Bleak House ch. 57-67 (end)

Dear J-

So actually, I’ve been sitting on the completed novel for a week; last Friday seemed a bit rushed to be staking out the borders, that’s all. MAJOR SPOILERS ahead, be forewarned.

57. Esther’s Narrative
58. A Wintry Day and Night
59. Esther’s Narrative
60. Perspective
61. A Discovery
62. Another Discovery
63. Steel and Iron
64. Esther’s Narrative
65. Beginning the World
66. Down in Lincolnshire
67. The Close of Esther’s Narrative

Progress: 100%

Now that I’ve finished, I afforded myself the luxury of peeking at the wikipedia entry on Bleak House — apparently, it was published in twenty monthly installments of three to four chapters apiece; I’d go back to peek at the ends of each installment to see what the climax is on each, but I’ll declare this: the end of installment eighteen, chapter 59, is when the story reaches its peak. After that, it’s essentially all over but the shouting. Remember the end of the movie version of Return of the King? Kinda like that, only not half as long.

I’ve come to understand the vanity of appearance as I get older in this world; of propriety and iniquity, reputation and ruin. The Jarndyce and Jarndyce suit reminds me that our name outlives the body, even when breathed unnatural life by warring legal factions, so I start to see why Lady Dedlock took the actions she did in concealing her past. It is a mother’s love, not a noblewoman’s fear, that drives her to flee. Oh sure, there is the idea that she’s doing it to spare Sir Leicester’s feelings, and that she’s not worthy of the station, but you have to have witnessed the fierce love keeping a child from harm’s way to understand.

The discovery of the will governing the Jarndyce case and Esther’s marriage bring a close to the other two main plot lines. In both instances, like George’s reunion with mother and brother, there’s a sense of family completion: pieces click into place as though by magic; the closely-knit England is pulled even tighter by Dickens’ invisible hand with not a loose strand left.

“Well, Mr. Rouncewell,” George replies, leaning forward with his left arm on his knee and his hat in his hand, and very chary of meeting his brother’s eye, “I am not without my expectations that in the present visit I may prove to be more free than welcome. I have served as a dragoon in my day, and a comrade of mine that I was once rather partial to was, if I don’t deceive myself, a brother of yours. I believe you had a brother who gave his family some trouble, and ran away, and never did any good but in keeping away?”

“Are you quite sure,” returns the ironmaster in an altered voice, “that your name is Steel?”

And so it goes; endings are beginnings of stories left untold. After all, our lives sometimes feel like a random collision of journeys. We spin in and out of each other’s orbits as the years roll past; as our stars collide, we spin out worlds of our own. Our heavenly bodies, our starry eyes; our trite clichés demand better than our stone ears and crossed, confused wires. Amidst chaos, creation always; we are so lucky to have the little understanding we impart to each other. How else can we hold our fractions together otherwise, sparks flying out and catching imagination and wonder?

Mike

Tags: bleak house, dickens, nanoremo