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Hard Times: For These Times
Penguin edition with intro & notes by Kate Flint
Beyond the Brontes, there aren't many classic novels set in the North of England, and for years I'd been kind-of-meaning to read a few more, especially about workers and heavy industry, Mary Barton, Sons & Lovers, and Hard Times. (As per comment below, North and South was off the table because I'd already seen the TV series and didn't love the plot, and it's also the story of a middle-class southerner moving north, rather than the north qua north.)
And - though it may be inconvenient to suggest that at least some adults are influenced by fiction - this year I have realised that I need a much higher proportion of fictional works I consume in any medium to be about people who work full time and don't have much money, as that makes me more accepting of normal life, and that I have to get things done. This autumn I noticed a big difference in feelings and effort after I had been watching Victorian Slum (a show which, yes, can be cynically seen as prompting contemporary people to think conditions now - or in coming years given expected falls in living standards due to Brexit - aren't so bad) compared with my comparative laziness when the last thing I'd read was part of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, in which most principal characters are not only rich enough they don't need to work, but can also make life even easier via magic. (Hard Times perhaps didn't contain as many scenes of actually going to work as I assumed it would, and Dickens' esteem for the millworkers is expressed in somewhat patronising ways, but the centrality of work is always there in the background.)
2016 felt like the right time to read Dickens, and especially a book with this title: the gradual reversion to pre-Second World War, or, colloquially, Victorian, degrees of inequality and state support having finally been made obvious by two key Anglo-American votes that seem very unlikely to alleviate that, especially on this side of the Atlantic.
However, I hadn't expected this particular book, chosen purely for its setting, to be so complicatedly pertinent to those political campaigns. (I didn't even know it was Dickens' shortest novel, which my GR friends who know my habits could be forgiven for thinking was my motivation.)
Facts in Hard Times are allied with the nouveau riche and a lack of compassion for the poor among a self-made middle and increasingly ruling class that could be described as Thatcherite. What we have been accustomed to calling the right wing.
Those seeking to understand and humanise the poor and improve their living and working conditions, including Dickens, argue for greater allowance for emotion. What could traditionally be seen as the left.
Apply to the UK and the US in 2016 and the polarities appear to have switched, especially as regards the much-discussed "left behind" section of the electorate. Facts, solid research and a noeliberal establishment presenting itself as the sensible choice were pipped to the post by appeals to emotion, dreams and the lived experience of fed-up people who were tired of being called stupid. (I know about the $50-100k Trump voters, the upper middle class Brexiteers, but I agree that it was the swing vote from prior supporters of Obama and Labour which made that key small percentage difference.) I think Hard Times would be good reading (and thinking) material for those on the left and particularly centre left at the moment.
More so because Gradgrind also isn't as grim as his name appears. He's not actually Wackford Squeers mark II, as I assumed. (And as would be easily assumed from all the readers who hate him. Someone described him as a monster?! I'm pretty certain some of these people would also be the types who say "but he means well, he cares underneath" if he was real.)
Perhaps I don't find him all that grim because he feels like an eminently plausible ancestor. He's rather like some of my own relatives. He's not actively cruel, or violent or angry or inconsistent; he means very well, but he nevertheless has deleterious effects because he just. doesn't. get. it. He's a bit of a robot; he doesn't understand how others are different, why that's okay and how to accommodate their needs, never mind provide emotional attunement. Aspects of Gradgrind family life feel to me like an exaggerated caricature of deeply familiar realities (with people I've known socially, not just some relatives).
But I can understand him; I am also regularly exasperated by people not sharing views of mine which make much more sense on a large scale than common practice (and it is much harder to live with when they are not matters on which one is conventionally "allowed" to speak out and break away) and think that certain social norms ought to be changed.
I daresay others have observed this before me, but Gradgrind is so Aspie. Or more precisely reads like what you get from Aspie + old-school British upbringing.
