I’ve had the idea in the back of my mind for a long time that I’d like to read every full-length Dickens novel, but I only just recently decided to get serious about it. For some reason, I decided that also should include re-reading ones that I don’t remember well. I vaguely remember enjoying Our Mutual Friend when I read it about 15 years ago, but I couldn’t remember the details.
First takeaway: Even by Dickens’ standards, this novel feels a trifle padded. I generally love Dickens’ verbosity, but there were times when even I had to question whether certain chapters were strictly necessary. Contrary to popular belief, Dickens was not paid by the word; however, he was paid by the issue, which would incentivize him to stretch a paragraph or two into a full-blown chapter. If you’re on the fence about Dickens, this might not be the best novel to tackle right off the bat.
Second takeaway: This is the most satirical and character-driven of the Dickens novels I’ve read. The story is anchored in criticism of classism and greed, with themes about money, education, and social standing being at its heart. Yet, in the end, it’s optimistic. Characters grow, good deeds are rewarded, and love conquers all.
As you might expect, Our Mutual Friend boasts a soap opera-esque plot. To sum it up in a very un-Dickens-like manner, a wealthy old man passes away and leaves a stipulation in his will that his estranged son, John Harmon, must marry Miss Bella Wilfer to inherit the estate. If Harmon fails to do so, the entire fortune will pass to the old man’s devoted servants, Noddy and Henrietta Boffin. On the evening before young Harmon is expected to return from abroad to collect his legacy, news arrives that his body has been discovered, drowned in the Thames. The wealth passes to Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, who are so generous that they invite poor Miss Wilfer to come live with them, because they feel bad about her missing out on a fortune through sheer bad luck. (They also decide to adopt an orphan; more on that under the character listing below.) On the heels of these events, a mysterious stranger named John Rokesmith appears and offers his services to Mr. Boffin as his private secretary. Mr. Boffin, being more heart than head, needs all the help he can get managing his money, so he agrees to hire Rokesmith on a trial basis. Rokesmith falls in love with Bella, but she thinks a lowly secretary is beneath her, in spite of her own modest upbringing. Over time, other characters come along who try to take advantage of the Boffins’ generosity, and Mr. Boffin himself seems to fall prey to the deadly sin of avarice.
In the interconnected “B” plot, Lizzie Hexam, daughter of the man who fished John Harmon’s body out of the Thames, wishes to provide an education for her brother Charley over the objections of their father, “Gaffer” Hexam. One of Gaffer’s rivals in the body-fishing business starts a rumor that the reason old Gaffer was lucky enough to come upon Harmon’s body in the river was because he was the one wot put it there! Sadly for Lizzie, she would probably be the ideal woman if she weren’t carrying the stigmas of poverty and her relationship to an accused murderer. In spite of all this, she’s so beautiful and kind that two men fall madly in love with her: Bradley Headstone, her brother Charley’s detestable schoolmaster; and Eugene Wrayburn, a well-bred lawyer of limited means who is also a bit of a rogue. Wrayburn is passionate towards Lizzie, but he obviously can’t marry her (what would society say?), which leaves Lizzie in the uncomfortable position of having to flee from the attentions of both these men. (Wrayburn, because his intentions aren’t honorable and Headstone, because she doesn’t like him and he won’t take no for an answer.)
There’s much more plot, but being such a character-driven novel, I’d like to go into more detail about some of the major ones and how they are portrayed. (Um, spoilers below.)
