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The Chimes by Charles Dickens: A Different Set of Bells You Don’t Want Tolling for You

The ChimesThe Chimes

by Charles Dickens

DETAILS:
Publisher: Fahrenheit Press
Publication Date: November 15, 2023
Format: eBook
Length: 94 pg.
Read Date: December 21-22, 2023
Buy from Bookshop.org Support Indie Bookstores

There are not many people—and as it is desirable that a story-teller and a story-reader should establish a mutual understanding as soon as possible, I beg it to be noticed that I confine this observation neither to young people nor to little people, but extend it to all conditions of people: little and big, young and old: yet growing up, or already growing down again—there are not, I say, many people who would care to sleep in a church. I don’t mean at sermon-time in warm weather (when the thing has actually been done, once or twice), but in the night, and alone.

What’s The Chimes About?

Apparently, the original title of this was: The Chimes: A Goblin Story of Some Bells that Rang an Old Year Out and a New Year In. But for pretty obvious reasons, people shortened the name to The Chimes when talking about it, and this edition went with the short version, too.

The Chimes are the bells in a church steeple–powerful goblin spirits reside in them, (not everyone gets to see the goblins–or this’d be a very different kind of story). Our protagonist, Trotty, is summoned to the steeple by these bells. Bells he’s lived under for years and has come to love their ringing. However, he’s now called to account by them for…essentially losing faith in humanity and disparaging them. Particularly lower-class humanity–like he’s part of.

Trotty is a ticket-porter, barely scraping by–but is a hearty, cheerful man. His daughter is in love with someone who hopes to marry her soon. But Trotty reads something in the news one day (inspired by a true story, incidentally) that makes him doubt people’s goodness. This is followed by him being hired by/interacting with an Alderman and an MP who look down the poor, exacerbating Trotty’s dismay.

These bells show Trotty a future in which he dies that night and how the ripples from his death impact the lives of several of his acquaintances. Very much in a Ghost of Christmas Future kind of way. But these are darker futures than anything Scrooge saw, if you ask me.

Trotty repents of his negative outlook and does something in this vision that proves his sincerity. He’s brought back to the present and life is good–even better than it was thanks to his attitude adjustment.

Oversimplification, I know, but I’m still trying to stay away from details. It’s only been in print for 179 years…

These Guys are The WORST

So this year I’ve read about misanthropes, mass murderers, people who kill without remorse, people who target minorities for fun, demons and other monsters, etc., but I’m honestly not sure that there were people who disgusted me and enraged me nearly as much as Alderman Cute and Sir Joseph Bowley.

Bowley loves to think of himself as a benefactor to the poor, a charitable soul…listen to him brag about it a bit (to an actual poor person),

Every New Year’s Day, myself and friends will drink his [a generic poor person’s] health. Once every year, myself and friends will address him with the deepest feeling….‘I do my duty as the Poor Man’s Friend and Father; and I endeavour to educate his mind, by inculcating on all occasions the one great moral lesson which that class requires. That is, entire Dependence on myself. They have no business whatever with— with themselves.

He does (at least in the vision), bring poor people into a great New Year’s feast with his guests so they can see he and his friends drink to their health and hear paternalistic (at best) speeches about how they need to better themselves, although they probably can’t because if they could…well, they wouldn’t be poor, after all.

Cute dissuades Trotty’s daughter and her beloved from marrying because it’s not like they’ll be able to subsist on whatever money they can eke out–and they’ll just end up having kids they can’t afford to feed, and thereby expanding the need for welfare and whatnot.

Sure, Dickens was probably exaggerating for satirical purposes. But I doubt it was much. And it’d be really easy to imagine these despicable guys as contemporary figures.

Dickens’ Writing

He saw the tower, whither his charmed footsteps had brought him, swarming with dwarf phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of the Bells. He saw them leaping, flying, dropping, pouring from the Bells without a pause. He saw them, round him on the ground; above him, in the air; clambering from him, by the ropes below; looking down upon him, from the massive iron- girded beams; peeping in upon him, through the chinks and loopholes in the walls; spreading away and away from him in enlarging circles, as the water ripples give way to a huge stone that suddenly comes plashing in among them. He saw them, of all aspects and all shapes. He saw them ugly, handsome, crippled, exquisitely formed. He saw them young, he saw them old, he saw them kind, he saw…

When Dickens first introduced the goblins (and I only gave you a sample), I really enjoyed it. And was reminded that he typically got paid by the word. Not necessarily for this novella–but the impulse was still there. Because the man can go on…never using 5 words when 20 will do.

I have zero problems with it in this novella–but it jumps out at you occasionally.

A few other lines that jumped out at me that I want to bring up…they’re so good.

‘There’s nothing,’ said Toby, ‘more regular in its coming round than dinner- time, and nothing less regular in its coming round than dinner. That’s the great difference between ’em. It’s took me a long time to find it out.’

This gentleman had a very red face, as if an undue proportion of the blood in his body were squeezed up into his head; which perhaps accounted for his having also the appearance of being rather cold about the heart.

‘The good old times, the good old times!’ The gentleman didn’t specify what particular times he alluded to; nor did he say whether he objected to the present times, from a disinterested consciousness that they had done nothing very remarkable in producing himself.

(I’m forever going to be thinking of this anytime I hear someone talk about the good old days)

So, what did I think about The Chimes?

I’m told that the hardcover is gorgeous–I ordered this late, so I can’t confirm (I’ll try to remember to update this post when I get it). The cover looks pretty neat, though. I bring this up so you’ll think about getting your hands on this hardcover edition for your own personal use/shelf decoration.

