The Pickwick Club discussion

Dear Pickwickians,

As I read this week's two chapters I was wondering how many happy moments have been in this book so far and I find I can't think of any at all. This chapter is no different. Chapter 15 is titled "Father and Daughter" and begins with Louisa with her father in his room. His room is described like this:

"Although Mr. Gradgrind did not take after Blue Beard, his room was quite a blue chamber in its abundance of blue books. Whatever they could prove (which is usually anything you like), they proved there, in an army constantly strengthening by the arrival of new recruits. In that charmed apartment, the most complicated social questions were cast up, got into exact totals, and finally settled—if those concerned could only have been brought to know it. As if an astronomical observatory should be made without any windows, and the astronomer within should arrange the starry universe solely by pen, ink, and paper, so Mr. Gradgrind, in his Observatory (and there are many like it), had no need to cast an eye upon the teeming myriads of human beings around him, but could settle all their destinies on a slate, and wipe out all their tears with one dirty little bit of sponge."

Although usually I would love a room having an abundance of any books, this one doesn't appeal to me and doesn't look good for Louisa. We are told that Louisa sits looking out the window seeing the high chimneys and the long tracts of smoke looming in the heavy distance gloomily. Sounds wonderful, it just keeps getting better and better for Louisa. Mr. Gradgrind tells her that she has been well trained, not impulsive, not romantic, accustomed to view everything from the strong dispassionate ground of reason and calculation, and having extreme good sense. That all sounded awful. He then tells her that a proposal of marriage has been made to him concerning Louisa. He is surprised when she continues to sit quietly showing no emotion at all. Finally he tells her what we all know, that it is Mr. Bounderby who has made the marriage proposal to which Louisa finally replies:

‘Father,’ said Louisa, ‘do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?’

Mr. Gradgrind certainly didn't seem to be expecting that question from her. His embarrassed answer, that he cannot say only brings more uncomfortable questions:

‘Father,’ pursued Louisa in exactly the same voice as before, ‘do you ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?’

‘My dear Louisa, no. No. I ask nothing.’

‘Father,’ she still pursued, ‘does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love him?’

‘Really, my dear,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘it is difficult to answer your question—’

‘Difficult to answer it, Yes or No, father?"

When her father gives her a very unsatisfactory answer - I think so anyway, telling her of Bounderby's good sense, and her good sense, and how Bounderby would never forget what is due to her good sense, finishing by telling her that the expression - of loving each other - is a little "misplaced". He goes on to tell her that the ignorant and the giddy may think of marriage with such fancies, and other absurdities that have no existence, but that Louisa should know better. She should consider the "facts", while there is some disparity in their ages there is none in their means and positions. He goes on to tell her more statistics of marriage proving - to him anyway - that in marriages of un-equal ages it is almost always the groom is the elder. Louisa, like myself, seems unimpressed by this fact and she goes on to say:

‘What do you recommend, father,’ asked Louisa, her reserved composure not in the least affected by these gratifying results, ‘that I should substitute for the term I used just now? For the misplaced expression?’

After telling her again to consider the facts we are told Louisa sits silently looking toward the town. Mr. Gradgrand finally asks her what she sees out the window and she replies there is nothing but languid and monotonous smoke, following that comment by saying life is very short and she would do the little she can, and the little she is fit for while it lasts. I thought about this for awhile, what would be the little she could do by marrying Bounderby? The only thing I think it could mean is to take care of her brother Tom. Louisa accepts the proposal with the words "what does it matter" and in response to that there is this sad conversation:

‘Louisa, I have not considered it essential to ask you one question, because the possibility implied in it appeared to me to be too remote. But perhaps I ought to do so. You have never entertained in secret any other proposal?’

‘Father,’ she returned, almost scornfully, ‘what other proposal can have been made to me? Whom have I seen? Where have I been? What are my heart’s experiences?’

‘My dear Louisa,’ returned Mr. Gradgrind, reassured and satisfied. ‘You correct me justly. I merely wished to discharge my duty.’

‘What do I know, father,’ said Louisa in her quiet manner, ‘of tastes and fancies; of aspirations and affections; of all that part of my nature in which such light things might have been nourished? What escape have I had from problems that could be demonstrated, and realities that could be grasped?’ As she said it, she unconsciously closed her hand, as if upon a solid object, and slowly opened it as though she were releasing dust or ash.

‘My dear,’ assented her eminently practical parent, ‘quite true, quite true.’

‘Why, father,’ she pursued, ‘what a strange question to ask me! The baby-preference that even I have heard of as common among children, has never had its innocent resting-place in my breast. You have been so careful of me, that I never had a child’s heart. You have trained me so well, that I never dreamed a child’s dream. You have dealt so wisely with me, father, from my cradle to this hour, that I never had a child’s belief or a child’s fear.’