Of course, the politics aren't quite as simple as they first appear, because Dickens' impoverished characters are presented as nice people whereas the 2016 rightward populist voter is often characterised as racist, or at least not placing a candidate's racism high enough up the list as the other side think they should. A more definite difference is that the Dickensian industrialist fact-propagators are the ones who believe there's almost no such thing as too much hard work, a position now established among the emotional appeals of right-wing populism in Britain and the US. The most constant difference between right and left of 1854 and 2016 appears to be on locus of control and the notion of a deserving and undeserving poor.
At the time I started this book - 15th Nov - I was desperate to try and understand how humour might have a place in such a world of increased poverty, inequality and progressively more dystopian news: I knew it had to, but I couldn't see how, feeling that there must be the beginning of an answer in going back to old comic authors, like Dickens, and Shakespeare's mechanical scenes, written in worlds where life was harder for a far higher percentage of people. Or there was the very specific idea I had for a post-apocalyptic comedy in which one of the main characters in an ensemble was a witty, flamboyant gay guy based on a composite of a couple of friends and some famous people; but no-one else has made it and I haven't quite the chops to write it myself. The thing which has actually given me the greatest sense of "life goes on", even whilst the news feels strange and volatile and full of potential Archduke Ferdinand moments, has been switching for a couple of weeks to the Goodreads community newsfeed - i.e. random people, in theory everyone on the whole damn site. They're a lot more interesting and varied than some of you give them credit for.
So much for all these big a/illusions about the relevance of Hard Times: it's also another of Dickens' sentimental soap operas starring cartoon characters painted in black or white, and minimal greyscale. I like the whole a bit too much to say "mawkish", but agree it's forgivable to use that word of certain scenes. I'm glad I read it when I was old and cynical enough to know that, actually, people rarely change as much as Gradgrind does here, and on the few occasions they do, never as quickly. (I reckon it would take about 18 months of therapy, as well as sheer aptitude, to acquire that amount of emotional insight and expression from cold - it puts me in mind of a case study in one of Daniel Siegel's books, in which a chap described as having a fairly high degree of avoidant attachment, but who also sounds like he has Aspie traits, became much more emotionally open after deciding to do therapy in old age in order to communicate better with his family.) The accumulation in implicit memory over many years of novels and films in which people have rapid character transformations - if someone only says the right thing - led to way too many disappointments when I was younger. Even if one or two people did seem to have observed something like that in me. As a practically middle-aged adult, Gradgrind's Damascene conversion seems as obviously fantastical, impossible fairy-tale wish fulfilment, and a product of Victorian sentimentality, as does the higly improbable and pulpy - and yes, arguably, ultimately mawkish - coincidence between other characters a few chapters later. Such as the bit where Rachael and Sissy find Stephen despite other search parties having failed.
The negative authorial view of suave cad Harthouse - whilst it was evidently unlikely to happen, I hoped Louisa would shag him because I wanted her to have some throwaway fun with someone infinitely fitter than her husband - could be an interesting comparison with takes on similar characters of the fin de siecle. His amorality, levity and chameleon nature appear to be used as indictments, but so used am I to seeing near-identical phrases adopted as positives by Wilde and other aesthetes (Did Oscar nick them from Charles? I would not be surprised) that these attributes have lost 90% of their power as criticism.
Hard Times is a funny old thing really, part complex/relevant/political, part pulp of yesteryear - though I guess those are the essence of what Dickens is.
-----
I never used to leave an academic introduction until after I'd read the book, but this time I did.
The notes by Kate Flint (I really like the name “Kate Flint” – spellable, doesn’t stand out too much, yet memorable, poetically consonant and so very definite and solid ) are pretty good as notes in contemporary editions go: there aren’t too many of the explanations of things that should be common knowledge to the vast majority of readers of Eng Lit at this level, but there are still some oddities inexplicably missed out, of which I’d have liked elucidation, as they simply don’t lend themselves to encyclopaedias or search. The latter was every thus; notes never seem to be complete. The introduction is decent – I have a feeling that the reason that nearly all introductions feel somewhat insubstantial these days is only because I first got to know the Penguin / OUP Classics intro as a form whilst aged 10-14, and that is still the time at which I read the greatest concentration of them; inevitably they would have seemed that bit more difficult and more of the information novel at that age.
