Category Archives: Charles Dickens

Edgar Allan Poe: Creator of Enduring Terror and Literary Masterpieces

Edgar-Allan-Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was the first American writer to earn a living completely by his pen–though that living wasn’t always enough to live on. The legendary author redefined the genre of horror and is rightly called the father of the modern detective novel. But these legacies are the result of a more visceral one: Poe’s ability to evoke an all-encompassing terror that springs not from without, but from within.

Poe’s Incredible Influence

It’s well known that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle used Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin as a model for his own detective, Sherlock Holmes, and that Doyle’s short stories (“Hound of the Baskervilles” in particular) owe a tremendous debt to Poe. Indeed, Doyle once rhetorically asked, “Where was the detective story until Poe breathed life into it?” But Poe’s influence reached beyond the worlds of horror and mystery. He has long been a beloved figure in literature, one whose power has not waned with the passage of many generations.

Poe and Washington Irving exchanged admiration for one another via correspondence. Irving noted that “the graphic effect [of “Fall of the House of Usher”] is powerful.” Poe responded by sending Irving a copy of “William Wilson,” which he considered his best work. Poe admitted that the story had been inspired by Irving himself, particularly Irving’s “An Unwritten Drama of Lord Byron.”

Robert Louis Stevenson said of Poe, “He who could write ‘King Pest’ has ceased to be a human being.” Stevenson found Poe’s stories absolutely gripping, and was undoubtedly flattered when critic Andrew Lang said that Stevenson was “like Poe with the addition of moral sense.”

Meanwhile Oscar Wilde ranked Poe’s poetry as more important than that of Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Wilde emulated elements of Poe’s style in The Picture of Dorian Gray–which wasn’t lost on Walter Pater, who ardently praised Wilde’s efforts to evoke Poe’s style in the novel. Wilde’s colleague and defender George Bernard Shaw, often an unforgiving critic, was downright effusive about Poe, saying that the American author “constantly and inevitably produced magic where his greatest contemporaries produced only beauty. [His tales are] a world record for the English language: perhaps for all languages.”

Allen Ginsberg argued that “everything leads to Poe….Burroughs, Baudelaire, Genet, Dylan,” and Jorge Luis Borges contended that “contemporary literature would not be what it is” without Whitman and Poe. TS Eliot, however, was not initially convinced of Poe’s genius. He excluded Poe from both American and European literary traditions, calling Poe a “displaced European.” Eliot later acknowledged that he’d underestimated Poe’s talent.

Vladimir Nabokov included multiple allusions to “Annabel Lee” in his masterpiece, Lolita. It appears that Nabokov was indeed deeply interested in Poe; he meticulously mapped the area around Poe’s home and sketched the manifestations of soul in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (which he taught within the context of Poe). Both documents are currently on view at the Morgan Library’s excellent exhibit, Edgar Allan Poe: Terror of the Soul.

Later on, novelist and screenwriter Terry Southern, author of Dr. Strangelove, was deeply influenced by Poe, especially The Narrative of A Gordon Pym. Southern wrote an appreciation of Poe, called “King Weirdo,” which was published posthumously. And Stephen King has frequently borrowed archetypal themes from Poe’s works for his own horror novels. The Shining reminds us of both “Masque of the Red Death” and “Fall of the House of Usher.”

Collecting Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe makes a fascinating focus for a single-author collection and also fits wonderfully into nineteenth-century American literature and horror literature libraries. Poe’s works weren’t actually that popular during his lifetime, so they were issued in relatively small print runs. The first edition of Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827) is famously scarce; only twelve copies are known to exist. (Three are currently on display together at the Morgan Library!)

Even if Tamerlane is out of reach, there are countless other desirable editions and volumes. For example the Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe, published by George Robertson in 1868, was the first edition of Poe’s works to appear in Australia. It differs significantly from the British and American editions.

No illustrated editions of Poe’s works were published during his lifetime. The first, Tales of Mystery, Imagination and Humor; and Poems (1852) was illustrated by artists unknown, as they were not given credit for their work. Famous illustrators Edouard Manet, Aubrey Beardsley, Harry Clarke, Edmund Dulac, and Arthur Rackham; first editions of Poe’s works illustrated by these artists are highly desirable.

Poe’s works often showed up in serially issued collections. One of these is The Gift, A Christmas and New Year’s Present for 1842. This compilation includes Poe’s “Eleonora,” along with items from Howard Huntley, Catherine Beecher, and Park Benjamin. The volume also includes an uncollected piece by Lydia Sigourney, “The Village Church.”

Irving-Offering-Lizzie-Leigh-Gaskell

The Irving Offering for 1851

When Elizabeth Gaskell first published “Lizzie Leigh,” the story was initially ascribed to Charles Dickens–whose byline meant big bucks for publishers. “Lizzie Leigh” appears under Dickens’ name in The Irving Offering: A Token of Affection for 1851, which also include’s Poe’s “A Descent into the Maelstrom.” The edition is fairly scarce: OCLC records none west of the Mississippi.