John Rokesmith: If you haven’t figured it out already, John Rokesmith is young John Harmon in disguise. This isn’t truly a spoiler, because Dickens intended for his audience to cotton on to it. For audience members who were slower on the uptake, Harmon explains exactly what happened in an inner monologue just about half-way through the novel. He had come to London early to try to get a look at his intended bride and see what she was like (What if he didn’t like her? What if she didn’t like him?) In a classic case of mistaken identity, he and a shipmate switched clothes, and both were attacked and left for dead by the very same ne’er-do-well who later accuses Gaffer of the murder. While Harmon was recovering, the shipmate was found dead in the Thames with John Harmon’s identifying papers on him. (The supposed friend planned to steal from Harmon anyway, so no tears shed for that guy.) By the time Harmon reappeared, news of his death was all over town and the Boffins were installed as the heirs. He decided to roll with the situation for a bit and see how things played out with Miss Wilfer, hoping to win her love the honest way and not just because of his money. To John’s credit, when Bella tells him she’s not interested and to stop making googly eyes at her, he does. To John’s detriment, he keeps his true identity secret until well after they are married and have a baby together.
Bella Wilfer: Bella is a good person at heart, but she’s spoiled and resents that she wasn’t born rich (I hear ya, Bella!). Her family isn’t poor, but they are definitely of the lower middle class, and Bella has more expensive dreams. Her mother and sister are also really annoying, so you can sort of sympathize with her to some extent. She loves her pa, and she’s at least honest with herself and her family about what she wants: money! Tired of being on the lower rungs of society, she is determined to marry rich, which is why she won’t initially give John Rokesmith the time of day. As I said, though, she’s basically a good person, and when Mr. Boffin starts cutting into his secretary to an unreasonable degree, she defends him. This is the part in the romantic comedy where the heroine realizes she really did love the hero all along. I appreciate that Bella is honest with herself and others about her objective. She calls herself “mercenary” and, in spite of her desires, she truly does resent being packaged into somebody’s will and “bought” by money (it’s a moral paradox). My biggest complaint about this character–and, honestly, about the novel as a whole–is that she becomes a perfect Victorian woman after her marriage and doesn’t even get upset about multiple people lying to her for months. I guess the wealth softens the blow a bit, but I would have liked to have seen her show a little more spunk at the end.
Mr. & Mrs. Boffin: Sometimes it seems like the Boffins are too good to be true. They remember little John Harmon fondly from when he was a child; indeed, the adult “Rokesmith” recalls them as his only friends in his father’s big, sprawling home. Mrs. Boffin is loving and maternal and takes Bella under her wing. Mr. Boffin is a bit simple but strives to improve himself by hiring a local poet (see Silas Wegg, below) to read to him. It’s rather heartbreaking to see Mr. Boffin fall into the traps of wealth and start acting like a miser. Is he truly a lost cause, or is good ol’ Mr. Boffin still in there?
Orphan Johnny: Every Dickens novel is required to have an ill-fated orphan, so poor little Johnny was doomed the minute the Boffins decided they wanted to adopt him. They found the perfect, golden-haired child to take into their home, and they decide to rename him after the deceased John Harmon. The poor kid dies before they can even take him home, which is a huge bummer, but two good things come of it. First, they realize they were being shallow in looking for a “perfect” child to take in, so they decide to offer their home to the older, hilariously named Sloppy. Second, little Johnny’s dying words are some of my favorite in the novel: “A kiss for the boofer lady.” (That’s Bella.)
Silas Wegg: Most Dickens novels also have a resident slacker (e.g., Skimpole in Bleak House), and Silas Wegg is our man. He’s a poet with a wooden leg whom Mr. Boffin hires to read to him. Because Mr. Boffin isn’t the wiliest of gents at the start of the novel, Wegg is able to con him into also providing a place for him to live and additional perks as their relationship progresses. Soon even this isn’t enough to satisfy Wegg’s greed; after finding an alternate will, he decides to blackmail Boffin into giving him half his fortune, noting that Boffin will do anything to hang on to at least a portion of what he has. (“He’s grown too fond of money!”) Fortunately, Boffin has friends watching out for him. In Sloppy’s shining moment, Wegg ends up dumped on a literal pile of garbage.