Mr. Gradgrind was quite moved by his success, and by this testimony to it. ‘My dear Louisa,’ said he, ‘you abundantly repay my care. Kiss me, my dear girl.’

So, his daughter kissed him. Detaining her in his embrace, he said, ‘I may assure you now, my favourite child, that I am made happy by the sound decision at which you have arrived."

I wonder if it is true that Louisa is his favourite child, how he can be so blind as to her real feelings. They then go to share the "happy" news with the rest of the family and the chapter ends with this:

"When Mr. Gradgrind had presented Mrs. Bounderby, Sissy had suddenly turned her head, and looked, in wonder, in pity, in sorrow, in doubt, in a multitude of emotions, towards Louisa. Louisa had known it, and seen it, without looking at her. From that moment she was impassive, proud and cold—held Sissy at a distance—changed to her altogether."

Chapter 16 is titled "Husband and Wife" and begins with Bounderby worrying how to break the news of his upcoming marriage with Louisa to Mrs. Sparsit. We are told it is the first disquietude he has since hearing of his happiness, what Mrs. Sparsit will do when he tells her. We are told:

" He could not make up his mind how to do that, or what the consequences of the step might be. Whether she would instantly depart, bag and baggage, to Lady Scadgers, or would positively refuse to budge from the premises; whether she would be plaintive or abusive, tearful or tearing; whether she would break her heart, or break the looking-glass; Mr. Bounderby could not all foresee. However, as it must be done, he had no choice but to do it; so, after attempting several letters, and failing in them all, he resolved to do it by word of mouth."

He even buys a bottle of the very strongest smelling-salts in case she should faint when he tells her. Mrs. Sparsit does none of the things he was worried about however, she neither leaves, cries, screams, breaks things or faints. She remains sitting in the same position still with her needlework in her lap. Women always seem to be doing some sort of needlework in Victorian times. She manages to wish him happiness with all her heart, but in a superior and pitying manor:

"And I hope, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, concluding in an impressively compassionate manner, ‘I fondly hope that Miss Gradgrind may be all you desire, and deserve!’

Nothing moved Mrs. Sparsit from that position any more. It was in vain for Bounderby to bluster or to assert himself in any of his explosive ways; Mrs. Sparsit was resolved to have compassion on him, as a Victim. She was polite, obliging, cheerful, hopeful; but, the more polite, the more obliging, the more cheerful, the more hopeful, the more exemplary altogether, she; the forlorner Sacrifice and Victim, he. She had that tenderness for his melancholy fate, that his great red countenance used to break out into cold perspirations when she looked at him."

I thought as I was reading this of Louisa's reaction to the news that Bounderby wanted to marry her. Her father was expecting some sort of reaction from her at the news and she just sat looking out the window at the smoke. And now Bounderby expected some reaction from Mrs. Sparsit and she just sits with her needlework just as composed as before he told her. I don't see any particular meaning to it, I was just struck by how these two men so misjudged the responses of the two women. Maybe they should spend more time studying people and less time studying facts.

Anyway, it is also agreed between them that she will no longer live with him once he is married, but will move to an apartment over the bank, her position being the "keeper of the bank", at the same terms as she has now. I did think when Mrs. Sparsit says that Bounderby's proposal is like himself - I would probably try to find a new position somewhere else.

‘Sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit. ‘The proposal is like yourself, and if the position I shall assume at the Bank is one that I could occupy without descending lower in the social scale—’

‘Why, of course it is,’ said Bounderby. ‘If it was not, ma’am, you don’t suppose that I should offer it to a lady who has moved in the society you have moved in. Not that I care for such society, you know! But you do.’

‘Mr. Bounderby, you are very considerate.’

‘You’ll have your own private apartments, and you’ll have your coals and your candles, and all the rest of it, and you’ll have your maid to attend upon you, and you’ll have your light porter to protect you, and you’ll be what I take the liberty of considering precious comfortable,’ said Bounderby.

‘Sir,’ rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, ‘say no more. In yielding up my trust here, I shall not be freed from the necessity of eating the bread of dependence:’ she might have said the sweetbread, for that delicate article in a savoury brown sauce was her favourite supper: ‘and I would rather receive it from your hand, than from any other. Therefore, sir, I accept your offer gratefully, and with many sincere acknowledgments for past favours."