The central premise of Flint’s commentary is that the novel intentionally defies easy categorisation and (although the term is not used) its binary oppositions are incomplete because it is setting itself up against the rigid system of Victorian Utilitarian philosophy and education. (For example it tends to favour the “natural” over the artificial (unlike the decadents of 40 years later, as I mentioned above), and the section titling headlines this, with agricultural terms in contrast to the industrial setting (how did I miss that?!) But that is not total. It is “not a programmatic book, and is the stronger for it”. Dickens shies away from being too radical politically: his working class characters are sympathetic as individuals with predicaments, and ostracised by the organised trade union (however, those who try to keep them so very downtrodden reform spontaneously, or are exposed as hypocrites).
Whilst reading the first part of Hard Times, I was convinced it must have been written whilst Dickens’ marriage was breaking down, as there is not a good marriage in the book. His pedestalising of Louisa seemed transparently like someone who was becoming attracted to younger women but wrestling with this, as the author evidently thinks the marriage with an age gap of 30-odd years is a bad idea from the first – on checking the history, I saw he had not met Ellen Terry at this point. The introduction has a little but not too much on that well worn topic “the role of women”, found in every list of possible Eng Lit essays to choose between. Dickens does not overtly criticise Louisa’s being educated in the same way as a boy, which makes the book more palatable to modern readers, although there are hints of disapproval in the text that Flint points out, especially when it is seen in the context of nineteenth century advice to women. In the end it is Sissy Jupe who emerges as the most balanced character.
I haven't read a lot of Dickens in recent times (my last was Bleak House in 2005), so was it me, finding this one particularly soapy, or is it the book? Flint mentions that Hard Times was the first book in thirteen years that Dickens wrote as a weekly - rather than a monthly - serial, which may explain that.
Penguin edition with intro & notes by Kate Flint
Beyond the Brontes, there aren't many classic novels set in the North of England, and for years I'd been kind-of-meaning to read a few more, especially about workers and heavy industry, Mary Barton, Sons & Lovers, and Hard Times. (As per comment below, North and South was off the table because I'd already seen the TV series and didn't love the plot, and it's also the story of a middle-class southerner moving north, rather than the north qua north.)
And - though it may be inconvenient to suggest that at least some adults are influenced by fiction - this year I have realised that I need a much higher proportion of fictional works I consume in any medium to be about people who work full time and don't have much money, as that makes me more accepting of normal life, and that I have to get things done. This autumn I noticed a big difference in feelings and effort after I had been watching Victorian Slum (a show which, yes, can be cynically seen as prompting contemporary people to think conditions now - or in coming years given expected falls in living standards due to Brexit - aren't so bad) compared with my comparative laziness when the last thing I'd read was part of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, in which most principal characters are not only rich enough they don't need to work, but can also make life even easier via magic. (Hard Times perhaps didn't contain as many scenes of actually going to work as I assumed it would, and Dickens' esteem for the millworkers is expressed in somewhat patronising ways, but the centrality of work is always there in the background.)
2016 felt like the right time to read Dickens, and especially a book with this title: the gradual reversion to pre-Second World War, or, colloquially, Victorian, degrees of inequality and state support having finally been made obvious by two key Anglo-American votes that seem very unlikely to alleviate that, especially on this side of the Atlantic.
However, I hadn't expected this particular book, chosen purely for its setting, to be so complicatedly pertinent to those political campaigns. (I didn't even know it was Dickens' shortest novel, which my GR friends who know my habits could be forgiven for thinking was my motivation.)
Facts in Hard Times are allied with the nouveau riche and a lack of compassion for the poor among a self-made middle and increasingly ruling class that could be described as Thatcherite. What we have been accustomed to calling the right wing.
