We were at his house for dinner one night and I asked, “What will you do for income if the strike drags on?” He answered, “Oh the Union has funds for that. But I would never dip into that pool; I have other resources. I say let that be for the people that really need it.”
As I was then in the middle of North and South, I was struck with a “the more things change, the more they stay the same” feeling. Nicholas Higgins tells Margaret that he can support his family during the strike with what he’s saved, but tells Boucher:
“Hou’d up, man. Thy lile Jack shall na’ clem…An’ th’ Union–that’s to say, I–will take care yo’ve enough for th’ children and th’ missus. So dunno turn faint-heart, and go to th’ tyrants a-seeking work.”
Gaskell’s style is notable for putting local dialect words into the mouths of middle-class characters and the narrator. In North and South, Margaret Hale suggests redding up (tidying) the Bouchers’ house and even offers jokingly to teach her mother words such as knobstick (strike-breaker). In 1854 Gaskell defended her use of dialect to express otherwise inexpressible concepts in a letter to Walter Savage Landor:
… you will remember the country people’s use of the word “unked”. I can’t find any other word to express the exact feeling of strange unusual desolate discomfort, and I sometimes “potter” and “mither” people by using it.
A number of 19th-century authors were interested in native dialects: Scottish for Sir Walter Scott, Irish for Maria Edgeworth. Gaskell, influenced by her husband’s work, did not hesitate to give her Milton workers Mancunian (Manchester dialect) expressions and vocabulary without going as far as Emily Brontë’s transcription of Yorkshire or Dickens’ Yarmouth fishermen in David Copperfield. She developed a reputation for the skilful use of dialect to indicate status, age or intimacy between speakers.North and South (Gaskell novel) - Wikipedia
I don’t know about “reddying up” or “knobstick,” but I definitely can’t get the word “clemming” out of my head!
When I was reading Thornton’s description, I felt his response was defensive. He would never be considered a “gentleman” by the standards of the time. His opinion of the words “gentleman” and “man” are thoughtful and truthful, but I felt his words came from a place of defense and frustration, as well as anger.
Yes, he seems to be having an ongoing internal struggle. He’s a self-made man—and proud of it—but he diligently studies the classics — maybe as a way of closing the gap between his own educational background and that of the upper classes.
What are your thoughts on the about-face Margaret and Mr. Thornton have with regard to their financial status?
Hey, I’m a modern woman and it’s cool by me. But back in 1855, once word got out about the match, I think London society would have been scratching their heads. It would look like the gain was entirely on Mr. Thornton’s side – a hardscrabble failed manufacturer marrying a wealthy gentlewoman. I don’t think the gossip would have been kind, not that John or Margaret would care a whit about that.
What do you think about the riot and how Margaret and Mr. Thornton each reacted?
I liked that Margaret spoke her mind and that her first instinct was to physically protect another person. I do think she was speaking the truth when she said she would have done that for anyone, not just Mr. Thornton.
I think it’s strange that a woman could have at least a modicum of autonomy at that time (walking about unescorted, traveling, etc.), yet if she throws her arms around a man in public—during a riot no less—it’s shameful enough that a marriage proposal is the polite next step.
This part of the story definitely made me roll my eyes up real high in my head. Seems like it would be an pretty easy way to get the man of your dreams.
Or be forced to marry a man who was NOT the man of your dreams!
(It’s been a while since I’ve watched it, but wasn’t there a plot line like this in Bridgerton? Where an ambitious mother sets up her daughter to be found alone with a particularly eligible man? Not that Bridgerton is historically accurate by any means, but it pulls from Victorian tropes.)
Margaret and John break an unspoken rule by being together behind closed doors, but by then Margaret has already declared independence from her Aunt Shaw’s rules – and no one in that family (except the absent Henry Lennox) views Mr. Thornton as romantic threat anyway.
As a result, we get a proposal and and acceptance – and since both of those things were unexpected going into that room, the exchange is informal. And apparently, that’s quite unusual for the time in which it was written.
This is a fun essay, especially if you’ve read some of these classics:
If you want a laugh, just read pages 7 & 8 for how Oscar Wilde writes a proposal and acceptance. There’s also a section on when it’s okay to use the first name of your beloved (in the case of Mr. & Mrs. Bennet, that would be never).
Like @AnAsmom , I read North and South many years ago. I thought about watching the miniseries as a refresher, but life intervened … I’m enjoying the discussion but not wishing I’d reread the book!
I think the dense classics become much easier with re-reading, but it’s kind of a conundrum because you have to want to go back for a re-read and that’s not usually the case if the first time through was drudgery.