The rest of the chapter is the courtship and marriage of Bounderby and Louisa. The courtship was one of facts, love was made by gifts of bracelets, and the entire thing took a manufacturing aspect. Dresses were made, jewelry was made, cakes and gloves were made, and of course, settlements were made, all preparations went forward. Then a church wedding and a breakfast at Stone Lodge. Bounderby makes a speech filled with things you would expect from him:

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown. Since you have done my wife and myself the honour of drinking our healths and happiness, I suppose I must acknowledge the same; though, as you all know me, and know what I am, and what my extraction was, you won’t expect a speech from a man who, when he sees a Post, says “that’s a Post,” and when he sees a Pump, says “that’s a Pump,” and is not to be got to call a Post a Pump, or a Pump a Post, or either of them a Toothpick........Now I have mentioned, and you have mentioned, that I am this day married to Tom Gradgrind’s daughter. I am very glad to be so. It has long been my wish to be so. I have watched her bringing-up, and I believe she is worthy of me. At the same time—not to deceive you—I believe I am worthy of her."

That post, pump, post thing is so, so, so annoying. Here are some more wedding facts:

"There was an improving party assembled on the auspicious occasion, who knew what everything they had to eat and drink was made of, and how it was imported or exported, and in what quantities, and in what bottoms, whether native or foreign, and all about it. The bridesmaids, down to little Jane Gradgrind, were, in an intellectual point of view, fit helpmates for the calculating boy; and there was no nonsense about any of the company."

I wonder what Sissy thought of the wedding, I can't remember if she was there. Only once during the entire proceedings did Louisa lose her composure: that was upon parting from her brother, Tom. Her brother didn't seem concerned at all, he seemed quite cheerful, and sent her to the waiting Bounderby saying:

‘Old Bounderby’s quite ready,’ said Tom. ‘Time’s up. Good-bye! I shall be on the look-out for you, when you come back. I say, my dear Loo! An’t it uncommonly jolly now!"

And with that I am winding up the chapter and also the first part of our book. It will be up to Tristram next week to make me understand why Dickens needed to divide the book into three parts at all. Perhaps I will find something cheerful in Part II.

First, a thank you to both Kim and Tristram for allowing us to experience the reading of a Dickens novel in "real time." I confess I cheated and read ahead. It's difficult to read so little. As Kim notes, there aren't many chuckles or laughter in these chapters. I feel that I have been lectured to and presented with character sketches. I miss the grand exuberance and power of the monthly parts.

I feel very sorry for Louisa. Her marriage (what a name for it) is a mere union of industrial and Benthamite practicality. At least when the aristocracy married each other they had a world of diversion and intrigue to fall back upon.

Louisa never had a childhood. She will certainly never enjoy a companionate marriage. Added to this is the suggestion of a grim future. At the end of the chapter we see Sissy and Dickens recounts how Sissy looks with sorrow at Louisa; conversely, we see Louisa grow hardened, "impassive, proud and cold-" as she "held Sissy at a distance - changed to her altogether."

Mrs. Sparsit may no longer live with Bounderby but will take up residence in apartments at his bank. She is, therefore, still in the picture. Dickens must still have plans for her.

Perhaps we should look on the bright side. Imagine poor Louisa if she was both married to Bounderby and Mrs. Sparsit still lived in their house.

Tom. What a snivelling, unwholesome creature. Not only is Louisa doomed to be married to Bounderby, but she is also apparently Tom's ticket to security.

Kim wrote: "I wonder if it is true that Louisa is his favourite child, how he can be so blind as to her real feelings."

Even thinking about her "real feelings" would be a rejection of his philosophy of life. Feelings are not facts. They are transitory, illogical, mindless, everything contrary to a life of logic and fact. She shouldn't have them, and if she does he certainly doesn't want to encourage her having them by recognizing their existence.

Kim wrote: "That post, pump, post thing is so, so, so annoying.."

Really? Why??

It's just his way of saying "I call a spade a spade." Is that annoying, too?

Would you rather have him call a pump a post, or a post a pump?

Peter wrote: "Louisa never had a childhood. She will certainly never enjoy a companionate marriage. ."

Agree on point 1.

Not so sure on point 2. I think they actually might bump along quite companionably. Neither one is going to be disturbed by worrying about whether they are in or out of love. But companionship isn't dependent of love. I can actually see this being a quite successful marriage. Not one I would like, but I'm not either of these people.

Kim wrote: "We are told that Louisa sits looking out the window seeing the high chimneys and the long tracts of smoke looming in the heavy distance gloomily. "

It occurs to me that Dickens usually has a dichotomy in his novels of grimy, sooty London and some more idyllic setting in the countryside where the characters are healthier and, quite often, happier. So far in HT, we only have the industrial setting of Coketown. Will we ever get away from the smoke stacks and see something a bit more bucolic?

