The Mystery of Edwin Drood was scheduled to be published in twelve monthly installments between 1870 and 1871. Charles Dickens died after only six, leaving the last half unfinished.
WES:
The Mystery of Edwin Drood is one heck of a mystery, in fact, rather a mystery within a mystery. The
last novel of Charles Dickens, it is comprised of only six
parts of a scheduled 12 part series completed when he passed away. He intended
it to be his most intriguing plot in a self-imposed competition with Wilkie
Collins, (ala The Moonstone)
a contemporary mystery writer, to step up his plot lines in a mystery genre.
What we end up with is an intense tale with wonderful characters and a half
finished plot. As Vincent Starrett describes in an introduction to my edition:
"And
yet….it is as an unfinished detective story that most of us would have the
book. Edwin Drood is its author’s most fascinating work
and the greatest detective-story in the world; and principally because it is unfinished and never can be finished. Because we may play with
it for the rest of our lives - and others after us - in complete happiness and
innocence - away from any faintest whisper of contemporaneous
reality."
The fact that Dickens could develop only half the plot
and knowing his tendency to wrap up all the loose plot details in the last 2-3
chapters of his books, it is daunting to speculate where he intended this plot
to go. We only have his characters and their action clues to proceed. While the
clues and characters are some of the richest he ever produced, one can only
guess where he was going with the plot. Even though Dickens often gets caught
up in elaborate character development, this time I think everything there is a
clue or a distraction designed to build suspense for the inevitable surprise at
the end. Four key aspects got my attention: 1) Is there really a
murder here? 2) If so, who is the killer? 3) How was the killer to be entrapped? 4) What is the likely meaning of the various indirect characters introduced?
It’s possible that Drood could have simply disappeared, perhaps heading off to
Egypt as planned after Rosa and he made the decision not to marry. This is
unlikely for two reasons. One, a full six months elapsed after his
disappearance, yet no reports came as to his whereabouts nor did he give the
ring back to Mr. Grewgious. However, since Jasper is the most likely person to
get correspondence from him after a long voyage, Dickens may have delayed such
correspondence until later. The missing ring diminishes that possibility. The
second reason for murder is that Dickens told his agent this book was to be a
murder mystery, so evidently someone was supposed to be murdered. Only Drood
and Mr. Bazzard, the latter a minor character heretofore, seem to be missing at
the end. The most likely situation is that Drood has been murdered and his body
hidden in the crypts.
Based on the evidence, six killers of Drood seem possible: Jasper, Neville,
Chrisparkle, Tartar, Grewgious, or Helena, likelihood probably in that order.
Jasper’s actions and reactions throughout certainly make him the most likely
suspect but perhaps he is too obvious based on his reactions to Drood followed
by the revelation of his love for Rosa. Neville could have done the crime but
had no way of disposing of the body save the river and that negates all the
time spent by the author describing the cathedral crypts. Chrisparkle’s main
clue is his unlikely discovery of Drood’s watch and hatpin near the river weir.
He probably also has access to the cathedral keys. Tartar and his row boat make
him a potential suspect – he could have disposed of the body far downriver. He
also is a strong swimmer, having taught Chrisparkle how to swim. Remember
also that Rosa’s mother drowned, a crime for which her father was hung. That
earlier crime could have involved Chrisparkle, Tartar, or both with something
coming up that made Drood a threat. Mr. Grewgious seems a suspect chiefly
because his knowledge of everything is nearly complete. He knows the people and
their histories; he knows the details of the wills, and is making all the
arrangements behind the scenes. Dickens may have been poised to draw him more
in later, although I think it will be more likely be as the detective that
solves the case. Helena has some interesting motive possibilities and the fact
that she has often dressed up as men may figure later. The obviousness of
Jasper’s primary suspicion makes me wonder if it is too obvious. His obsession
with “finding the killer” might really be valid.
Given all of the above and the fact that Dickens had a lot of book to go, it is
hard to figure how the killer was to be exposed. If Jasper is the killer, I
think Datchery actually would turn out to be Bazzard in disguise working as a
detective through direction of Grewgious. He will try to entrap Jasper using
some kind of acting ruse – the clue of his rejected play, The Thorn of Anxiety,
just seems so prominent. Somehow he already figures the crypts are involved and
plans to visit the tombs with Durdles at some future stage. The quicklime pile
surely is important as a means of disposing of a body. Why the pile is in the
church courtyard is weird. The ring on a decomposed corpse is the obvious clue
that will probably reveal the Drood’s identity. I also think that there is
something yet to be revealed in Drood’s and Rosa’s wills that might enrich and
give a motive to Grewgious if he disposes of or frames any potential heirs.