Though Edgar Allan Poe enjoys special attention around Halloween, collectors of rare books appreciate his works year round. If you’re looking for a specific item for your Poe collection, please don’t hesitate to contact us! We’re happy to help.

 

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George Cruikshank: “Modern Hogarth,” Teetotaler, and Philanderer

On September 27, 1792, George Cruikshank was born in London. His father, Isaac, was a leading caricaturist of the 1790’s. Both George and his older brother, Isaac Robert would enter that profession as apprentices and assistants to their father. George Cruikshank would come to be known as a preeminent artist of his time, and as a stern, moral Victorian. That image crumbled, however, following his death.

George-Isaac-Robert-Cruikshank

From ‘The Cruikshankian Momus’ by the three Cruikshanks

An Outspoken Artist

Cruikshank established himself as an overtly political artist early on. He experienced his first success with William Hone’s The Political House that Jack Built, a play on the popular nursery rhyme “This Is the House that Jack Built.” The rhyme had a long history of being adapted for satire and parody. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote a self-parody under the name Nehemiah Higginbotham in 1797 using the rhyme as his foundation; in the Rolliad’s “Political Miscellanies,” “This Is the House that George Built” criticizes George Nugent Grenville, Duke of Buckingham, for supporting William Pitt the Younger.

Gent-No Gent-Regent-George Cruikshank

“Gent, No Gent, and Regent,” in which Cruikshank lampoons the irresponsible Prince Regent

From that point forward, Cruikshank’s career would be marked by a willingness to address politics, and his views weren’t always admirable. Cruikshank was very patriotic and openly racist.He followed The Political House that Jack Built with the anti-abolitionist New Union Club, satirizing an abolitionist dinner party with black guests. He also didn’t shy away from attacking the royal family and leading politicians. His commentary was so scathing that in 1820, he received a bribe to pledge “not to caricature his majesty in any immoral situation.”

Partnership with Charles Dickens

By the 1830’s, Cruikshank had reached the height of his career. John Marcone, a short-term editor of The Monthly Magazine, invited Cruikshank to do a series of illustrations for an up and coming author, Charles Dickens. Cruikshank’s first partnership with Dickens was for Sketches by Boz (1836). Three years later, Chapman and Halls issued an enlarged edition, for which Cruikshank enlarged all but one of his original illustrations and completed thirteen more. He also completed the Cheap Edition’s frontispiece, which was eventually immortalized on the cover of Dickens Quarterly.

Sketches by Boz-Cruikshank-Dickens

From ‘Sketches by Boz’

Cruikshank again worked with Dickens when Oliver Twist was published in Bentley’s Miscellany (Feb 1837-Apr 1839). He also illustrated Dickens’ Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi (1838) and “The Lamplighter’s Story” in The Pic-Nic Papers (1841). By this time, however, Cruikshank’s politics had already begun to complicate his relationship with Dickens. Cruikshank, formerly a heavy drinker, had become a complete teetotaler. Dickens disapproved of the overbearing attitude of Cruikshank’s temperance works like The Bottle, and he also didn’t appreciate Cruikshank’s moralistic emendations to a volume of fairy tales.

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A Letter from Hop-O’-My-Thumb to Charles Dickens, Esq

Cruikshank and Dickens’ conflict came to a head when Dickens satirized Cruikshank in “Frauds on the Fairies” in Household Words (1 Oct 1853). Cruikshank published his own response pseudonymously, “A Letter from Hop-o-My-Thumb to Charles Dickens, Esq” in his magazine, arguing “when you wrote your criticism, you knew little or nothing of that history you so strongly condemn our friend for altering.”

Oliver Twist-Cruikshank illustrations

This edition offers wonderful facsimile of Cruikshank’s color illustrations in ‘Oliver Twist.’

Following Dickens’ death, Cruikshank audaciously asserted in a letter to The Times (30 Dec 1871) that he’d thought of most of Oliver Twist’s plot. Cruikshank wasn’t the first illustrator to make such a claim; Robert Seymour had made a similar one about The Pickwick Paperswhich Dickens vigorously denied in the preface to the 1867 edition. Dickens’ friend and biographer John Forster answered Cruikshank’s claim with evidence from Dickens’ correspondence, though admitted that Cruikshank’s intimacy with London’s underworld had been instrumental.

A Hidden Life

Cruikshank had always been regarded as a moral Victorian, and this view was enhanced by his work for the temperance movement. Cruikshank worked tirelessly to promote both the National Temperance Society and the Total Abstinence Society. Thanks to his efforts, he eventually served as Vice President of the National Temperance Society. After Cruikshank passed away on February 1, 1878, his eulogy in Punch magazine read, “There never was a more proper, simpler, more straightforward or altogether more blameless man. His nature had something childlike in its transparency.”