Peter wrote: "I feel very sorry for Louisa. Her marriage (what a name for it) is a mere union of industrial and Benthamite practicality."

Benthamite. I can put a check in the "Learn Something New Today" column. :-)

Peter wrote: "Perhaps we should look on the bright side. Imagine poor Louisa if she was both married to Bounderby and Mrs. Sparsit still lived in their house."

Hahaha - I thought the exact opposite! I thought it was too bad that Mrs. Sparsit was leaving, and that her presence in the house may have been a relief for Louisa, in that Bounderby would have not been focusing all his attention on her. The Pollyanna in me hoped that they might even provide companionship for one another, and that they may have formed a friendship over a mutual disdain for Bounderby.

‘There seems to be nothing there but languid and monotonous smoke. Yet when the night comes, Fire bursts out, father!’ she answered, turning quickly.

This statement jumped out at me when I read it and I can't help but think that there's some foreshadowing going on here. The "languid and monotonous smoke" seems to be a metaphor for Louisa's "what does it matter" resignation. I can't help but wonder when the night is going to come, and what fires will burst out when it arrives.

I'm wondering how all of you read the interchange between Gradgrind and Louisa. When I read it - admittedly from the point of view of a 20th century woman (not 21st century... I'm not that progressive) - Louisa's tone had an edge of defiance and sarcasm in it, and Gradgrind, God love him, was oblivious to it. Did you hear it the same way? I went back and tried to read it again, in a deferential voice, and it was hard to do. I wonder how Dickens heard Louisa in this exchange.

The bridesmaids, down to little Jane Gradgrind...

I'd forgotten there WAS a little Jane Gradgrind. One wonders what role she will have as the story progresses.

An illustration by Charles Reinhart:



"My Dear Louisa," Returned Mr. Gradgrind, Re-Assured and Satisfied, "You Correct Me Justly. I Merely Wished to Discharge My Duty."

Chapter 15

Commentary:

"In Thomas Gradgrind's Blue-Book lined library, which Dickens describes as the Utilitarian equivalent of the astronomical observatory, while "a deadly statistical clock" beats an obligato, Louisa hears Bounderby's proposal of a marital partnership from the lips of her father. Neither seems moved by even the trace of a sentiment or emotion in Reinhart's plate, although Gradgrind does seem to be taking his daughter's hand sympathetically. In the illustration, no window reveals the smoke and grime of the factory town, no "deadly statistical clock" raps out the hours; instead, barely sketched in on the wall behind Louisa is a map and a graph. Several large books lean on their sides, as if several volumes have been abstracted from that lower shelf, as Louisa is about to be put into circulation as the wife of Gradgrind's fellow industrialist and chief political ally (and soon-to-be son-in-law). Fully visible rather than hidden by his top-hat, Gradgrind's skull is noticeably indented on the top, as if he had an extra brain, as he discounts the importance of mutual affection in a marriage."

This is the only illustration I can find for this week, no one seems to have bothered with the wedding.

Kim

For the sake of Louisa it is a pity that Bounderby wanted to bother with the wedding either. And, more to the point, perhaps, since Bounderby was wealthy, what advantage was there in marrying Louisa? He is many things, but a Lothario, or even remotely interested in a physical relationship or children?

Mary Lou wrote: "I'm wondering how all of you read the interchange between Gradgrind and Louisa. When I read it - admittedly from the point of view of a 20th century woman (not 21st century... I'm not that progress..."

Yes. I too saw her remarks as cutting, critical and sarcastic, but lost on her father who is so in rhythm with his social theories of education and life that he is completely oblivious to any external nuances of comment.

I bet Dickens wrote the chapter with glee and a twinkle in his eye hoping his reading audience would find some fun in his satire.

Mary Lou wrote: "I thought it was too bad that Mrs. Sparsit was leaving, and that her presence in the house may have been a relief for Louisa, in that Bounderby would have not been focusing all his attention on her. The Pollyanna in me hoped that they might even provide companionship for one another, and that they may have formed a friendship over a mutual disdain for Bounderby. ."

I agree. She would have had a potential relationship with some woman who wasn't totally under the Gradgrind thumb; maybe a woman who could have helped her develop at least a small modicum of affection and imagination.

As it is, she's just moved from the domination by one man to the domination by another, neither one seemingly concerned one whit with her emotional or social needs.

Peter wrote: "Kim

For the sake of Louisa it is a pity that Bounderby wanted to bother with the wedding either. And, more to the point, perhaps, since Bounderby was wealthy, what advantage was there in marrying ..."

