Category: General Fiction/Literature Page 17 of 49

We start off with the 18th case of mistaken identity and 47th fistfight of the book.

Some Irishman has come to the Inn late at night, looking for his wife. The maid assumes that he’s talking about Mrs. Waters, leads him to her room. He bursts in, sees clothing from two people scattered all over, a female in the bed and Tom jumping out of it to see who burst in. The stranger starts attacking Tom. Another Irishman is staying in the next room (I’m not going to bother trying to introduce them), a friend, and he comes charging in—only to help him realize that Mrs. Waters isn’t his wife. The two leave and Tom goes back to bed.

The maid and landlady discuss the events of the evening, only to be interrupted by a lady’s maid and her lady coming to take a room. After getting them settled, the maid comes down, looking for food and gets to talking things over with the inn’s made and Partridge. One thing leads to another and Patridge reveals to Mrs. Honour (naturally, that’s who the lady’s maid is) that Tom’s here with Mrs. Waters.

Partridge does a little more damage that I really don’t care enough to recap. Mrs. Honour tells Sophia about it, she’s highly offended (not realizing it was Partridge telling tales out of school, not Tom) and arranges to leave the fabled muff (which, of course, she has on her) and a note in Tom’s room.

There are a couple of stylistic moments that seem different from the rest of the book—as I’m currently at page 546, that’s no mean feat. They were nice touches, but I’m glad they’re just touches. Even without that, Fielding’s voice was as strong as ever, and I chuckled as much as I rolled my eyes at these silly circumstances.

Looking forward to seeing Tom dig himself out of this hole.

We start with a meal between Mrs. Waters, our poor victim of assault from last week’s chapters. She does her best to seduce Tom—and it works pretty well.

While that’s going on the serjeant and Partridge are, well, gossiping about Tom and Mrs. Waters—who really isn’t a Mrs. She’s just someone who spends a lot of time with Waters (and the implication is that she spends a good deal of time with people who aren’t Waters—like say, Northerton. But that little relationship went off the rails, as we saw). Partridge gets into Tom’s relationship with Allworthy (and implies a bit more about Tom’s status than is really true).

We close this week with the beginning of the next book, a digression about the morality of characters—he’s clear that he wants to avoid wholly good or completely depraved characters, but instead:

In fact, if there be enough of goodness in a character to engage the admiration and affection of a well-disposed mind, though there should appear some of those little blemishes quas humana parum cavit natura, they will raise our compassion rather than our abhorrence. Indeed, nothing can be of more moral use than the imperfections which are seen in examples of this kind; since such form a kind of surprize, more apt to affect and dwell upon our minds than the faults of very vicious and wicked persons. The foibles and vices of men, in whom there is great mixture of good, become more glaring objects from the virtues which contrast them and shew their deformity; and when we find such vices attended with their evil consequence to our favourite characters, we are not only taught to shun them for our own sake, but to hate them for the mischiefs they have already brought on those we love.

This seems like a highly appropriate thing to think about at the moment.

I was ready to have this up hours earlier than I’ve been doing lately. And then my computer decided to do the thing that computers do when you’re cocky…3+ hours later, I got back on track and this is now late. Ahh hubris….

We’re in a new Book, so we get a chapter of digression. This time, the focus is on fiction writing—novels and romances, in particular. This seems to be a special interest of people who read this blog (and who write it, too), so let’s take a beat to look at some of this. Worried about the success of some recent novels, Fielding warns:

Thus a swarm of foolish novels and monstrous romances will be produced, either to the great impoverishing of booksellers, or to the great loss of time and depravation of morals in the reader; nay, often to the spreading of scandal and calumny, and to the prejudice of the characters of many worthy and honest people.

Yeah, he seems to hold a dim view of his own profession, and goes on to say:

To invent good stories, and to tell them well, are possibly very rare talents, and yet I have observed few persons who have scrupled to aim at both: and if we examine the romances and novels with which the world abounds, I think we may fairly conclude, that most of the authors would not have attempted to show their teeth (if the expression may be allowed me) in any other way of writing; nor could indeed have strung together a dozen sentences on any other subject whatever… [A]ll the arts and sciences (even criticism itself) require some little degree of learning and knowledge. Poetry, indeed, may perhaps be thought an exception; but then it demands numbers, or something like numbers: whereas, to the composition of novels and romances, nothing is necessary but paper, pens, and ink, with the manual capacity of using them. This, I conceive, their productions show to be the opinion of the authors themselves: and this must be the opinion of their readers, if indeed there be any such.