This may be a real possibility as Dickens often seems to have it in for the
rich and powerful and rarely are lawyers presented in good light. It is possible that
Tartar and Helena could be the same person as Rosa seems to have affection for
both stemming from physical similarities.
Several characters were introduced that obviously were to
be prominent in the book. Tartar surfaced as a new love interest for Rosa.
Bazzard must somehow figure in as well as Mrs. Billickin with her disputes with
Miss Twinkleton. The description of the old opium lady as the “Royal Princess”
has a tremendous potential for mystery, especially as she is seen shaking her
fists at Jasper while he leads the choir. One can envision Durdles and Deputy
in some additional roles in future, especially given the hint that Deputy might
have seen Jasper when he took the drunken Durdles’ keys as he slept. Sapsea,
the “jackass” auctioneer, must have a role beyond his hapless investigation of
the disappearance of Drood. Mr. Honeythunder (what a name – Dickens loves these
weird names) is my favorite character who must have a greater role in the story
but what on earth would involve a hypocritical philanthropy panderer? I am sorry
Dickens never got around to deliciously destroying him.
This book was a good read and one of the last ones I have
to go in my read through of Dickens’ works. I enjoyed his characterizations as
usual and liked to ponder all his potential clues wondering how each might fit into
the whole. We will never know how they were intended to fit so all one can say
is what Mr. Starrett said up front – that it will always be unfinished and one
can read into it whatever one desires knowing you’ll never be wrong! Overall, I
rate this book as a 3 on my scale of 1-10 (1 as best).
ALLISON:
Donna Tartt, who won the Pulitzer last year for her novel The Goldfinch, when asked about
the influence of Dickens said (I shall paraphrase) that Dickens is a wonderful
writing teacher. Not only is he a brilliant storyteller: “there’s no technical
task that Dickens doesn’t do well” but he’s a “generous writer... he sort of
beckons you behind the scenes and says ‘Hey kid, let me show you how I do
this’…he leaves the wires and rigging behind the stage, and lets you see it.’” I was thrilled when
I saw Dickens on Dad’s suggested reading list because recently I’ve been
reading so much anti-Dickens, with the specific intent of improving my own
writing. Modern short fiction, in particular, I’ve been looking at flash
stories under 300 words, to which, I’ve attended masterful contemporaries like
Lydia Davis. Lydia Davis does not provide any skeletal blueprints to her work.
For example, let’s together read a story called “Her Geography: Illinois.” The following is the entire text:
“She
knows she is in Chicago.
But she does not yet realize that she is in Illinois” (Can’t and Won’t, 2014:139)
This story is infuriating, if you ask me. I hate it. I
simply do. I think this “her” character a moron and am offended to be
introduced to her by a third person narration that gives me only enough to
ignite repulsion. Who is this voice telling me this thing I wish I could
unknow? I had to read those words, there were so few that I couldn’t not read them, and once read, I was angry.
Worse, I unintentionally memorized them, and they will likely accost me the
next time I visit Chicago. I can’t fathom why this was written, except as some sort
of high literary joke that swoops far over my inadequate intellect.
Nevertheless, I could try to imitate Lydia Davis in my own writing, much like
that adage where a preschooler reconstructs modern art.
Like so: “She notices her left hand is wider than her
right. Maybe it needs more exercise.”
You are likely angry with me now too.