I assume that having made his pile his thoughts probably go to who am I going to leave all this to. Most successful businessmen want a son to hand things on to.

Kim wrote: " Commentary: Fully visible rather than hidden by his top-hat, Gradgrind's skull is noticeably indented on the top, as if he had an extra brain..."

A phrenologist's dream!

Mary Lou wrote: "Kim wrote: " Commentary: Fully visible rather than hidden by his top-hat, Gradgrind's skull is noticeably indented on the top, as if he had an extra brain..."

A phrenologist's dream!"

Does a phrenologist skulk around his patients? :-))

Peter wrote: "Mary Lou wrote: "I'm wondering how all of you read the interchange between Gradgrind and Louisa. When I read it - admittedly from the point of view of a 20th century woman (not 21st century... I'm ..."

I saw Louisa's questions a little differently -- not quite sarcastic, but as a last attempt to get her father to acknowledge her heart, and to recognize that he is discounting hers in a decision which will impact the rest of her life. Really sad that such a perceptive young woman has such an emotionally obtuse father. It's difficult to reconcile his behaviour with his fondness for her (and for Sissy). But he can't even see that he has reduced his daughter to a life of very little meaning to her -- "What does it matter!"

Louisa's "Fire" comment that Mary Lou drew our attention to, I took as a metaphor for human passion, beneath the monotonous factual smoke. To me, it related to the powerful image of her closing her hand on the "realities that could be grasped", and opening it as though "releasing dust or ash". Her feelings are consumed by facts, and in a way, she has to deaden and bury them -- as she does her friendship with Sissy (as Peter noted), who is the only one in the family who seems to feel compassion for her.

Everyman wrote: "Peter wrote: "Kim

For the sake of Louisa it is a pity that Bounderby wanted to bother with the wedding either. And, more to the point, perhaps, since Bounderby was wealthy, what advantage was ther..."

Foremost in my mind reading the wedding chapter, was the image of a younger Louisa rubbing her face red trying to wipe off Bounderby's kiss. If she feels so strongly over a kiss on the cheek, how will she feel on her wedding night, married to a man who repels her? I agree, she's likely to be bearing Bounderby babies. Ugh.

Everyman wrote: "Kim wrote: "That post, pump, post thing is so, so, so annoying.."

Really? Why??

It's just his way of saying "I call a spade a spade." Is that annoying, too?

Would you rather have him call a pump..."

I felt the same, Kim. Perhaps it's because I wished he would call Louisa by her name. Instead he refers to her as his wife, and twice as Tom Gradgrind's daughter -- in speaking of her, he only mentions how she was brought up. And he doesn't call the wedding as it really is, in Louisa's view -- a loveless match.

Bounderby probably refers to "Tom Gradgrind's daughter" rather than to "Louisa" because for him it is yet another triumph to have risen in society to such an extent as to become an eligible son-in-law to someone like Gradgrind. There's more triumph than affection in his wedding speech. Apart from that, it also mirrors the power relations of the time - Bounderby sorted it all out with Gradgrind, who does probably not really expect his daughter to dance to a different drum.

The conversation between Mr. Gradgrind and his daughter was one of the most dramatic scenes in the novel so far in my eyes. On the one hand, Louisa is self-confident and has a mind of her own, which is shown in her determination not to have her father get away with it all the easiest way but to insist on his stating his case clearly and explicitly. Probably she entertained the vain hope that by putting his expectations as to her union with Bounderby into plain words, he would notice the grossness of the whole proposal. Nevertheless, this plan did not work out.

Her questions as to whether Bounderby expected her to love him or whether there was love involved on Bounderby's part could also be seen as her attempts at showing her father the lovelessness of the match - as her mode of objection to the marriage plan. If true love were expected of her, why then she could not comply with the marriage plans.

I think that her exclamation "What does it matter" is more expressive of her resignation and despair than of sarcasm: She has done what she thought she could in order to make clear her state of mind, but after doing so, she considers it her filial duty to obey her father - maybe with a thought or two of her brother's prospect in her mind, too. Had she any prospect of receiving love and understanding in her life, it would probably matter a great deal - but as matters stand, she thinks she might just as well marry Bounderby.

Yet - as Mary Lou and Vanessa pointed out - there is one little detail that seems ominous: When she talks about the factory chimneys, apparently something that does not really have anything to do with the whole question, she says,

"There seems to be nothing there, but languid and monotonous smoke. Yet when the night comes, Fire bursts out, Father!"

This seems to be in tune with Louisa's inclination to watching the flames in her fireside but it also seems to indicate that there is a lot of passion inside her. One might wonder whether Bounderby will one day have fire rain on his Bullying Head.