Lizzie Hexam: Lizzie is many things: loving sister; dutiful daughter; poor; uneducated; quietly determined. She’s the quiet, steadfast, and near-perfect woman that the hero may not notice at first (think, Agnes in David Copperfield or Biddy in Great Expectations). She forces her brother to go to school, something that infuriates her father. When Gaffer dies, she truly becomes independent by finding a job and a place to live. She would get by alright if the men in this novel weren’t determined to make her life more difficult. Her father railed against higher education, a decision that held back both his children; a guy she can’t stand won’t leave her alone; a guy she really likes tells her he can’t marry her; and her brother turns out to be an ungrateful jerk. Lizzie stays true to herself, which is why I prefer the Lizzie-Eugene storyline over the Bella-John romance.
Eugene Wrayburn: We meet Eugene in the very first chapter at the very first dinner party. He’s a lawyer who doesn’t seem to have much work, and his fortune and standing are tied to his father, who is a stickler for sticking to one’s social class (like any good Victorian). He’s also a little bit of a jerk in way that makes him some enemies even while he’s endearing himself to the reader. He’s immediately taken with Lizzie Hexam and can’t seem to let her go, even as his friend Mortimer Lightwood keeps asking him, “Dude, what are you doing? Are you going to marry her?” Of course the answer has to be no. . . . I liked Eugene in spite of his shortcomings and was pleased that he redeemed himself in the end. All it took was being nearly murdered by his rival for Lizzie’s affections.
Bradley Headstone: TOXIC MALE ALERT! Not since Mr. M’Choakumchild of Hard Times has a name instantly telegraphed that someone was bad news. (Why does Dickens always save the most hilarious and spot-on names for teachers?) No doubt he thinks he’s a “nice guy” who is doing Lizzie a favor by offering to provide her with tutoring, so he’s furious that Eugene has beat him to the punch and already arranged for an instructor. Then, when she turns down his marriage proposal–I beg your pardon, proposals–he’s about ready to kill someone. He’s so offensive that the lovely Lizzie is forced to be blunt with him, saying, “Mr. Headstone. . .it makes me able to tell you that I do not like you, and that I never have liked you from the first, and that no other living creature has anything to do with the effect you have produced upon me for yourself.” Damn, that should make it clear! Typically, his response is essentially, “I knew it was Wrayburn’s fault.”
Charley Hexam: When Lizzie sends her brother off to get his education, they part on sweet terms. Then he learns how to conjugate verbs and suddenly he becomes a sexist asshole. As soon as he starts excelling in school he dons the cloak of the patriarchy and thinks he should be able to tell Lizzie what to do. He’s the man of the house now! He’s livid when Lizzie turns down Headstone’s proposal, thinking her ingratitude is going to get in the way of his advancement. When he realizes that Headstone has attacked Eugene, he finally tells him off: yay! Wait, no, not because what Headstone did was amoral and criminal, but because Charley might seem guilty by association. In the end, he tells Headstone that he (Charley) doesn’t want anything else to do with him (Headstone) OR with Lizzie. What a little shit.
Mr. & Mrs. Laemmle: Much is made of the Laemmles’ wedding when they get married early on in the novel. Sadly for them, neither realize until after the ceremony that the other doesn’t have nearly as much money as they were led to believe. Where one might expect disappointment, these two are furious at everyone else in their social circle for not cluing them in. Once they’ve shed a few tears over the situation, they start plotting how they can build some wealth while sticking it to their alleged “friends.” One of their plots involves marrying the horrible Mr. Fledgby to Georgianna, the shy daughter of wealthy Mr. & Mrs. Podsnap. Fortunately, whereas Mr. Laemmle is truly a brute, Mrs. Laemmle grows a conscience and saves Georgianna from a fate worse than marrying Bradley Headstone. The Laemmles are a conniving pair whose shenanigans drive multiple plot points throughout the novel. The last time we see them is a comic scene (see Mr. Fledgby, below), but I worry about what’s going to happen to Mrs. Laemmle. She’s no saint, but she’s also trapped in a loveless marriage with a horrible man.
