Installment 6 of 20, in The Pickwick Papers 180th anniversary readalong, hosted by On Bookes, and commencing in August, just as Dickens’ sixth installment was published.
Chapter 15: A Mr. Leo Hunter
calls on Pickwick and with pomposity almost equal to the Pickwickians, invites
Pickwick and company to a fancy masquerade party to be hosted by his wife, Mrs.
Leo Hunter. He professes his wife, knows anybody who is anybody, and is therefore
desirous to make the acquaintance of Pickwick. Pickwick cannot resist this
boost to his ego and accepts. Before Mr. Hunter leaves, he asserts that his
wife, whom he always refers to as Mrs. Leo Hunter is a poet of some import and
recites a sample. (I’m no poet…well wait…actually I am), but regardless it
seems like rather silly doggerel to me. When planning for the party, Pickwick
and Tupman have a disagreement about Tupman’s choice of costume, that of a
bandit. For reasons that really don’t make sense to me, the disagreement is so
strong that the two nearly part company, and just as mysteriously to me, they somehow
make amends and all is well. I’ll surmise that Pickwick thought the costume was
undignified and would do damage to the illustrious reputation of the
Pickwickians. At any rate, I believe it was Dickens making fun of
self-importance. When our party goes to the party, they encounter Mr. Jingles,
the happy-go-lucky con man from several chapters back, only operating under an
assumed name. Upon seeing the Pickwickians, Jingles makes a hasty retreat with
Pickwick hot on his tail, intent upon bringing the rascal to justice or at
least preventing his scheme against another victim.
Chapter 16: In short is
Pickwick’s pursuit of Jingles. They find where he is staying, and Pickwick’s
man-servant Sam, befriends Jingles man-servant and gathers bits of intelligence
about the next scheme. All the while, the reader is fairly certain Sam is being
played, as is indeed the case. Jingles once again slips away, and leaving
Pickwick in a comical and compromised position.
A parenthetical not about this chapter. I am a fan of Dickens, though
this is my first read of The Pickwick Papers. Thus far it is rather silly and
comic, and hasn’t contained much of the wonderful, thoughtful prose Dickens
writes with in some of his less comic novels. However, this chapter opens with
a lovely piece:
There is no month
in the whole year in which nature wears a more beautiful appearance than in the
month of August. Spring has many beauties, and May is a fresh and blooming
month, but the charms of this time of year are enhanced by their contrast with
the winter season. August has no such advantage. It comes when we remember
nothing but clear skies, green fields, and sweet-smelling flowers—when the
recollection of snow, and ice, and bleak winds, has faded from our minds as
completely as they have disappeared from the earth—and yet what a pleasant time
it is! Orchards and cornfields ring with the hum of labour; trees bend beneath
the thick clusters of rich fruit which bow their branches to the ground; and
the corn, piled in graceful sheaves, or waving in every light breath that
sweeps above it, as if it wooed the sickle, tinges the landscape with a golden
hue. A mellow softness appears to hang over the whole earth; the influence of
the season seems to extend itself to the very wagon, whose slow motion across
the well-reaped field is perceptible only to the eye, but strikes with no harsh
sound upon the ear.
Chapter 17: Last month, chapter
14 ended with a vignette, and similarly this month ends with a detour from the
main story. Pickwick with a touch of rheumatism, keeps to his room and writes a
short, comical love story.
So there are no loose ends, other than the recurring loose end of Mr.
Albert Jingles still…ahem…on the loose. It seems rather likely we will
encounter him again.
Glad you liked that quote too - it was rather lovely.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if Mrs Leo Hunter was based on anyone in particular or if it was more general.
Must say, though I'm enjoying it, it seems at a bit of a strange point at the moment - no cliff hangers, that sort of thing. It's just pootling along. Still fun, though. It's unlike anything I've ever read before...
Yes, it's even very different than any Dickens I've read before. I'm fairly certain it won't be my favorite when we're done, but it's good to read another...what shall we call it...style. And familiar bits of Dickens still show through. Yay for that.
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