Vanessa wrote: "Everyman wrote: "Kim wrote: "That post, pump, post thing is so, so, so annoying.."

Really? Why??

It's just his way of saying "I call a spade a spade." Is that annoying, too?

Would you rather hav..."

Vanessa

I missed the fact that Bounderby does not refer to Louisa by name. I think that is a very important point. HT seems driven by peoples' names as identifying markers. The fact that as a wife she has no name actually says a great deal.

Tristram wrote: "The conversation between Mr. Gradgrind and his daughter was one of the most dramatic scenes in the novel so far in my eyes. On the one hand, Louisa is self-confident and has a mind of her own, whic..."

Tristram

I liked your analysis of Louisa's comment "what does it matter" as being one of "resignation and despair" rather than sarcasm. Your comments have me re-thinking my comment. In context, your arguments do make more sense to the character of Louisa that Dickens has presented us than sarcasm. Thanks.

I also agree that by the "winning" of Louisa's hand Bounderby sees himself as taking yet another step up and out of his apparently horrid past. Louisa is more a prize than a passion.

Vanessa has reminded us that Louisa tried to wipe off her cheek an earlier kiss from her now husband. Louisa appears to face a bleak future.

When I think of Bounderby's interest in Louisa, the fact that he and Gradgrind are cut from the same cloth is part of it, and Gradgrind's becoming an MP certainly was icing on the cake. But the word that pops into my mind more than any other is "lascivious", and I find it very disturbing, particularly due to the age difference and the fact that Bounderby's interest started when Louisa was still a child. Like Vanessa, I can barely stand to think of what poor Louisa will endure on her wedding night and beyond, and it breaks my heart that the men in her life - Tom and her father - threw her to the lion instead of protecting her.

Vanessa wrote: "Really sad that such a perceptive young woman has such an emotionally obtuse father. It's difficult to reconcile his behaviour with his fondness for her (and for Sissy).."

Sad, yes, but I don't find it difficult to reconcile, since his life is Facts, Facts, Facts. Emotion is not a fact, love is not a fact, but the importance of marriage for a young woman is a fact, and that on the basis of pure logic Bounderby is good husband material (family friend, wealthy, hard working, will provide all the factual aspects of marriage that a young woman could want, since love and affection aren't facts). But it's a fact that fathers are supposed to be fond of and care about their children, so that's what he does.

Vanessa wrote: "Foremost in my mind reading the wedding chapter, was the image of a younger Louisa rubbing her face red trying to wipe off Bounderby's kiss. ."

Well, heck, don't most young children do this with kisses? Didn't you used to wipe off the kisses that your aunts and uncles would bestow on you? Or didn't you have that kind of aunts and uncles? I did! I hated being kissed by them, but it was a torment I had to accept.

But those young children grow up into adolescence and start to think kisses aren't that bad, then that they're pretty good!

I'm not sure why everybody is so down on Bounderby. Yes, he's older, but other than that, what's so bad about him? He's been fond of Louisa for a long, long time; this is no fly-by-night infatuation. Although we may look down on it today, older men interested in young girls was by no means unusual or considered inappropriate in Victorian times (look at Lewis Carroll and Alice Liddell for just one. Or Arthur Conan Doyle. Both highly respected.

And Bounderby is in a position to give a young girl of no particular birth a perfectly good, even very comfortable, home. He's not a drunk or bad man. Does anybody think he will beat, or mistreat her, or cheat on her, or otherwise be a bad husband?

Why are you all so down on him??

Peter wrote: "I missed the fact that Bounderby does not refer to Louisa by name. I think that is a very important point. HT seems driven by peoples' names as identifying markers. The fact that as a wife she has no name actually says a great deal. ."

Hmmm. Perhaps. We'll have to see. I think the point that Tristram made about Bounderby's having risen to the right to claim a MP's daughter is valid. But he has called her by name over and over in the book up to this point, so I'm not sure it makes that much difference here. We'll have to see.

Everyman wrote: "Why are you all so down on him??"

Two reasons for me, the first is because he doesn't seem to be able to say anything without talking about himself, usually of how he got himself out of that ditch, and I'm tired of hearing about it. Second, because you like him.

Kim wrote: "Second, because you like him.
.."

Oh dear. So sorry to hear you're down on yourself.

You must be, because I like you.

Everyman wrote: "Why are you all so down on him?? "

It's not just the age difference, as we discussed in earlier chapters. Bounderby has shown himself to be entirely pompous, self-absorbed, pushy (I'm thinking here of his trying to talk Gradgrind out of helping Sissy), and thoroughly unlikable (pump, post, post, pump, toothpick! Sheesh.). This is enough, but for me there's also an intangible lechery about him that I can't define -- it's just there. Is it just me? Or maybe it's just the women in the group whose hackles go up? Though Kim's dislike seems to be more to do with his personality than the creepy factor. Hmm....