But what about the novella itself? I dug it. I know I don’t read enough Dickens–and never have. But when I’m exposed to him, I regret many of my life choices that lead to this dearth (not so much regret that I see that I’ll change that anytime soon). I really appreciated his writing, his characters (even the ones I spent time hating). I would’ve appreciated a little more time with some of the characters, but we didn’t need it.

The way the bells show Trotty the future really did make me think of the Ghost of Christmas Future, I know they inspired It’s a Wonderful Life, but I got more of the former vibe than the latter. I’d like for people to tell me what I’m missing, incidentally. Either way, I liked the way Dickens uses this tool to get people to change their way of thinking, even if he uses it too frequently.

The social commentary was well done (if heavy-handed), and probably needed as much then as now. And probably as effective then as now. Oh well, would be nice to think otherwise.

It’s a quick read that packs a powerful punch with some clever writing. If you’re like me, and have never heard of this novella before, take advantage of this opportunity to pick it up. If you’re a better-educated reader and are familiar with it–isn’t it about time to re-familiarize yourself?


4 Stars

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Reposting Just ‘Cuz: Classically Cool—Let’s Talk Classics!

I’m having one of those weeks, and was struggling to get something posted today. Then Witty & Sarcastic Book Club retweeted this old post, Classically Cool- Let’s Talk Classics!. Which reminded me of this one that I haven’t posted in a while. I’ve brushed it up a bit, but not much because again…one of those weeks.


Last week, Witty and Sarcastic Bookclub posted Classically Cool- Let’s Talk Classics!, and it got me a-thinkin’, what Classics would I mention as faves?

Dickens doesn’t do anything for me, ditto for the overwhelming amount of Shakespeare I’ve read, Hawthorne makes me angry, I don’t get Melville’s appeal (but I also kind of do…I just don’t want to put in the effort)…but by and large “The Classics” (aka the Canon) are Classics for a reason (not because some nameless, faceless group of (now-)Dead, White Males exercised hegemonic powers to impose their tastes, either).

Still, there are some favorites:

Starting with The Oresteia (for chronology’s sake), this is the only existing example we have of a Greek dramatic trilogy. This series showing the fall-out of the Trojan War for Agamemnon and his family/kingdom and is pretty impressive.

Call me silly, but Beowulf has always really worked for me. I don’t know how to rank the various translations, I’ve read a handful and don’t think I ever knew a single translator’s name. I’ve meant to try the Haney translation since it came out, but haven’t gotten to it yet—the same goes for Tolkein’s. From about the same time (a little later, I believe, but I’m not going to check because if I start researching this post, it’ll never get finished) is The Dream of the Rood, a handly evangelistic tool (one of the better-written ones) in Old English.

Moving ahead a couple of centuries (I’ll pick up the pace, don’t worry, the post won’t be that long) and we get Gawain and the Green Knight, which is fun, exciting and teaches a great lesson. Similarly, we have that poet’s Pearl, Patience, and Purity. I don’t remember much about the latter two, beyond that I liked them, but the Pearl—a tale of a father mourning a dead child and being comforted/challenged in a dream to devotion—is one of the more moving works I can remember ever reading.

Unlike the last couple of times I posted this, I’ve actually now read The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding, and narrated my way through the book over a year + (I broke it into small chunks and then posted about every chapter or two as I read through it to keep it after several aborted attempts since 1995). It’s funny and tense, (entirely too long), the satire and commentary (both straight on and obliquely) are fantastic. I really wish I’d read it 3 or 4 times by this point in my life.

I can’t remember the titles for most of the Robert Burns poems I’ve read—”A Red, Red Rose” and “To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest With the Plough, November, 1785” (one of the best titles in history) are the exceptions—but most of them were pretty good. And I’m not a poetry guy.

Skipping a few centuries and we get to Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers. If all you know is the story from movies, you’re in for a treat when you actually read this thing. I’ve read it a few times, and each time, I’m caught off-guard at how fast-moving it really is, how entertaining and exciting it can be. It’s not a classic by any stretch of the imagination, but I feel compelled at this point to mention that the book about Dumas’ father, The Black Count: Glory, Revolution, Betrayal, and the Real Count of Monte Cristo by Tom Reiss is a must-read for any fan of Dumas.

I don’t remember how Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott ended up on my bookshelf (I think whatever relative took me to the bookstore said I could get something silly and trashy (in their view) if I got a Classic, too). But a few years later, I finally got around to reading it at about the same time that another kid in my class (we were High School sophomores) was reading it—both of us talked about how it was pretty good, but too much work. Until we got to a point somewhere in the middle (he got there a day before I did, I think) and something clicked—maybe we’d read enough of it that we could really get what was going on, maybe Scott got into a different gear, I’m not sure—and it became just about the most satisfying thing I’d read up to that point in my life.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë is one of my favorite books, probably belonging in the Top 3. Go ahead and roll your eyes at the idea of me saying that about a romance novel, that just means you’ve misread the book. This tale about integrity, about staying true to what one holds dear, what one believes, and to what is right despite everything and everyone around you is exciting, inspiring, fantastically written, and so-memorable. And, yeah, there’s a nice love story to go along with that 🙂

Speaking of love stories, we now get to my favorite, Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac. I steadfastly refuse to learn anything about the actual figure, because I don’t want anything to ruin this for me. When I first read the play in junior high, I considered the best parts the lead-up to the duel in Act I, and Christian’s trying to pick a fight with Cyrano the next day. Now I know the best parts are Christian’s realization in Act IV and Cyrano’s reaction to it and then, of course, Cyrano’s death (I’m fighting the impulse to go read that now instead of finishing this post). And don’t get me started about how this play’s balcony scene leaves any other romantic balcony scene in the dust. Something I’ve noticed, though, as I age, is that I’m appreciating different Scenes and Acts than I used to .