Those seeking to understand and humanise the poor and improve their living and working conditions, including Dickens, argue for greater allowance for emotion. What could traditionally be seen as the left.
Apply to the UK and the US in 2016 and the polarities appear to have switched, especially as regards the much-discussed "left behind" section of the electorate. Facts, solid research and a noeliberal establishment presenting itself as the sensible choice were pipped to the post by appeals to emotion, dreams and the lived experience of fed-up people who were tired of being called stupid. (I know about the $50-100k Trump voters, the upper middle class Brexiteers, but I agree that it was the swing vote from prior supporters of Obama and Labour which made that key small percentage difference.) I think Hard Times would be good reading (and thinking) material for those on the left and particularly centre left at the moment.
More so because Gradgrind also isn't as grim as his name appears. He's not actually Wackford Squeers mark II, as I assumed. (And as would be easily assumed from all the readers who hate him. Someone described him as a monster?! I'm pretty certain some of these people would also be the types who say "but he means well, he cares underneath" if he was real.)
Perhaps I don't find him all that grim because he feels like an eminently plausible ancestor. He's rather like some of my own relatives. He's not actively cruel, or violent or angry or inconsistent; he means very well, but he nevertheless has deleterious effects because he just. doesn't. get. it. He's a bit of a robot; he doesn't understand how others are different, why that's okay and how to accommodate their needs, never mind provide emotional attunement. Aspects of Gradgrind family life feel to me like an exaggerated caricature of deeply familiar realities (with people I've known socially, not just some relatives).
But I can understand him; I am also regularly exasperated by people not sharing views of mine which make much more sense on a large scale than common practice (and it is much harder to live with when they are not matters on which one is conventionally "allowed" to speak out and break away) and think that certain social norms ought to be changed.
I daresay others have observed this before me, but Gradgrind is so Aspie. Or more precisely reads like what you get from Aspie + old-school British upbringing.
Of course, the politics aren't quite as simple as they first appear, because Dickens' impoverished characters are presented as nice people whereas the 2016 rightward populist voter is often characterised as racist, or at least not placing a candidate's racism high enough up the list as the other side think they should. A more definite difference is that the Dickensian industrialist fact-propagators are the ones who believe there's almost no such thing as too much hard work, a position now established among the emotional appeals of right-wing populism in Britain and the US. The most constant difference between right and left of 1854 and 2016 appears to be on locus of control and the notion of a deserving and undeserving poor.
At the time I started this book - 15th Nov - I was desperate to try and understand how humour might have a place in such a world of increased poverty, inequality and progressively more dystopian news: I knew it had to, but I couldn't see how, feeling that there must be the beginning of an answer in going back to old comic authors, like Dickens, and Shakespeare's mechanical scenes, written in worlds where life was harder for a far higher percentage of people. Or there was the very specific idea I had for a post-apocalyptic comedy in which one of the main characters in an ensemble was a witty, flamboyant gay guy based on a composite of a couple of friends and some famous people; but no-one else has made it and I haven't quite the chops to write it myself. The thing which has actually given me the greatest sense of "life goes on", even whilst the news feels strange and volatile and full of potential Archduke Ferdinand moments, has been switching for a couple of weeks to the Goodreads community newsfeed - i.e. random people, in theory everyone on the whole damn site. They're a lot more interesting and varied than some of you give them credit for.