Peter wrote: "Tristram wrote: "The conversation between Mr. Gradgrind and his daughter was one of the most dramatic scenes in the novel so far in my eyes. On the one hand, Louisa is self-confident and has a mind..."

Thank you, Peter! Maybe Louisa will become sarcastic after some years of being married to Mr. Bounderby - just like Edith became sarcastic under the treatment she received at her mother's hands.

Everyman wrote: "Well, heck, don't most young children do this with kisses? Didn't you used to wipe off the kisses that your aunts and uncles would bestow on you? Or didn't you have that kind of aunts and uncles? I did! I hated being kissed by them, but it was a torment I had to accept."

What I found by far worse than being kissed by uncles, aunts, grannies and other relatives were two other phenomena:

1) One of my grandmothers especially had the habit on seeing me to pinch my cheek when I was very young and to say something like, "Why, how ruddy your cheeks are! And how chubby!" - I don't know whether they were that chubby - after all I could feel the vise of her fingers very well - but my cheeks was definitely ruddy after she let go of it.

2) The other thing I hated to bits was when my mother and I were outside and she discovered that my face was no longer too clean. In that case she would quickly spit into her handkerchief and rub my face clean with it. That was nightmarish.

Everyman wrote: "And Bounderby is in a position to give a young girl of no particular birth a perfectly good, even very comfortable, home. He's not a drunk or bad man. Does anybody think he will beat, or mistreat her, or cheat on her, or otherwise be a bad husband?"

From a utilitarian point of view, Mr. Bounderby would be a good catch for Louisa because of his wealth and because nothing really bad can be said about him: He is no drunkard and apparently not given to violence. On the other hand, however, he is rather self-centred and callous, and it is to be doubted whether he will treat his wife with respect and consideration.

Then there is the question of love, and I would find it rather cruel to demand the consummation of a marriage unless both husband and wife really want to do this. I am afraid that Bounderby would want to consummate the marriage, even if it were for the sole reason of having children and heirs, but I cannot imagine that Louisa would find fulfilment in such a situation.

So even if I think that love alone is not enough to make a good marriage, a marriage which is not based on love or respect but on abhorrence - this is probably what Louisa feels when she thinks of Bounderby - is a cruelty.

Everyman wrote: "Kim wrote: "Second, because you like him.
.."

Oh dear. So sorry to hear you're down on yourself.

You must be, because I like you."

I'm trying to figure out whether you just said something nice to me or not, I'm still not sure.

Tristram wrote: "One of my grandmothers especially had the habit on seeing me to pinch my cheek when I was very young"

At least one of my aunts, possibly more, used to do that to my sister and she still talks about how much she hated it and how much it hurt and she's now 52 years old. Luckily I escaped the cheek pinching because none of my aunts or uncles would get anywhere near me because I was born out of wedlock. Which was stupid now that I'm thinking of it again.

Mary Lou wrote: "Bounderby has shown himself to be entirely pompous, self-absorbed, pushy (I'm thinking here of his trying to talk Gradgrind out of helping Sissy)..."

Pushy, eh? Was that not good advice under the circumstances, though? It was quite a risk to take an ignorant, unteachable, dirty girl of very dubious parentage and of a class of people with highly questionable morals, of unknown health or carrier of diseases, into your home to befriend and closely associate with your young daughter. It was a risk that may turn out okay, we don't know yet, but at the time it seemed extraordinarily unwise, and I respect Bounderby for trying to dissuade Gradgrind from such a potentially disastrous course.

Tristram wrote: "Then there is the question of love, and I would find it rather cruel to demand the consummation of a marriage unless both husband and wife really want to do this.."

Yes, but you are a modern, and a Western modern at that. Arranged marriages were for millenia the norm, with no thought of love, and many couples got along just fine together. (Not all, for sure, but look at the divorce rate today; do we do any better marrying for love?)

There were the brides sent out west to marry men they had never even met. Love? Pah. But they peopled the West and made a country successful enough that their descendants could marry for love (and divorce almost as rapidly).

And if you think arranged marriages were a terrible thing, there's this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6A2MB...

Tristram wrote: "From a utilitarian point of view, Mr. Bounderby would be a good catch for Louisa because of his wealth and because nothing really bad can be said about him: He is no drunkard and apparently not given to violence. On the other hand, however, he is rather self-centred and callous, and it is to be doubted whether he will treat his wife with respect and consideration.."