I can’t pass up an opportunity to praise, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain’s tour de force. Satire, social commentary, general goofiness, and some real heart. This book has it all.

I’m not sure that Ambrose Bierce’s The Devil’s Dictionary is technically a “Classic.” But I’m counting it as one. It’s hilarious, it’s incisive, it’s a great time for those who like to subtly (and not-so-subtly) play with words. Yeah, it’s cynical—but it’s idealistic, too (as the best cynics are). If you haven’t sampled it yet, what’s wrong with you? I just bought a new, pretty-looking hardcover of it that I cannot wait to read.

I feel strange dubbing anything from the Twentieth Century as a Classic, so I won’t talk much about The Old Man and the Sea, The Great Gatsby, Winesburg, Ohio, or Our Town (the best way short of having a dog die to make me cry is get me to read/watch Act III). But I do feel safe mentioning To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, the ground-breaking, thought-shaping, moving, inspiring, and (frequently) just plain fun look at a childhood in the South.

When I started this, I figured I’d get 4-5 paragraphs out of the idea. I guess I overshot a little. Anyway, that’s what came to mind when I read W&S’ post—maybe other works would come to mind if I did this another time, but for now, those are my favorite Classics. What about you?

The Nutcracker by E.T.A. Hoffman: A (weird) Classic Christmas Story

The Nutcracker

The Nutcracker

by E.T.A. Hoffman

Hardcover, 69 pg.
Fahrenheit Press, 2021

Read: December 20, 2021

What’s The Nutcracker About?

This is a story about a little girl who gets a nutcracker from her toy-making godfather. But this is no ordinary nutcracker: it’s magical—it’s a prince trapped in a wooden figure until he’s freed (like Belle’s Beast).

At night, this Nutcracker comes to life (like Buzz, Woody, and the rest) to do battle against the mice in the girl’s palace. The war between the Nutcracker and the mice—in particular, the seven-headed Mouse King, goes back to when the Nutcracker was human, and wages on.

And then things get weird…

A Couple of Confessions

I’m part of the probably 5-15% of Western Culture who needed the above, many of you probably rolled your eyes at me including that. But:

1. Until I got the newsletter from Fahrenheit Press talking about this release, I had no idea that this novel existed. Obviously, I knew about the ballet and a handful of the adaptations of it. But a novel started it all? What rock was I living under to have missed that?

2. I have never watched the ballet, or finished any of the various adaptations. I get bored, or distracted, or just decide it’s just a mess of a show. Maybe now that I’ve actually read the novel, I can make persevere to the end.

One Thing I’d Like to Know

Before the text itself, there’s a…it’s not really an epigraph or epigram, it’s too short to be an Author’s Note—well, maybe it’s the right length for that, I guess we should go with that. In it, Hoffman praises his skill and genius, not to mention the value of the book.

Now, I don’t know enough about the guy to know if he’s the world’s most delusional and/or arrogant writer—or is it satire? My gut says the latter, but I don’t know. Maybe he is the Narcissus of Prussian Literature. Do any of you know?

This Particular Edition

For the last two Decembers, Fahrenheit Press has hit pause on their particular brand of noir publishing to publish nice editions of Classic Christmas stories*.

This one came in a very nice hardcover with a great cover that is both on-brand for them and evocative of the story. It’s one of those hardcovers that’s going to last a while and is pretty enough to deserve it. You should absolutely try to get your hands on one while they’re still available.

* They also do some great charity work at this time of year, even as a struggling indie press, an example to us all.

So, what did I think about The Nutcracker?

The fantastical elements of this story were great—and the way it bounced back and forth between fantasy and reality—or make-believe and reality, if you’re Marie’s family—were wonderful. It was likely that Hoffman looked at the rules for story-telling around that, shrugged, and then did whatever he wanted to. The imagination behind it was truly impressive and I can tell why it’s inspired so many people to create works based on it.

The style, too, was fantastic—it’s a great way to tell a story. His word choice (and that of whoever translated this) were delightful. I felt like I was reading a descendant of things like Arabian Nights and The Brothers Grimm and a forerunner of writers like Lewis Carroll and William Goldman (The Princess Bride not Marathon Man). Although I will admit it occasionally left me a little bored—it was like he laid it on too thick from time to time, and I just couldn’t sustain my interest when that happened. Too much of a good thing, I guess.

It was a nice little book. I’m not saying I’m a convert to the story of the prince, the magic toys, and the seven headed-rat or anything. But I can see myself reading it again from time to time–I can definitely see this as a great thing to read this time of year to a kid if I had any around.

Reposting Just ‘Cuz: Classically Cool—Let’s Talk Classics!

One day, I’ll update this, if for no other reason than I’ve actually finished The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. But today is not that day. Still, I liked this post and could use a break from composing something new.


Last week, Witty and Sarcastic Bookclub posted Classically Cool- Let’s Talk Classics!, and it got me a-thinkin’, what Classics would I mention as faves?

Dickens doesn’t do anything for me, ditto for the overwhelming amount of Shakespeare I’ve read, Hawthorne makes me angry, I don’t get Melville’s appeal (but I also kind of do…I just don’t want to put in the effort)…but by and large “The Classics” (aka the Canon) are Classics for a reason (not because some nameless, faceless group of (now-)Dead, White Males exercised hegemonic powers to impose their tastes, either).