I first read North and South after I saw the mini-series, and then I read it again almost immediately because I felt like I’d missed a lot because of the unfamiliar diction and subject matter. This time, it moved quickly.
If I recall correctly, @ignatius enjoyed her trip back to Middlemarch.
I might be inspired to re-read Moby Dick some day, but you couldn’t pay me to re-read The Magic Mountain.
It’s funny how this changes too as you age! 3 decades ago or so ago I waded in with no hesitation to read North and South and therefore I had no qualms doing it the second time. 5 years later, it seems like I’ve lost steam for the especially long and dense classics.
I was very enthusiastic about rereading Vanity Fair a few years ago but now you couldn’t pay me to do so. It is the same with many other books that I enjoyed reading the first time and even the second. It is a pity because I feel that I understand the books and the authors’ message better with each iteration.
However, there are books that are long and filled with turgid writing, like Tolkien’s LotR and Hobbit that I can make an exception for and do. I recently read all 4 volumes in 2 weeks. It probably has something to with the genre
I will confess that the last time I reread the LotR (and I’ve read it many, many times) I was very sad to realize that it was no longer the best book in the world, I just had no patience for the style of writing and was more irritated by the lack of female characters.
You couldn’t pay me to reread Vanity Fair, but that’s because I absolutely loathed it as a freshman in high school. I think I might have had more patience for it if I’d read it later, but maybe not, it was the lack of any sympathetic characters that made it such an unpleasant read for me.
Moby Dick I chose to read junior year with a teacher I loved, and quite enjoyed it.
Leonards (internal ailment, plus a fall to speed along his demise)
Boucher (suicide)
Mr. Hale (heart failure)
Mr. Bell (stroke, probably – “apoplectic fit”)
The deaths drive the plot, but don’t seem out of line for 1855. Life expectancy in Manchester, England in the 19th century was short. No wonder John Thornton felt “too old to begin again” after he lost the mill.
I found the passage where Bessy talks about what caused her illness:
“I think I was well when mother died, but I have never been rightly strong sin’ somewhere about that time. I began to work in a carding-room soon after, and the fluff got into my lungs, and poisoned me.”
“Fluff?” said Margaret, inquiringly.
“Fluff,” repeated Bessy. “Little bits, as fly off fro’ the cotton, when they’re carding it, and fill the air till it looks all fine white dust. They say it winds rounds the lungs, and tightens them up. Anyhow, there’s many a one as works in a carding-room, that falls into a waste, coughing and spitting blood, because they’re just poisoned by the fluff.”
What struck me about the deaths were the funerals. Margaret didn’t even go to her father’s funeral and he was buried in Oxford rather than going back to Milton to be buried next to his wife. If I recall correctly, as a woman Margaret wasn’t expected to attend Bessy’s funeral and it was also improper for her to go alone. I guess that was also reflective of Victorian times but still strange.
Apparently, women were strongly discouraged from attending because (as Margaret explains the custom with annoyance) they allegedly “have no power over their emotions.” Sort of ironic, considering Margaret is the one who keeps it together, while Dixon reports to her that “Master Frederick’s like one crazed with crying” and that she is “really afraid for master, that he’d have a stroke with grief.”
The time between Mrs. Hale’s death and her funeral seemed long to me, but I guess it was about three days (with her laid out in the bedroom). I read online that this was common practice, and that without embalming (infrequent until the late 1800s), the room was generally filled with flowers to cover any potential unpleasant smells.
Margaret grows up a little with each death, maturing in her approach. She doesn’t even want to lay eyes on Bessy:
"This girl downstairs wanted me to ask you, if you would like to see her.”
“But she’s dead!” said Margaret, turning a little pale. “I never saw a dead person. No! I would rather not.”
By the time Boucher’s death occurs (after her mother’s), Margaret does not hesitate to step up to the board “on which lay some dead human creature”:
Margaret recognised John Boucher. It seemed to her so sacrilegious to be peering into that poor distorted, agonised face, that, by a flash of instinct, she went forwards and softly covered the dead man’s countenance with her handkerchief.
And for the final death of the novel, Margaret sees the deceased Mr. Bell, with “a quiet farewell taken of the kind old face that had so often come out with pleasant words, and merry quips and cranks.”
She seems to be moving toward acceptance of what Mr. Bell advised her of – “the instability of all human things.”
But back in 1855, once word got out about the match, I think London society would have been scratching their heads. It would look like the gain was entirely on Mr. Thornton’s side – a hardscrabble failed manufacturer marrying a wealthy gentlewoman. I don’t think the gossip would have been kind, not that John or Margaret would care a whit about that.
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