I agree with the first half. I'm not sure why you think the second, or why you think he would be any more self-centered and callous as any other potential suitor who is likely to be attracted to Louisa; her personality and training hardly give one, or at least me, any confidence that she would be a warm, living, cheerful wife. I think they're well suited to each other, and if Dickens is an honest observer of human life, I think they'll make a successful marriage and make each as happy as their personalities allow them to be.

Kim wrote: I'm trying to figure out whether you just said something nice to me or not, I'm still not sure. "

That's for me to know and you to keep guessing about.

Peter wrote: "I missed the fact that Bounderby does not refer to Louisa by name. I think that is a very important point. HT seems driven by peoples' names as identifying markers...."

I agree, Peter. Bounderby refers to Louisa as Tom Gradgrind's daughter when informing Mrs. Sparsit of his marital plans, as well. The widow had already given him a hard time about calling Louisa 'the little puss', and insinuated he was like a father to her. Grimace.

Everyman wrote: "Vanessa wrote: "Foremost in my mind reading the wedding chapter, was the image of a younger Louisa rubbing her face red trying to wipe off Bounderby's kiss. ."

Well, heck, don't most young children..."

Louisa is not a young child; she's already an adolescent -- 15 or 16 when we first meet her. Old enough to enjoy a kiss -- or not. She doesn't just wipe it off, she rubs it burning red, then tells her brother he could cut it out with his penknife and she wouldn't cry. A very deep rejection. Though she's been taught to deny her feelings, she can't entirely. By marrying Bounderby, she's dividing herself from her feelings even more, and he (who is old enough to know better) is too blind/callous to see it. Even when she spells out the terms on which she is accepting him ('Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus…'), he evidently doesn't care. I don't see any affection or respect from him, only lust for something else to brag about.

Mary Lou wrote: "This is enough, but for me there's also an intangible lechery about him that I can't define -- it's just there. Is it just me? ..."

No, it's not just you! He's lecherous. I think Dickens very dramatically showed that Louisa instinctively felt this, too. Kind of interesting considering his own inclinations...

Everyman wrote: "Yes, but you are a modern, and a Western modern at that. Arranged marriages were for millenia the norm, with no thought of love, and many couples got along just fine together. (Not all, for sure, but look at the divorce rate today; do we do any better marrying for love?)"

It's so refreshing to be called modern although I consider myself a first-rate conservative through and through. That is also why I am strongly opposed to that modern kind of hedonism which makes feeling the cornerstone of human behaviour - that is to say, you have a right to feel good and to fulfil your fancy's yearnings and whenever these fancies are directed at another person, you call them love. Believe me, I have a colleague who has fallen in love quite often in the last ten days years and so he has two ex-wives (with children) and another woman pregnant. I don't go in for that kind of thing.

Instead I would say that a wise person could not really fall in love with someone that does not share the same values, beliefs and background with him. That sounds snobbish, but maybe the truth is snobbish at times. Common interests, values and aims in life unite people, mere sexual or romantic desire will often wane.

In Louisa and Bounderby's case, however, the situation is different: They do not even share the same values and beliefs, and that is also why Louisa is not merely indifferent with regard to old Bounderby but she really abhors him.

And I am probably not simply casting my modern perception over the book because Dickens seems to intend us readers to think the union between Louisa and Bounderby a mesalliance, a cruel sacrifice on Louisa's part of herself.

Everyman is earning his grump reputation and being quite contrary! How does your garden grow? BUT you make me rethink things and look at them differently. I haven't necessarily changed my opinion, but it's good to be forced to examine it a bit more closely.

I try to imagine what I'd say if a friend was going to take in a child in a similar situation. My role in life seems to be playing devil's advocate and assuming the worst case scenario, so I may well question whether he'd thought the decision through carefully, especially if the child had others willing to take her in. So perhaps "pushy" was strong.

And there are times when I think arranged marriages may well end up happier than marriages that start with a passion that quickly burns out. You've posted my favorite scene from "Fiddler" so I'm inclined to be generous. ;-) Though I don't believe that will be the case with these two. Mr. and Mrs. Gradgrind don't seem to have taken the time to get to know their daughter well enough to find someone who will both provide for her AND be a good partner -- someone who will inspire Louisa to be a warm, loving, and cheerful wife in return. (And in Louisa's defense, I don't get the impression that her mother has been a good role model when it comes to being warm, loving, and cheerful!)

Tristram wrote: "It's so refreshing to be called modern although I consider myself a first-rate conservative through and through".

Yes, I thought it was odd he called you modern, I never would have thought of such a thing. Of either of you for that matter. And now I'm off to look up hedonism and mésalliance.