Mr. Fledgby: Not only is this a guy you don’t want your daughter to marry, he’s also a money lender. What’s worse, he hides the business behind Mr. Riah, a local Jewish man. He lends money to everyone, puts the screws to them when they can’t pay, and makes Riah out to be the bad guy. He even takes joy in foreclosing on his acquaintances, including the Laemmles. The last we see of Fledgby, he’s just had his ass kicked by Mr. Laemmle, who has learned the truth about the money-lending business. Hah!
Jenny Wren: Often, the strongest women in Dickens novels, the ones who can speak truth to power, are the ones who are slightly disfigured or special in some way (e.g., the little person, Miss Mowcher, in David Copperfield). Jenny Wren is still a child but speaks with the wisdom of an old woman. She’s a doll’s dressmaker whose “back is bad and legs queer,” and who is a default parent to her drunken father, whom she literally refers to as her child. She befriends Lizzie and gets to know Eugene, and she’s not afraid to be honest with him. Jenny is one of my favorite characters in this novel, so I was delighted when one of her last scenes involved dropping in on Fledgby, finding him in agony from his recent beating by Mr. Laemmle, pretending to tend to him, and then putting pepper on his wounds to make them hurt more. Double hah!
Mr. Riah: The face of Fledgby’s money-lending business, Mr. Riah is a kind-hearted Jewish man who becomes friendly with Lizzie and Jenny Wren. In some ways he’s a secondary father figure to the pair, neither of whom had a positive paternal figure (Jenny even refers to him as “godfather”). Many scholars believe that Dickens wrote this character to make amends for his negative portrayal of Fagin as “the Jew” in Oliver Twist. To be fair, Dickens isn’t known for pulling any punches when it comes to hypocrisy in any religion. He gets in a good shot when Mortimer Lightwood says to Eugene, “You have fallen into the hands of the Jews,” and Eugene returns, “My dear boy. . .having previously fallen into the hands of some Christians, I can bear it with philosophy.” Incidentally, Dickens ceased referring to Fagin as “the Jew” mid-way through the publication of Oliver Twist after he got a letter from a Jewish acquaintance calling him out on it, but that’s a story for a different review.
Mr. Twemlow: I would say that Mr. Twemlow bookends the novel, but it would be more appropriate to say that he “dinner tables” it. Dickens spends multiple paragraphs in the first chapter describing Mr. Twemlow as an “innocent piece of dinner furniture” that is trotted out for every dinner party. This was a passage I had to read three times to make sure I understood the metaphor and we were, in fact, talking about a living person. In spite of my slowness, Mr. Twemlow is my absolute favorite character in this novel, because he shows real growth and is a living embodiment of Dickens’ theme. In the first chapter, all Twemlow cares about is his place in society, and he spends far too much time wondering whether he is truly the hosts’ oldest friend. In the final chapter, it’s good old Twemlow who speaks up and defends true love when “society” is sneering at Eugene and Lizzie. Bravo, Mr. Twemlow!
There are many more fascinating characters I didn’t mention: Rogue Riderhood, the opportunistic waterman who accuses Gaffer of murder and also throws shoes at his ironically named daughter, Pleasant; Abby Patterson, proprietress of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters (if I ever open a pub, that’s what I’m naming it); the Veneerings, the “new money” couple whose dinner parties bracket the novel; Mr. Venus, who owns a taxidermy shop (every novel should have a taxidermist) and proves to be an unexpected ally for Mr. Boffin; Mr. Posnap, whose view of himself as the center of the world is dubbed Podsnappery, a term that’s made its way into my general vocabulary. The list goes on, and on.
To sum up: There were times when I felt Dickens could have used fewer words, and I’d be lying if I said that the Victorian ideal of the perfect wife didn’t vex me, but overall this novel is up there with Dickens’ best. It’s not quite a Great Expectations or Bleak House, but it’s definitely on par with David Copperfield. 4.75 stars!