So much for all these big a/illusions about the relevance of Hard Times: it's also another of Dickens' sentimental soap operas starring cartoon characters painted in black or white, and minimal greyscale. I like the whole a bit too much to say "mawkish", but agree it's forgivable to use that word of certain scenes. I'm glad I read it when I was old and cynical enough to know that, actually, people rarely change as much as Gradgrind does here, and on the few occasions they do, never as quickly. (I reckon it would take about 18 months of therapy, as well as sheer aptitude, to acquire that amount of emotional insight and expression from cold - it puts me in mind of a case study in one of Daniel Siegel's books, in which a chap described as having a fairly high degree of avoidant attachment, but who also sounds like he has Aspie traits, became much more emotionally open after deciding to do therapy in old age in order to communicate better with his family.) The accumulation in implicit memory over many years of novels and films in which people have rapid character transformations - if someone only says the right thing - led to way too many disappointments when I was younger. Even if one or two people did seem to have observed something like that in me. As a practically middle-aged adult, Gradgrind's Damascene conversion seems as obviously fantastical, impossible fairy-tale wish fulfilment, and a product of Victorian sentimentality, as does the higly improbable and pulpy - and yes, arguably, ultimately mawkish - coincidence between other characters a few chapters later. Such as the bit where Rachael and Sissy find Stephen despite other search parties having failed.
The negative authorial view of suave cad Harthouse - whilst it was evidently unlikely to happen, I hoped Louisa would shag him because I wanted her to have some throwaway fun with someone infinitely fitter than her husband - could be an interesting comparison with takes on similar characters of the fin de siecle. His amorality, levity and chameleon nature appear to be used as indictments, but so used am I to seeing near-identical phrases adopted as positives by Wilde and other aesthetes (Did Oscar nick them from Charles? I would not be surprised) that these attributes have lost 90% of their power as criticism.
Hard Times is a funny old thing really, part complex/relevant/political, part pulp of yesteryear - though I guess those are the essence of what Dickens is.
-----
I never used to leave an academic introduction until after I'd read the book, but this time I did.
The notes by Kate Flint (I really like the name “Kate Flint” – spellable, doesn’t stand out too much, yet memorable, poetically consonant and so very definite and solid ) are pretty good as notes in contemporary editions go: there aren’t too many of the explanations of things that should be common knowledge to the vast majority of readers of Eng Lit at this level, but there are still some oddities inexplicably missed out, of which I’d have liked elucidation, as they simply don’t lend themselves to encyclopaedias or search. The latter was every thus; notes never seem to be complete. The introduction is decent – I have a feeling that the reason that nearly all introductions feel somewhat insubstantial these days is only because I first got to know the Penguin / OUP Classics intro as a form whilst aged 10-14, and that is still the time at which I read the greatest concentration of them; inevitably they would have seemed that bit more difficult and more of the information novel at that age.
The central premise of Flint’s commentary is that the novel intentionally defies easy categorisation and (although the term is not used) its binary oppositions are incomplete because it is setting itself up against the rigid system of Victorian Utilitarian philosophy and education. (For example it tends to favour the “natural” over the artificial (unlike the decadents of 40 years later, as I mentioned above), and the section titling headlines this, with agricultural terms in contrast to the industrial setting (how did I miss that?!) But that is not total. It is “not a programmatic book, and is the stronger for it”. Dickens shies away from being too radical politically: his working class characters are sympathetic as individuals with predicaments, and ostracised by the organised trade union (however, those who try to keep them so very downtrodden reform spontaneously, or are exposed as hypocrites).
Whilst reading the first part of Hard Times, I was convinced it must have been written whilst Dickens’ marriage was breaking down, as there is not a good marriage in the book. His pedestalising of Louisa seemed transparently like someone who was becoming attracted to younger women but wrestling with this, as the author evidently thinks the marriage with an age gap of 30-odd years is a bad idea from the first – on checking the history, I saw he had not met Ellen Terry at this point. The introduction has a little but not too much on that well worn topic “the role of women”, found in every list of possible Eng Lit essays to choose between. Dickens does not overtly criticise Louisa’s being educated in the same way as a boy, which makes the book more palatable to modern readers, although there are hints of disapproval in the text that Flint points out, especially when it is seen in the context of nineteenth century advice to women. In the end it is Sissy Jupe who emerges as the most balanced character.
I haven't read a lot of Dickens in recent times (my last was Bleak House in 2005), so was it me, finding this one particularly soapy, or is it the book? Flint mentions that Hard Times was the first book in thirteen years that Dickens wrote as a weekly - rather than a monthly - serial, which may explain that.