Still, there are some favorites:

Starting with The Oresteia (for chronology’s sake), this is the only existing example we have of a Greek dramatic trilogy. This series showing the fall-out of the Trojan War for Agamemnon and his family/kingdom and is pretty impressive.

Call me silly, but Beowulf has always really worked for me. I don’t know how to rank the various translations, I’ve read a handful and don’t think I ever knew a single translator’s name. I’ve meant to try the Haney translation since it came out, but haven’t gotten to it yet—the same goes for Tolkein’s. From about the same time (a little later, I believe, but I’m not going to check because if I start researching this post, it’ll never get finished) is The Dream of the Rood, a handly evangelistic tool (one of the better-written ones) in Old English.

Moving ahead a couple of centuries (I’ll pick up the pace, don’t worry, the post won’t be that long) and we get Gawain and the Green Knight, which is fun, exciting and teaches a great lesson. Similarly, we have that poet’s Pearl, Patience, and Purity. I don’t remember much about the latter two, beyond that I liked them, but the Pearl—a tale of a father mourning a dead child and being comforted/challenged in a dream to devotion—is one of the more moving works I can remember ever reading.

I want to throw in Tom Jones (technically, The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling) by Henry Fielding here, but I’ve never actually completed it. Which says more about my patience and how distracted I can get than the book—which is an impressive work. I’ve gotta get around to actually finishing it at some point.

I can’t remember the titles for most of the Robert Burns poems I’ve read—”A Red, Red Rose” and “To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest With the Plough, November, 1785” (one of the best titles in history) are the exceptions—but most of them were pretty good. And I’m not a poetry guy.

Skipping a few centuries and we get to Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers. If all you know is the story from movies, you’re in for a treat when you actually read this thing. I’ve read it a few times, and each time, I’m caught off-guard at how fast-moving it really is, how entertaining and exciting it can be. It’s not a classic by any stretch of the imagination, but I feel compelled at this point to mention that the book about Dumas’ father, The Black Count: Glory, Revolution, Betrayal, and the Real Count of Monte Cristo by Tom Reiss is a must-read for any fan of Dumas.

I don’t remember how Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott ended up on my bookshelf (I think whatever relative took me to the bookstore said I could get something silly and trashy (in their view) if I got a Classic, too). But a few years later, I finally got around to reading it at about the same time that another kid in my class (we were High School sophomores) was reading it—both of us talked about how it was pretty good, but too much work. Until we got to a point somewhere in the middle (he got there a day before I did, I think) and something clicked—maybe we’d read enough of it that we could really get what was going on, maybe Scott got into a different gear, I’m not sure—and it became just about the most satisfying thing I’d read up to that point in my life.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë is one of my favorite books, probably belonging in the Top 3. Go ahead and roll your eyes at the idea of me saying that about a romance novel, that just means you’ve misread the book. This tale about integrity, about staying true to what one holds dear, what one believes, and to what is right despite everything and everyone around you is exciting, inspiring, fantastically written, and so-memorable. And, yeah, there’s a nice love story to go along with that 🙂

Speaking of love stories, we now get to my favorite, Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac. I steadfastly refuse to learn anything about the actual figure, because I don’t want anything to ruin this for me. When I first read the play in junior high, I considered the best parts the lead-up to the duel in Act I, and Christian’s trying to pick a fight with Cyrano the next day. Now I know the best parts are Christian’s realization in Act IV and Cyrano’s reaction to it and then, of course, Cyrano’s death (I’m fighting the impulse to go read that now instead of finishing this post). And don’t get me started about how this play’s balcony scene leaves any other romantic balcony scene in the dust.

I can’t pass up an opportunity to praise, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain’s tour de force. Satire, social commentary, general goofiness, and some real heart. This book has it all.

I’m not sure that Ambrose Bierce’s The Devil’s Dictdionary is technically a “Classic.” But I’m counting it as one. It’s hilarious, it’s incisive, it’s a great time for those who like to subtly (and not-so-subtly) play with words. Yeah, it’s cynical—but it’s idealistic, too (as the best cynics are). If you haven’t sampled it yet, what’s wrong with you?

I feel strange dubbing anything from the Twentieth Century as a Classic, so I won’t talk much about The Old Man and the Sea, The Great Gatsby, Winesburg, Ohio or Our Town (the best way short of having a dog die to make me cry is get me to read/watch Act III). But I do feel safe mentioning To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, the ground-breaking, thought-shaping, moving, inspiring, and (frequently) just plain fun look at a childhood in the south.

When I started this, I figured I’d get 4-5 paragraphs out of the idea. I guess I overshot a little. Anyway, that’s what came to mind when I read W&S’ post—maybe other works would come to mind if I did this another time, but for now, those are my favorite Classics. What about you?

Fridays with the Foundling: Wrapping Things Up

Fridays with the Foundling
Tom Jones Original Cover

Well, This is Awkward…

After watching the movie last week, I’d planned on watching the BBC Series to post tonight and then wrapping things up next week, but apparently that’s not available in the US. So, here we are, a mere 48 posts since the beginning to look back on this series.

What Did I think About Reading the Book This Way?

Back in December, Lashaan asked, “What’s it like so far to go through this at this pace/in little bits and pieces? Are you able to appreciate it as much as you’d like?” That was a good question then, still is.

I don’t know, really. It would have been better had my life not got strange, inserting a two-month break, for sure. Since I had tried this a few times before and had got distracted or ran out of steam partway through, this definitely helped me avoid that.

On the other hand, there are a few events and people I had to spend time looking up toward the end of the book when they were brought up again to make sure I remembered them correctly (or at all), and that wouldn’t have been necessary had I read all of this back in Jan. 2020.