From there he goes on to talk about contemporary fiction, qualifications for writing, characteristics of various types of writers…it’s good stuff.

Back to the story, Tom and the Man of the Hill are out for a casual stroll the next morning and chatting—it sounds like a really nice, drama-free, time. Which, of course, cannot stand. They hear a woman screaming, Tom leaves The Man behind and rushes to her aid.

The screamer is partially dressed and is being dragged by a belt around her neck by some man. Tom falls upon the man, beating him with his staff. The woman stops him from killing the man, so he ties him up and prepares to take him to a Justice of the Peace. It’s then he discovers that this man is our old friend, Northerton.

As Tom gets directions from the Man of the Hill, Northerton sneaks off (Fielding notes, his hands may have been tied, but his feet were free)—the woman was too busy focusing on her rescuer to notice. Instead of seeking justice, Tom takes her to an Inn to clean up while he procures some clothes. After depositing her in a room, Tom goes to talk to the landlady about that.

The landlady doesn’t give him a chance to ask—she does not run the kind of place where a man can bring a partially dressed woman that he’s probably not married to (and even if he was)—and starts beating him with a broom before he can explain. Tom starts to defend himself, but the Landlord joins in. By the sheer happenstance that this novel thrives on, Partridge wanders by, sees Tom in trouble and joins in. Then one of the Inn’s maids also joins the fray (and does more damage than anyone else). Then the poor woman—still in need of clothing—gets involved.

What stops this fight? New customers. So, obviously, the Landlord and Landlady have to go see to them. Again, by happenstance, these are soldiers who recognize the attacked woman as being their captain’s wife, and not some harlot or whatever. Obviously now, everyone falls all over themselves apologizing to her and to Tom—who brushes that all off and everyone drinks to seal the peace.

I’m not sure where Fielding’s going, but this was a fun few chapters. This was the digression chapter, followed by three chapters of narrative. In those three, we have 2 fistfights. If you stop and think about it, there’s a lot of fighting in this book. I’ve read Jack Reacher novels with fewer episodes of fisticuffs—and I’m only a little over half-finished! I’m not trying to say anything profound or anything—I just find that funny.

I’m still unsure why we spent so much time on the Man of the Hill’s backstory, but we’ll get around to learning it. In the meantime, this was fun.

So, we left Partridge and Tom seeking shelter in a stranger’s home—The Man on the Hill (I kept mentally substituting “The Fool on the Hill” from Magical Mystery Tour, which made this difficult). We’re told he has an interesting life (the fact that he’s known by a title and not a name is a tip-off).

So, for reasons I’m hoping I’ll understand eventually, Fielding treats us to five chapters of this guy telling his life story. It’s an interesting tale, frequently interrupted by Partridge being amusing (and a little annoying). Tom draws some parallels between TMotH’s life and his own, which may lead to some introspection and maturity.

But, let’s be serious, it probably won’t.

So our friendly and fairly educated barber, Benjamin, comes back to chat with Tom—he’s heard some gossip about him and would like to confirm it. Tom tells his side of the events, and sure, he reflexively tells the story in a way to make him look better—as people do—but isn’t really dishonest about any of it (although he instinctively withholds Sophia’s name for a bit). The two get a little more chummy, ad Benjamin offers to loan Tom some books during his convalescence (proving that he’s a gentleman of great value, even of the discussion of books goes nowhere).

Tom calls him back the next day, because he needs a little blood-letting, after the firing of the surgeon. While he comes back, Benjamin reveals to Tom that he’s the man who was suspected to be his father. He swears he wasn’t, but as followed the news about Tom and is quite impressed with him. Tom wants to make things up to him for all the trouble his hack of parentage has caused Benjamin. The barber says that’s not necessary, he’d just like to be a traveling companion for Tom and his adventures.

We’re told by the narrator, that Benjamin has an ulterior motive—he wants to patch things up between Tom and Allworthy, and to do so in a way that Allworthy is so overcome with gratitude that he reintroduces him to society.

The two begin their travels and eventually come across the home of someone they learn is called The Man of the Hill, one night while in need of a warm place to say. Tom saves him from a mugging and the two are given some shelter for the night.

This section is filled with interesting characters, odd conversations, and Tom getting the wool pulled over his eyes (even if it’s sort of for his benefit). It’s not the best this book has given, but it’s an interesting read, so I’m not going to complain. We seem to have more of the same in the wings, so that should be good reading for the foreseeable future.