George Cruikshank-The Bottle

From ‘The Bottle,’ a work that firmly established Cruikshank as teetotaling, upright Victorian

Soon after, however, it became evident that Cruikshank had been something less than the upstanding Victorian everyone had assumed. His dying words, “Oh, what will become of my children?” puzzled his wife; the couple were childless, as had been Cruikshank and his previous wife. Soon it came to light that Cruikshank had had an affair with his maid, Adelaide Attree. When his wife had discovered the pregnancy, Attree refused to identify the father and was removed from the household accordingly. But Cruikshank simply moved her to a home close by, and she took the married name “Archibold.” The two had a total of eleven children together; the youngest was conceived when Cruikshank was 82!

While this revelation certainly dimmed his peers’ estimation of Cruikshank’s character, it did little to quell admiration for his work. To this day, Cruikshank remains a celebrated illustrator, with over 10,000 prints, plates, and illustrations to his credit. His works appear in numerous museums, and his works are highly sought after among collectors both of Charles Dickens and of nineteenth-century illustrations.  Collectors of Cruikshank rely upon Albert Cohn’s bibliographical catalogue of Cruikshank’s printed work, among other numerous available resources.

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The Two Endings of Charles Dickens’ ‘Great Expectations’

Charles-Dickens

Charles Dickens, oil painting, William Powell Frith, 1859. (Victoria & Albert Museum)

Surely Charles Dickens took many secrets to his grave, but one of those secrets didn’t last long. Dickens made a significant change to the ending of Great Expectations–and in the nick of time! He’d already sent his manuscript off to the publisher when he decided on the change. Dickens’ indecision means that collectors have a few different editions of this great novel to add to their personal libraries.

A Considerable Emendation

It was relatively common for authors to change their work, sometimes even between printings. Henry James, for instance, was notorious for updating his drafts multiple times. So Dickens’ last-minute emendation to Great Expectations isn’t entirely unheard of–he, like James, actually made such changes with relative frequency.

However, Dickens had also originally promised that Great Expectations would be lighter fare than its predecessor, Tale of Two Cities. In an October 1860 letter to John Forster, Dickens wrote “You will not have to complain of the want of humor as in Tale of Two Cities. I have made the opening, I hope, in its general effect exceedingly droll.”* The novel took a different turn, and Dickens’ original ending was melancholy indeed.

“I was in England again–in London, and walking along Piccadilly with Little Pip–when a servant came running after me to ask would I step back to a lady in a carriage who wished to speak to me. It was a little pony carriage, which the lady was driving; and the lady and I looked sadly enough on one another.

‘I am greatly changed, I know, but I thought you would like to shake hands with Estella too, Pip. Lift up that pretty child and let me kiss it!’ (She supposed the child, I think, to be my child.)

I was very glad afterwards to have had the interview; for, in her face and in her voice, and in her touch, she gave me the assurance, that suffering had been stronger than Miss Havisham’s teaching, and had given her a heart to understand what my heart used to be.”

Edward-Bulwer-Lytton

Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Dickens submitted Great Expectations with this ending in 1861 and went to visit his friend and fellow author Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Lytton was a popular figure in his own right as a writer of crime historical and crime novels. He was also a man of privilege, and it’s likely that Dickens respected Lytton as both an author and as a gentleman. Probably on these grounds, Dickens shared the Great Expectations manuscript with Lytton.

He may have been surprised with Lytton’s reaction. Rather than wholeheartedly praising Dickens’ latest novel, Lytton urged Dickens to rewrite the ending completely. Dickens intimated that “Bulwer was so very anxious that I should alter the end…and stated his reasons so well, that I have resumed the wheel, and taken another turn at it.” What Dickens came up with has been the standard ending since 1862:

“‘I little thought,’ said Estella, ‘that I should take leave of you in taking leave of this spot. I am very glad to do so.’

‘Glad to part again, Estella? To me, parting is a painful thing. To me, the remembrance of our last meeting has been ever mournful and painful.’

‘But you said to me,’ returned Estella, very earnestly, ‘”God bless you, God forgive you!'”And if you could say that to me then, you will not hesitate to say that to me now–now, when suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but–I hope–into a better shape. Be as considerate and good to me as you were, and tell me we are friends.’

‘We are friends,’ said I, rising and bending over her, as she rose from the bench.

‘And will continue friends apart,’ said Estella.

I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting from her.

In his manuscript, the final line reads “I saw the shadow of no parting from her, but one.” And the first edition offers yet another variation of that closing line: “I saw the shadow of no parting from her.” Dickens was clearly ambivalent about the novel’s ending. But his eye for the market probably led him to write an ending that can be interpreted as Estella and Pip “walking off into the sunset” together. If he’d wanted that, wouldn’t he have made the ending more obviously happy, as he did in Bleak House, Little Dorrit, and David Copperfield?