I can make the argument to myself either way looking back on it, good idea or bad. I don’t see myself re-reading it this way, though.

How Would I Summarize The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling?

This is the story of a boy abandoned by his mother at the home of a wealthy benefactor who raised him as his own. He great into a generous, fun-loving, and not-incredibly disciplined young man. Tom was led by his heart (or other parts of his anatomy), not common sense or logic—for audiences in the 18th Century, I imagine that struck different chords than it does for us in the 21st. He does many rash, reckless, and foolhardy things, but rarely for personal gain. After losing his father figure and home, he’s aimless until he sees the chance to win back the favor of his first love, and pursues that single-mindedly as long he can—ultimately prevailing there, while also helping friends old and new along the way.

Sophia, that love of Tom’s life, is a fascinating character00headstrong and determined. She’s at once a submissive daughter and a defiant one. She’ll placate her father and aunt as often as she can, but she will not roll over and acquiesce on the important issues (for example, who to marry). Again, something that probably strikes contemporary audiences differently than Fielding’s. I don’t know if I’ll ever find an author so obviously in love with one of his characters as Fielding is with her.

There are other characters, other story arcs of note in the novel. But at the core, this novel is about those two, the rest is just window dressing.

Would I Read This Again?

Oh, absolutely. I plan on re-visiting this in a few years. Although I’ll probably get an ebook or paperback. As much as I like this hardcover, it’s heavy and inconvenient to hold.

So, In the End, Did I Like the Book?

I did. I don’t think it’s exactly what I anticipated (I blame Tony Richardson and John Osborne for that). I’m a big fan of Fielding’s narrative voice and love the way that he’d spend a chapter opining about whatever at the beginning of each Book.

I question his approach in the last book—and don’t know if I’ll ever accept it. But I do realize he trimmed at least 200 pages off of the book by taking that approach.

I honestly don’t know if I can sum up in a paragraph or two (now that I’m at the point where I need to) just what I think of the book—there was some great romance, some cringe-worthy dialogue, some fun dialogue, a lot of interesting characters that showed up for a page or two—and better ones we spent most of the book with.

I laughed, I chuckled, I rolled my eyes, I grew to appreciate some hard-to-like characters I got a little anxious, and sometimes annoyed—I even got a little bored—but I always wanted to come back to it, to see what Fielding had up his sleeve. And I was generally rewarded for that. It’s a good read and one I’m glad I finally persevered through.

Tom Jones (1989) Director’s Cut

Fridays with the Foundling
You didn’t think I was done, did you?

Tom Jones

Tom Jones

Director’s Cut, 121 min.
1989 (Theatrical Release 1963)

Heroes, whatever high ideas we may have of them, are mortal and not divine. We are all as God made us, and many of us much worse.

The film adaptation of Tom Jones (Oscar winner for Best Picture), directed by Tony Richardson (who won Best Director) and written by John Osborne (Best Adapted Screenplay) was my first introduction to Fielding’s work.

As adaptations go, it’s okay. Osborne and Richardson, took all the essential moments from the novel and discarded the rest. Then they compressed the moments they took, excised some characters (Nightingale and all of Mrs. Miller’s family, for example). Then they played up the humor in every scene as much as they could (editing and the score helped with that).

There are a lot of little things about this that I love–characters–most notably Tom and Mrs. Waters–will give the camera knowing looks to play up a joke. Think John Krasinski in The Office or Adam Scott in Parks and Recreation. Finney has some great physical comedy, but perhaps mugs a bit too much.

Of course, you can’t talk about the movie without taking about thatscene. After Tom saves Mrs. Waters, they share a meal. It’s one of those scenes that you may have watched without ever having seen the movie. It’s sensual, it’s hilarious, it’s a little disturbing. It’s a great cinematic moment.

It’s odd that when Director’s Cuts are synonymous with lengthening the film (especially watching this a few weeks after Snyder’s jumbo-sized Justice League is released), this Director’s cut trimmed seven minutes. Yet, there’s still a lot of fat that could be cut–there are a lot of crowd scenes that are just not necessary (there’s a hunting scene, in particular, that goes on for 4-5x as long as it needs to).

This isn’t anywhere near as good as the novel–it couldn’t be. But it’s a fun, heightened, take on the story with some great performances (and a few “meh” ones, too).

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding: BOOK XVIII., xii. – Chapter the last.

Fridays with the Foundling
Tom Jones Original CoverAfter the hopeful note that we ended on last week, everything goes to pieces in the last two chapters—Mrs. Miller’s daughter/Nightingale’s wife dies in childbirth; Sophia can’t get over everything that Tom put her through, and dies lonely and miserable; Tom joins the Navy and dies of scurvy somewhere around Australia; Partridge becomes a successful playwright, Allworthy drinks himself to death, and Blifil becomes Prime Minister.

Okay, no. That’s not even close to it. Instead, we get something akin to Wayne’s World‘s “Mega Happy Ending.”

We start with Allworthy and Tom going to call on Sophia with her Father. Straight away Allworthy and Western leave the two alone. It takes the two a while to start speaking, eventually, Sophia breaks the silence and calls him most fortunate thanks to being freed. Tom rejects that, saying he can’t be fortunate as long as she’s upset. The ice broken, words start flowing.

Tom ensures she understands what happened with that letter—she gets it, but wants him to prove his devotion. But, she assures him,

You will now want no opportunity of being near me, and convincing me that your mind is altered too.

He wants to know how long it’ll take, she guesses maybe a year (but implies it might take longer). He calls that an eternity. She tells him to back off and not pressure her, and he does so and insists he will keep not pressuring her.

