As mentioned previously, I recently went to a conference in Belgium. To get to Belgium from the US, one takes a plane…which means one takes a plane book. (Note the two senses of the word “take” in that sentence. This reminds me of the old question, which has been falsely presented as a test of logic: “Do you walk to school or take your lunch?” The test is whether you notice the implied oddity of using your lunch as a means of transportation. But, noticing that hinges on a certainty that the person asking the question is not prone to combing incongruous things in a sentence. It would, for example, be a perfectly appropriate English sentence to ask “Do you write with a pencil or live on a busy street?” The failing would then be with the person asking the question, not with the person who looks puzzled about the question. I have been pondering this matter since I was first asked the question in 7th grade. I was totally unsatisfied with being told the question was the teacher's way of finding out which students understood basic logic. That is a long time to be thinking about a question. Indeed, it is one of the few things I remember from 7th grade. Which probably says a lot about my 7th grade education. It also says a lot about how annoyed I was when I said “I take a lunch” because I rode the bus and did take a lunch to school and was then implicitly told I had failed a test of logic. That is a long time to be annoyed about something so seemingly trivial. Determining why I was so annoyed is left as an exercise for the reader (and not a very difficult exercise).)
All of which is not a bad segue to the plane book mentioned
above (far, far above): Henry Fielding: Tom Jones. I decided to read this book on this particular
trip two years ago. That is a long time
in advance to choose a plane book. There
is a story there (but of course). The conference
was the regular, every-two years (herein lies a problem of English language: Is “biannual” twice a year or every two
years? You think you know? Look it up.
Here, for example. Very, very,
very annoying.) conference on the English Financial Revolution of the 18th century
which I have been attending for years. It
is a small interdisciplinary conference—historians and English literature types
and economists and even a law professor.
Tom Jones is one of the Big Novels
of the era. The English professors regularly
mention it. I had never read it. It is long.
So, after the conference two years ago, I thought I should read it. And then I thought, “Well, since the next conference
is in Belgium, which is a long plane ride, why not use the occasion to read Tom Jones? And it was so.
All of which is yet again a good segue to Tom Joes. The book is a novel. Of that there is no doubt. Depending on how you define “novel,” it may
be the first “novel.” Probably not,
though. I define “novel more broadly, so
Robinson Crusoe get the honor. Richardson’s Clarissa might also qualify (at least according to Frank Kermode—I haven’t
read Clarissa, so I have no means of
judging the matter, which is moot anyway because Robinson Crusoe predates Clarissa
so it is only benighted people like Frank Kermode who would talk about Clarissa anyway (who is Frank
Kermode? Why do you care? He doesn’t think Defoe wrote novels (but for
the insatiably curious (or those who want to know whom they should henceforth
vilify), he wrote the afterword in the copy of Tom Jones I read.))). The
novel is divided into 18 books, and the first chapter in each book is an
address from the Author to the Reader in which all sorts of asides and digressions
and commentary are supplied. So, in discussing
Tom Jones, it is perfectly appropriate
to begin with a digression having nothing to do with the actual substance of the
story at hand. Sadly, in order to truly
be true to the spirit of Tom Jones,
the digression at the outset must be both a) amusing and b) followed by an interesting
tale. The sadness arises from the fact that
the digression here fulfills neither of those two characteristics. But, I digress.
What would happen if you crossed David Copperfield with Tristram
Shandy? You would get Tom Jones, well
expect that Tom Jones predates both
of those other two books so you would have to add in some sort of time travel
to make this all work out.
I enjoyed reading Tom
Jones. I can certainly see why professors specializing in 18th
century novels are quite fond of it—compared to the other novels from that time
period, this one is easily among the best.
But, the 18th century was not a good time period for novels. How does to compare to Dickens? Honestly, it isn’t that close. Tom Jones
has the scope of a Dickens novel, it has all the characters and odd coincidences
of a Dickens novel. But, it does not
have quite the charm of Dickens. Don’t get
me wrong; there is charm here. But, the difference
is easily seen when thinking about the characters. Dickens is littered with memorable
charters. Tom Jones? Well, there is
the perfect heroine Sophia; but she is only memorable from the worship bestowed
upon her by the author (not by Tom, though he worships her too—she is memorable
because the author keeps telling us how amazing the author thinks she is—she isn’t
even memorable even in and of herself—it is really the heroine worship which is
memorable.) Mr. Western, Sophia’s father,
is amusing. But nobody else in the novel
really rises to something interesting. The
story is good, the characters are nice, it is surely a Good Novel, and probably
a Great Book. But, it’s no Dickens.
Which leads to an interesting problem. Is it a fault to not be Dickens? Surely not.
And surely, we would never say that only Dickens should be read. There are lots of great novels written by people
who were not named Charles. But, in this
case, the connection is just too strong; Everything Fielding has done, Dickens
has done better. That doesn’t make Tom Jones a bad novel at all. I would even recommend it if I wasn't immediately
afflicted with the thought that really, instead of Tom Jones, you will probably enjoy one of Dickens’ novels more.
The obvious song.
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