Complications for Dickens Critics and Collectors

Critics have been rehashing the endings of Great Expectations since the book was published. The dual endings also create a bit of a complication for collectors; ordinarily the first edition of a work is enough for a collector to “check something off the list.” In the case of Great Expectations, however, true Dickens collectors will want a few more items.

Because Dickens slightly changed the wording of the ending after the first edition, most collectors look for both the first edition and the 1862 edition, which was the first to include the now-ubiquitous ending. Forster’s biography, where the alternate ending made its first appearance in print, is also a highly desirable volume. And finally, Dickens’ original ending did not appear alongside the text of Great Expectations until 1937, when George Bernard Shaw included it in his preface for the Limited Editions publication of the novel.

This is one example of an instance where collectors would seek both a first edition and subsequent editions for a complete collection of an author’s oeuvre. It also shows us the value of basic bibliographic resources that can identify and elucidate these kinds of circumstances, along with working with an expert professional bookseller who can guide your collecting efforts.

 

*This letter is apparently not currently extant, though we know of it through Forster’s Life of Dickens (vol 3, p 329). 

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The Inimitable Boz and the Delightful Phiz

Charles Dickens

Charles Dickens’ corpus of literary achievements established him as the preeminent author of Victorian England. Yet Dickens came from humble beginnings, and his first stories were published anonymously. His first signed work was published under the pseudonym “Boz,” a moniker which his colleague, illustrator Hablot Knight Browne, would echo in his own nom de guerre, “Phiz.”

Bentleys-Miscellany-Charles-Dickens-Boz

The March 1837 issue of ‘Bentley’s Miscellany’ establishes that Dickens is indeed Boz. The issue also contains Browne’s first known sketch of Dickens.

Dickens the Inimitable
Dickens’ first piece of fiction, the sketch “Mr. Minns and His Cousin” (originally “A Dinner at Poplar Park”) appeared in The Monthly Magazine in December, 1833. Dickens continued to place his pieces in various periodicals, but it wasn’t until 1834 that any of the works bore a name. “The Boarding House” bore the name “Boz” when it appeared in The Monthly Magazine that August. In March 1837, Dickens was officially “outed” as Boz with a bit of doggerel in Bentley’s Miscellany:

“Who the dickens ‘Boz’ could be
Puzzled many a learned elf,
Till Time unveiled the mystery,
And ‘Boz’ appeared as Dickens’ self

The nickname itself has a rather odd provenance. Dickens had nicknamed his younger brother Moses, after a character in Oliver Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield. When pronounced through the nose, “Moses” sounds like “Boses,” which Dickens shortened to “Boz.” He was often referred to as “the inimitable Boz,” but the last word eventually fell away, and Dickens was henceforth known only as “the Inimitable.”

Enter Phiz

Dickens-Sunday-Three-Heads

Dickens published ‘Sunday under Three Heads’ under the pseudonym Timothy Sparks. He defended the working man’s rights on the Sabbath, which were under attack by Parliament at the time.

By the spring of 1836, Dickens was searching for a new illustrator for Pickwick Papers. He commissioned a small pamphlet from Hablot Knight Browne entitled Sunday under Three Heads, and the two collaborated well together. Thus Browne sought further work from the author. Both Browne and William Makepeace Thackeray offered sample sketches for Dicken’s review, and Dickens chose Browne.

Browne initially used the name NEMO, Latin for “nobody” as his pseudonym. But he soon began using “Phiz” instead, which was appropriate for someone responsible for creating phizzes, that is, delightful and lighthearted caricatures. By the time the parts issue of Pickwick Papers was complete, Dickens, notoriously opinionated with respect to his illustrations, had found “his” illustrator. He became quite friendly with Browne,  who even traveled with Dickens while he researched Nicholas Nickleby.

Browne would go on to illustrate ten of Dickens’ fifteen novels, notably David Copperfield and Martin ChuzzlewitBut before the publication of Tale of Two Cities, Dickens suddenly cut off Browne. Perhaps Dickens knew that Browne’s work was no longer fashionable. Browne, upset that Dickens refused to elucidate his complaint against Browne, conjectured in a letter to his assistant Robert Young, “Dickens probably thinks a new hand would give his puppets a fresh look, or perhaps he doesn’t like my illustrating Trollope neck-and-neck with him–though, by Jingo, he need have no rivalry there! Confound all authors and publishers, I say. There’s no pleasing on or t’other.”

Though Dickens would go on to work with many other illustrators–and had indeed worked with other illustrators even during Browne’s tenure–the works of Phiz remain most closely associated with Dickens’ novels. New illustrations were chosen for Tale of Two Cities, but Phiz’s plates are still the ones most often chosen to accompany the text in later editions.

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