Which leads the two of them to kiss. Naturally, that’s when Western comes back in. He’s overjoyed to see this and asks when they’ll get married. Tom tries to get him to stop this, but Sophia overrides that. She’s an obedient daughter, she says—what does her father want her to do? Marry Tom the next day? Well, okay.

Tom’s stunned, Western demands Allworthy’s presence. Allworthy makes sure that she feels no constraint and then gives his blessing. The four of them go off to meet with NIghtingale and his father, but Sophia wants to keep the engagement quiet.

NIghtingale’s father and uncle trade war stories about their offspring’s impetuous and ill-advised marriage? Allworthy’s counsel works its magic and the two fathers accept the new spouses. The next day Sophia and Tom are married in a small, private ceremony.

And just like that,

Thus, reader, we have at length brought our history to a conclusion, in which, to our great pleasure, though contrary, perhaps, to thy expectation, Mr Jones appears to be the happiest of all humankind; for what happiness this world affords equal to the possession of such a woman as Sophia, I sincerely own I have never yet discovered.

But Fielding doesn’t leave us like that—like in those movies that at the end give you a freeze-frame of a character or two with a chyron summing up the rest of their life in a sentence or three, Fielding tells us what happens to the major characters—Blifil never sees his uncle again, becomes a Methodist (so he can court a woman) and plans on buying a seat in Parliament; Partridge marries good old Molly Seagrim and opens another school; Western becomes a doting grandfather to his two grandchildren (particularly his granddaughter); and so on.

Whatever in the nature of Jones had a tendency to vice, has been corrected by continual conversation with [Allworthy], and by his union with the lovely and virtuous Sophia. He hath also, by reflection on his past follies, acquired a discretion and prudence very uncommon in one of his lively parts.

To conclude, as there are not to be found a worthier man and woman, than this fond couple, so neither can any be imagined more happy. They preserve the purest and tenderest affection for each other, an affection daily encreased and confirmed by mutual endearments and mutual esteem. Nor is their conduct towards their relations and friends less amiable than towards one another. And such is their condescension, their indulgence, and their beneficence to those below them, that there is not a neighbour, a tenant, or a servant, who doth not most gratefully bless the day when Mr Jones was married to his Sophia.

So, that’s that. The ending—all of Book 18—felt rushed. But I’m not sure I could’ve taken much more. After all this, it was really just a simple story about an unlikely guy getting the girl—with a lot of insane twists, turns, and hoops to jump through along the way.

I should have more to say. And probably will soon. I’m not quite done with this series yet—see you next week.

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding: BOOK XVIII., viii. – xi.

Fridays with the Foundling
Tom Jones Original CoverLast week we learned everything except who killed JR and what is the Colonel’s secret blend of herbs and spices. This week we see what happens after the beans are spilled (and learn a thing or two in addition).

Mrs. Waters has one more bit of commendation for Tom, telling Allworthy:

…it was then I accidentally met with Mr Jones, who rescued me from the hands of a villain. Indeed, he is the worthiest of men. No young gentleman of his age is, I believe, freer from vice, and few have the twentieth part of his virtues; nay, whatever vices he hath had, I am firmly persuaded he hath now taken a resolution to abandon them.

The attorney, Mr. Downey comes along at this point and Allwrothy gets him to spill the beans—why did he approach Mrs. Waters, who put him up to that, who put him up to getting the support of witnesses for the prosecution. He even gets Downey to admit that he knew Tom was Allworthy’s nephew, he’d told Blifil and had given Blifil a letter from his mother to Allworthy about it. Not surprisingly, Blifil neglected to pass along the messages. Which pretty much seals both of their fates in Allworthy’s eyes.

Western pops in, beside himself about this letter he’s found from Tom to Sophia—the most recent one. He wants these shenanigans finished and has locked her up again. Allworthy talks him down from that, promising to go talk to Sophia that day.

Mrs. Miller’s worried about what horrible things Mrs. Waters told Allworthy, and tries to defend Tom. Instead, Allworthy tells her what he’s been learning, closing with

O! Mrs Miller, you have a thousand times heard me call the young man to whom you are so faithful a friend, my son. Little did I then think he was indeed related to me at all.—Your friend, madam, is my nephew; he is the brother of that wicked viper which I have so long nourished in my bosom….Indeed, Mrs Miller, I am convinced that he hath been wronged, and that I have been abused; abused by one whom you too justly suspected of being a villain. He is, in truth, the worst of villains.

As he leaves to go talk to Sophia, Allworthy says something to his younger nephew about the letter from his mother, leaving “Blifil in a situation to be envied only by a man who is just going to be hanged.” While on the road, Allworthy reads the letter from Jones to Sophia, starts to understand what Tom feels about her, and gets choked up by some of what he reads about himself from Tom’s hand.

When he talks to Sophia, he spends a lot of time showing her that he’s on her side when it comes to Blifil.

I heartily congratulate you on your prudent foresight, since by so justifiable a resistance you have avoided misery indeed!

The scales are truly fallen from his eyes.

If I had married Mr Blifil—” “Pardon my interrupting you, madam,” answered Allworthy, “but I cannot bear the supposition.—Believe me, Miss Western, I rejoice from my heart, I rejoice in your escape.—I have discovered the wretch for whom you have suffered all this cruel violence from your father to be a villain.” “How, sir!” cries Sophia—“you must believe this surprizes me.”—“It hath surprized me, madam,” answered Allworthy, “and so it will the world.

This is so fun to watch Allwrothy catch up with the reader and narrator on this front.

Allworthy then goes on to try to convince Sophia to give Tom another chance—and tells her everything he learned about him that day. Sophia remains unmoved, however. I mean really unmoved.

