Aye, 'tis a muddle all right

Well now that's done and I'm glad it's over. I've finally read "Hard Times", which means I can lay claim to having read all of Dickens's novels, all his Christmas books and a fair share of his short fiction. The reason I waited so long with "Hard Times" was that I was warned against it, and suspected myself that, judging by the subject matter, I wouldn't like it. And I didn't, but now at least I can rubbish it knowing what I'm talking about.

Although I love Dickens and would rather read something mediocre by his standards than most modern authors' best efforts, I'm the first to admit that he isn't perfect. This is part of the fun: liking and disliking different part of Dickens's works can lead to very lively discussions among Dickens fans. For my part, I don't think that social satire, for which he is so lauded by high-minded intellectuals, is really his forte. What makes it bearable is how he uses human drama to illustrate diverse social ills. It is the fates of Rick and Ada and poor miss Flite (and Gridley if you feel more charitable towards him than I do) which make the description of Chancery interesting in "Bleak House", although Dickens does not have a single constructive idea as to how civil law cases should be handled instead. The Circumlocution Office is a pretty lame satire of a government department, but the Barnacles are instantly recognisable as types (as an administrator, I recognise and have occasionally myself used Barnacle strategies - pompous condescension, blustering defensiveness and friendly unhelpfulness - against hostile clients/customers). As to how a department should be run, Dickens has no more clue than William Dorrit would have. He is the Concerned Citizen who, if he didn't write books about his concerns, would write letters to the Times about them. He may shine a light on a particular problem, but that's all he does: for solutions you have to go elsewhere.

I was rather interested to see what a socially concerned, non-socialist observer like Dickens would make of industrial relations, but "Hard Times" leaves me little wiser. What is it he wants? Less smoke? Safer working conditions? More green spaces in the town? A less aggressive tone from factory owners when faced with complaints from their workers or from government officials? Something like that, I suppose, and it sounds fair enough, but it hardly adds up to a Grand Vision. You can't shake the feeling, either, that his observations are those of an outsider, an appalled Londoner on a flying visit who finds industrial towns aesthetically unappealing in their smokiness and sameness, although this may not be the main concern of the people who actually live there.

All right, but I didn't expect brilliant social satire, nor would I (if the truth be told) be that interested in reading a brilliant social satire on industrial England. The problem with "Hard Times" is that Dickens's imprecise rants are not balanced by the human interest you normally find in his novels. I hardly know which character is the more underdeveloped: the dastardly factory owner Bounderby (yes, that's his name!) or the honest, noble and extremely tiresome power-loom weaver Stephen Blackpool. Bounderby is incapable of one kind word or deed, but what's worse, he doesn't have the consolation usually accorded to Evil Capitalist characters, namely that of being brainy. In fact, he's quite impossibly daft: when there's a theft in his bank, he ignores a glaringly obvious suspect; he does not realise when an elegant London gentleman makes a play for his wife under his very nose; his housekeeper runs rings round him. The famous "gold spoon" tirade is woefully unfunny and does not improve on repetition. One of the strongest scenes in the book is when Bounderby's mum proudly defends herself against the charge of being a bad mother, not knowing that it is her "darling boy" who has slandered her in the first place. But the drama and the strength of the writing cannot make up for the fact that the whole situation is improbable in the extreme, for who in his right mind would denounce a loving parent just for the sake of being able to tell a hard-luck story? It is not only heartless, it is also stupid, when an enemy (and Bounderby does not lack enemies) can check up on his background at any time.

I do think though, on reflection, that Stephen is an even worse failure as a character, and a fine illustration of the both gushing and patronising tone Dickens uses when describing the factory workforce. I found myself positively warming to the wicked union representative Slackbridge (Marxists take note: Dickens is not in favour of unions, nor of silver-tongued middle-class socialist agitators) because he is so unlike the dense-seeming noble savages in workman's clothing whom he is haranguing and "leading astray". In particular, he is refreshingly mean to Stephen, who speaks like a not very bright ten-year-old with a speech impediment. If I were a power-loom weaver, I'm not sure I would be thrilled to be represented in a book by this surly, soppy dunce, however good and honest. The obviously well-educated (and yes, I admit I enjoyed that satirical detail) Slackbridge has one advantage over Dickens when it comes to being the workers' friend: he doesn't talk down to his audience.

The other theme of the novel - the attack on soulless education and philosophies that deny the power of feeling and imagination - works a little better, but again it is let down by weak characterisation, at least by Dickensian standards. The fact-obsessed Gradgrind who finally sees the error of his ways is the closest Dickens comes in this book to a well-rounded character, but he is not very engaging, and his supposedly damaged children even less so. Louisa is plain dull - even a cardboard cut-out like Bounderby deserves a better wife than this walking misery - and surely no education in the world would have made a good man of the ungracious Tom. Louisa's would-be seducer Harthouse is a tired Steerforth clone, of the kind we see a little too often in Dickens's novels. His seduction methods are not without interest, but there is not a lot of spark between him and the dismal Louisa. Sissy Jupe makes Pollyanna look like a troubled and brooding soul. My favourite character is Bitzer the teacher's pet turned social climber. I can't deny, though, that he is a minor character without much inner life to speak of: a promising boy ground down in the hard school of Dickens's didacticism. (Trust me, Manchester liberalism does not prescribe putting your mum in the workhouse.) He wins the title of best villain in the book more or less on walkover.