Or maybe you love both Davis and Dickens, and are wondering
why I would even attempt to compare the two. The reason is that it took me a
long time to get into The Mystery
of Edwin Drood. I read the first hundred pages and had zero retention. I
began to panic that I had failed at the bookclub on only book three and that if
Dickens is so brilliant a writer, I must be so pedestrian a reader as to not be
able to understand him. I wanted to see the scaffolding Donna Tartt talked
about, and all I saw was a foreign language. For a couple weeks, I dreaded
opening it, because I felt so ill-prepared. But, then I talked to Mom, who said
she loved Dickens. Once she finishes one Dickens, she wants to read another
immediately after. She becomes so immersed in his world that she’s reluctant to
come out. It occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t read Dickens on the train,
surrounded by New York soundbytes and commotion. I could read Lydia Davis
anywhere. I could read Davis on my cellphone while texting and walking and eating and
chatting with my neighbor and STILL I’d absorb enough to be irritated. But
Dickens, I had to allow myself to soak in the language. So I started over,
reading at home, in silence, and indeed Drood opened up like a tulip in midday sunshine and I was irrevocably hooked. Reading Dickens I
was reminded of what kind of reader I’ve always been. I grew up on L. Frank
Baum, Lucy Maude Montgomery, Laura Ingles Wilder, and Alcott. Rich language,
often looney and fantastic, deeply funny and never, ever pandering. Longwinded,
not pithy, and never vacuous. There’s nothing to “get” with these authors. Like
Dickens, the reader is offered every pertinent morsel, every flourishing detail
of what there is to know.
It’s a debate about style. And I will sum it as such:
Children reading Roald Dahl are adults ready for Dickens. Children reading
Captain Underpants are likely to appreciate the irreverence of Lydia Davis. And
we readers can be both things, surely. It just took this reader a manual gear shift of my
brain to move from one to the other.
Onward to the Mystery! Drood is the last work of Dickens
and is unfinished. The mystery unsolved. I was worried about reading an
unfinished posthumous work. It makes me feel a little dirty to know I am
reading something the author has not approved fully to completion. But,
Dickens, like most of his work, was publishing and writing Drood in
real time, serialized. What we read of Drood is what he
approved, and indeed published, for our discernment. But, with six installments
totaling over 200 pages, Drood only reaches halfway to its
twelve installment allotment. That leaves so much room for Dickens to write a
whole different book, to essentially craft an ending we’re probably not even be
capable of imaging. I didn’t know this while reading—I avoided the introduction
by Matthew Pearl in my Modern Library edition, and I even failed to look at the
jacket copy, until I was done, and surprisingly Drood feels
nearly complete. I could read this, not knowing its unfinished state and feel
satisfied (fake spoiler, because of course I don’t know) John Jasper did it. It
actually ends, moderately abruptly with Jasper revealing himself to be a
threatening and rather scary fellow. For fun, I want to imagine Jasper not
killing Edwin Drood, because until the last fifty pages, I was half-charmed by
Jasper’s darkness, his Heathcliff swagger, his Rochester menace. I thought Rosa’s terror of Jasper was actually
some romantic magnetism, like every silly young girl in 19th century
novels must be secretly attracted to the brutish, rude hero she simultaneously
despises. This idea would be a disservice to Dickens though, because his
characters resist expectation. Much like the flesh and blood around us, Dickens
peoples his novel with idiosyncratic individuals, whose choices and motivations
move the plot, and not the other way around.
These motivations are interpreted into very weird
actions. For example, the charming Rosa spends her introductory scene talking to her
betrothed Edwin with an apron draped over her head, inexplicably covering her
face. Edwin thinks it’s weird, I think it’s weird, and Rose undoubtedly does it
because it’s a brattish way to greet her unwanted suitor. Jasper has a
psychotic fit before Mr. Grewgious where he quite literally falls face first
onto the ground. Grewgious carries on warming his hands while observing a grown
man disintegrate to “nothing but a heap of torn and miry clothes upon the
floor” offering no assistance, or empathy. And most preposterously, Durdles,
the cryptkeeper, employs a wily street urchin named Deputy, to appear after
nightfall singing a gadawful tune and throwing rocks at him until he drunkenly
finds his way home. (This is hands down my favorite part of the book!) These
things occur and they are not unremarkably precious, not weird for weird's sake
(again thumbing back to Lydia Davis). In fact, they are much remarked by the
omniscient third person narrative as oddities, yet motivated strategies
propelling these people through their environment. It’s a beautiful
orchestration. Modern literary writers don’t really write in omniscient third
person perspective anymore because it is exceptionally hard. How do you
illustrate the needs of all these characters (and there are many) without
revealing the interior self-conscious narrative of a single one? Read Dickens,
that’s how. Tartt was right in that Dickens is a generous writer, but I don’t
think it’s just for fledgling authors that he gifts his mastery. There is so
much to be gained as a reader when you sink into his vibrant, thoroughly
saturated, meaty world. Careful though. Like Mom, you just might not want to
read anything else.