At present there is not a man upon earth whom I would more resolutely reject than Mr Jones; nor would the addresses of Mr Blifil himself be less agreeable to me.

Things look dire for the two of them.

Squire Western, on the other hand, has a complete change of heart regarding Tom. He’s 100% Team Tom now.

After Allworthy gets back to Mrs. Miller’s, he sees that Tom is, too, and they meet again.

It is impossible to conceive a more tender or moving scene than the meeting between the uncle and nephew (for Mrs Waters, as the reader may well suppose, had at her last visit discovered to him the secret of his birth). The first agonies of joy which were felt on both sides are indeed beyond my power to describe: I shall not therefore attempt it.

A lot of flowery language flows between the two as they apologize to each other and take all the responsibility and blame for their recent problems on themselves.

Mrs. Miller tells Tom how she tried to explain things to Sophia who would not listen. Western comes in, assures Tom he’s very supportive of him now, all is good between the two of them.

The conversation which now ensued was pleasant enough; and with which, had it happened earlier in our history, we would have entertained our reader; but as we have now leisure only to attend to what is very material, it shall suffice to say that matters being entirely adjusted as to the afternoon visit Mr Western again returned home.

If that’s not enough, we get to learn the details of Tom’s release. Fitzgerald realizes that he was completely in the wrong about Tom and seeks to make amends, and gets Lord Fellamar on board, he wants to make things up to Tom, too!

Things continue to not go well for Tom’s younger brother:

…a message was brought from Mr Blifil, desiring to know if his uncle was at leisure that he might wait upon him. Allworthy started and turned pale, and then in a more passionate tone than I believe he had ever used before, bid the servant tell Blifil he knew him not. “Consider, dear sir,” cries Jones, in a trembling voice. “I have considered,” answered Allworthy, “and you yourself shall carry my message to the villain. No one can carry him the sentence of his own ruin so properly as the man whose ruin he hath so villanously contrived.” “Pardon me, dear sir,” said Jones; “a moment’s reflection will, I am sure, convince you of the contrary. What might perhaps be but justice from another tongue, would from mine be insult; and to whom?—my own brother and your nephew. Nor did he use me so barbarously—indeed, that would have been more inexcusable than anything he hath done.

Tom not only melts his Uncle’s heart with these words but lives up to them.

He goes to see his brother who is despondent—not that he’s treated Allworthy and Tom so poorly, but that it’s all falling apart. Tom encourages him that he’ll try to work things out with Allworthy, but in the meantime, Blifil needs to get his act together and take this like a man. Tom promises to treat him as a brother and to try to let bygones be bygones.

That’s a lot of stuff for four chapters of this book—and I didn’t get as detailed as I was tempted to. It doesn’t have the style (outside of a sentence or two scattered throughout) as the rest of the novel, but man, it’s fun to read now that everything is coming to light.

Next week, we finish the novel. I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to wrap things up, but I have a pretty good idea how Fielding will. Guess we’ll see.

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding: BOOK XVIII., iv. – vii.

Fridays with the Foundling
Tom Jones Original CoverWe’re in the last book, nearing the end of the novel and therefore ehhhhhh-verything is going to be revealed. And things at Mrs. Miller’s are busy for Squire Allworthy this day.

Square, who the reader may remember as the less-religious tutor for Tom and Blifil is dying, and has got real religion. Now has been driven to confess to everyone he can think of to clear his conscience and hopefully make things right.

As part of this effort, he sends a letter to Allworthy, in part, he states:

Believe me, my friend, this young man hath the noblest generosity of heart, the most perfect capacity for friendship, the highest integrity, and indeed every virtue which can ennoble a man. He hath some faults, but among them is not to be numbered the least want of duty or gratitude towards you. On the contrary, I am satisfied, when you dismissed him from your house, his heart bled for you more than for himself.

Allworthy also gets a letter from Thwackum, having heard of the murder accusation, who goes on and on about Tom’s villainy—and tries to get Allworthy’s support for a job. Allworthy’s a little shaken by this, but not that much.

But wait, there’s more.

We then discover that Allworthy’s lawyer, Dowling, was one of the men Nightingale talked to at the alehouse when he got the truth from Fellamar’s goons about the attempt to press him into the Navy via this trumped-up charge. Nightingale assumed Dowling was there, like he was, to gather information to help Tom. Allworthy is stunned by this news. Blifil explains it away—over the outspoken skepticism of Mrs. Miller.

Patridge stops by right then to update Mrs. Miller, but Allworthy corners him and

asked him many questions concerning Jones, as to his health, and other matters; to all which Partridge answered, without having the least regard to what was, but considered only what he would have things appear; for a strict adherence to truth was not among the articles of this honest fellow’s morality or his religion.

Allworthy then gets everyone to leave and speaks frankly with Partridge, accusing him of being Tom’s father. Partridge denies it, ” he was no more the father of Jones than of the Pope of Rome”. It’s at this point that Mrs. Waters shows up, and things get really interesting.

Also, it should be noted that by now, that anything that Mr. Square has said has quite been forgotten.

