Recent reading
Jul. 2nd, 2019 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
regshoeTwo (almost-)Victorian novels that, now I'm comparing them side by side, go fairly well together: they present two quite different takes on the subject of ambivalence, as applied to the social structures of the late nineteenth century and the ecclesiastical structures of the mid-century.
Kipps by H. G. Wells (1905). I would never have guessed this was by the same author as The Time Machine if it weren't for the name on the cover. Most obviously because of the subject matter, but the general structure of the book and the sentence-level writing style also felt very different—Wells is clearly a versatile writer! Kipps is a rags-to-riches story that follows the life of Arthur Kipps, a draper's apprentice living in obscurity on the coast of Kent who unexpectedly inherits a fortune, detailing his subsequent efforts to adapt to his new position as a well-to-do gentleman. It's a very funny book—Wells is fond of wry commentary on his characters' foibles, and the opportunities for satire on the class system are made the most of—and in places it felt a little like a light-hearted version of Great Expectations. But there are some more serious ideas in there too, including a couple of points where the criticism of social structures takes a detour into outright socialism. These were interesting, but they weren't always handled as well as they could have been, and as a result the book felt fairly unbalanced and afraid to commit itself, both in its ideas and in its plot. The meandering and reverse turns, particularly in the last third or so, seem to undermine any attempt to make a serious point about the situation; the socialism, interesting as it was, is rather left hanging, and the book never really reaches a conclusion on the central questions of wealth and one's place in society. The plot mirrors this thematic uncertainty, and the ending in particular felt very unconvincing.
Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope (1857). The second of the Barsetshire Chronicles—I read and was lukewarm about The Warden, the first in the series, a couple of years ago, but I enjoyed this one a lot more. It follows the personal dramas and political conflicts surrounding an Anglican cathedral at a time when the Church of England was going through a great deal of upheaval and change, with various sides calling for reform from a variety of angles. The book opens with the appointment of a new bishop: Dr Proudie—or rather, Mrs Proudie and the Proudies' chaplain Mr Slope, who between them are really in charge—represents the low-church evangelical tendency, while another newcomer, Dr Arabin, is an Oxford Tractarian. They clash with each other and with the established Barchester characters, and political wrangling over church appointments blends with personal and romantic dramas such as the important question of who will marry the eligible young widow Eleanor Bold. All of this is really fascinating, and what's most remarkable about the whole thing is the extent to which Trollope manages to avoid taking a clear side on the political and theological conflicts that he portrays in such vivid detail. His obvious dislike of reform was most of what put me off The Warden, but his position here is clearly more complex and ambivalent than straightforwardly reactionary. And unlike Kipps, the ambivalence doesn't make the novel feel indecisive—instead, we get to see the complicated case for and against various types of social and religious change, and it ends up making a fairly strong argument of its own.
Kipps by H. G. Wells (1905). I would never have guessed this was by the same author as The Time Machine if it weren't for the name on the cover. Most obviously because of the subject matter, but the general structure of the book and the sentence-level writing style also felt very different—Wells is clearly a versatile writer! Kipps is a rags-to-riches story that follows the life of Arthur Kipps, a draper's apprentice living in obscurity on the coast of Kent who unexpectedly inherits a fortune, detailing his subsequent efforts to adapt to his new position as a well-to-do gentleman. It's a very funny book—Wells is fond of wry commentary on his characters' foibles, and the opportunities for satire on the class system are made the most of—and in places it felt a little like a light-hearted version of Great Expectations. But there are some more serious ideas in there too, including a couple of points where the criticism of social structures takes a detour into outright socialism. These were interesting, but they weren't always handled as well as they could have been, and as a result the book felt fairly unbalanced and afraid to commit itself, both in its ideas and in its plot. The meandering and reverse turns, particularly in the last third or so, seem to undermine any attempt to make a serious point about the situation; the socialism, interesting as it was, is rather left hanging, and the book never really reaches a conclusion on the central questions of wealth and one's place in society. The plot mirrors this thematic uncertainty, and the ending in particular felt very unconvincing.
Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope (1857). The second of the Barsetshire Chronicles—I read and was lukewarm about The Warden, the first in the series, a couple of years ago, but I enjoyed this one a lot more. It follows the personal dramas and political conflicts surrounding an Anglican cathedral at a time when the Church of England was going through a great deal of upheaval and change, with various sides calling for reform from a variety of angles. The book opens with the appointment of a new bishop: Dr Proudie—or rather, Mrs Proudie and the Proudies' chaplain Mr Slope, who between them are really in charge—represents the low-church evangelical tendency, while another newcomer, Dr Arabin, is an Oxford Tractarian. They clash with each other and with the established Barchester characters, and political wrangling over church appointments blends with personal and romantic dramas such as the important question of who will marry the eligible young widow Eleanor Bold. All of this is really fascinating, and what's most remarkable about the whole thing is the extent to which Trollope manages to avoid taking a clear side on the political and theological conflicts that he portrays in such vivid detail. His obvious dislike of reform was most of what put me off The Warden, but his position here is clearly more complex and ambivalent than straightforwardly reactionary. And unlike Kipps, the ambivalence doesn't make the novel feel indecisive—instead, we get to see the complicated case for and against various types of social and religious change, and it ends up making a fairly strong argument of its own.
