Queen Victoria for the birth of her seventh child. Up until that time, women often went without any pain medicine during labor. Pain was a fact of life and you simply endured it. By the way, Doctors did not understand that they should wash their hands before attending a birth until 1840! I remember my grandmother telling me that her mother-who was a midwife early in the twentieth century- told her that 'a woman in labor is a hair's breadth from death. '

Even if you did give birth safely, there was a real possibility that your child might not make it to adulthood. There were no antibiotics before the twentieth century. Imagine all the times that your child has needed antibiotics today. One of my own children suffered a bout of pneumonia as a toddler. If we had lived a hundred years ago, my son might not have reached his current age.

Due to the fact that hardships was common, you would not be aware at how difficult your life was. In fact, if you had shelter, adequate food and clothing, you would count yourself highly blessed no matter how hard you had to work. Society before our modern age seems to have disproved of excessive complaining and so you would probably not consider venting your problems out loud. You couldn't even complain that your life as a woman was harder then a man's because your husband's life would have been as difficult as you.

We tend to only appreciate those individuals who make it into the history books. Let's face it, before the modern era there were few women philosophers, painters, explorers or scientist. Some of this was no doubt caused by sexism but I think that females of long ago were simply too darned busy to do the types of activities that get one immortalized by history. That doesn't mean that they weren't tough, capable females who could probably whip the stuffing out of us modern women.

So the next time you hear a young woman say, "Women who were born long ago weren't allowed to be strong women." Or even worse "I wish that I lived long ago so I could have teas and sew quilts." Throw one of these books by women writers at her and tell her to actually learn something about the hardy women who came before us.