Partridge calls on Mrs. Waters to be a witness—if anyone can state definitively that he’s not the father, it has to be the mother, right? But, no. She flat out states that’s not the case (which will greatly relieve Tom, I’m sure)

I’m not really going to try to summarize what says:

“I am not his mother; nor would I now think myself so for the world….So far what I confest,” said she, “was true, that these hands conveyed the infant to your bed; conveyed it thither at the command of its mother; at her commands I afterwards owned it, and thought myself, by her generosity, nobly rewarded, both for my secrecy and my shame.” “Who could this woman be?” said Allworthy. “Indeed, I tremble to name her,” answered Mrs Waters. “By all this preparation I am to guess that she was a relation of mine,” cried he. “Indeed she was a near one.” At which words Allworthy started, and she continued—“You had a sister, sir.” “A sister!” repeated he, looking aghast.—“As there is truth in heaven,” cries she, “your sister was the mother of that child you found between your sheets.” “Can it be possible?” cries he, “Good heavens!” “Have patience, sir,” said Mrs Waters…all suspicions were afterwards laid asleep by the artful conduct of your sister, in pretending ill-will to the boy, and that any regard she shewed him was out of meer complacence to you.”

The hits keep coming. The reason she showed up wasn’t to drop that bomb on everyone, but this—she’s been approached by someone thinking she was Mrs. Fitzgerald. As such, she might be interested in someone coming along to give financial aid for the prosecution of Tom. Who was this less-than-scrupulous man?

Mr. Dowling, of course. Things are not looking good for him.

This section really goes with Fielding’s promise to not give us a whole lot of fancy writing or anything with flair anymore—just the events. That’s all we got. Nothing clever, just a lot of exposition. And a lot of things to chew on. I really miss the flavor of the previous 17 books, but if he’d kept that up, Fielding would’ve taken at least 7 or 8 chapters to give us as much exposition as he did in these four.

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding: BOOK XVII., ix. – BOOK XVIII., iii.

Fridays with the Foundling
Tom Jones Original CoverNightingale spends a couple of days hunting for something to exonerate Tom, but when he finds two of the witnesses, it’s not good news. He found two of the men who were with Fitzgerald, but were so far away during the altercation to hear what happened. They stress, however, that Tom struck first.

Nightingale’s faith in Tom is staggered, but Tom wins him back, just as Mrs. Miller arrives and reports her utter lack of success, too. While those two are still there, Tom gets news that a lady wishes to speak with him. He has no idea who it could be, but wants to see whoever it might be. Mrs. Miller and Nigthingale leave so she could be shown in.

It’s Tom’s, um, acquaintance, Mrs. Waters from Chapter 9. She’d spent a lot of time with Fitzgerald, both on the road and after the fight with Tom. She’s more than confident that he’s about to recover, and she continues,

“By the most extraordinary accident in the world I lodge at the same house; and have seen the gentleman, and I promise you he doth you justice, and says, whatever be the consequence, that he was entirely the aggressor, and that you was not in the least to blame.”

Which sounds pretty good for TOm, right?

Thus the melancholy occasioned by the report of Mr Nightingale was pretty well effaced; but the dejection into which Mrs Miller had thrown him still continued. The account she gave so well tallied with the words of Sophia herself in her letter, that he made not the least doubt but that she had disclosed his letter to her aunt, and had taken a fixed resolution to abandon him. The torments this thought gave him were to be equalled only by a piece of news which fortune had yet in store for him, and which we shall communicate in the second chapter of the ensuing book.

And so we turn to the last Book of the novel, and Fielding bids his readers good-bye.

We are now, reader, arrived at the last stage of our long journey. As we have, therefore, travelled together through so many pages, let us behave to one another like fellow-travellers in a stage coach, who have passed several days in the company of each other; and who, notwithstanding any bickerings or little animosities which may have occurred on the road, generally make all up at last, and mount, for the last time, into their vehicle with chearfulness and good humour; since after this one stage, it may possibly happen to us, as it commonly happens to them, never to meet more.

As we are so close to the end, it’s straight-narrative now. No more asides, clever little observations, or anything—we’re just going to wrap things up and get all the story told.

Which is a shame, because I’d have truly loved a few paragraphs of digression after the revelation of Chapter 2 sets in. After Mrs. Waters leaves, Partridge comes in and confesses he overheard most of their conversation, then asks if it’s true that Tom and Mrs. Waters actually went to bed together. Tom admits it to be true but doesn’t see why Partridge is so upset.

I have not breath enough left to tell you now, but what I have said is most certainly true.—That woman who now went out is your own mother. How unlucky was it for you, sir, that I did not happen to see her at that time, to have prevented it! Sure the devil himself must have contrived to bring about this wickedness.”

Yup. Partridge recognized Mrs. Waters, Jenny Jones herself.

Tom reacts the way almost everyone would to find out he slept with his mother—he’s horrified. Partridge isn’t much better—if only he’d seen her earlier he could have saved Tom. While they’re in shock, Tom gets a letter from Mrs. Waters, saying she has “learned something concerning you which greatly surprizes and affects me”—undoubtedly, she’s learned the same thing as Tom, he assumes. She also assures him that Fitzpatrick will live.

Black George decides that this is the time to drop by. He offers Tom help or money, but Tom declines, his problems are far bigger than that. George describes that Sophia and her father have reconciled, mostly due to the wedge driving between Sophia and her aunt. This pleases Tom, immensely, but does him little good.

Mrs. Miller and Allworthy are on better terms, and Mrs. Miller continues to defend and promote Tom in his eyes. They receive news that Fitzpatrick is recovering nicely and has claimed he started the altercation, leaving Tom utterly free.

Allworthy then gets a letter from Mr. Square, and it upsets him greatly we won’t find out what it said until the next chapter, however.

Great plot movement, make no mistake, and we’re clearly in the end game when it comes to plot. But I missed the fun of Fielding’s prose, being straightforward like he is being, takes away some of the charm of the book.

Still…wow. A whole lot happened—and a whole lot more needs to in the next couple of seeks. I just hope we get past the incest stage, but I have no idea how Tom’s going to get out.

 

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