Dickens' Corrective Method in Bleak House
The modern reader frequently charges nineteenth-century fiction—and Dickens' longer novels in particular—with a penalty for excess baggage. Orwell, writing in 1939, complains:
In the end the original story has been buried under the details.
And in all of Dickens's most characteristic passages it is the
same. His imagination overwhelms everything, like a kind of weed.1
Orwell has chiefly in mind the exuberance with which Dickens floods the immediate fictional moment, but later critics—including Leavis, Garis, and Frye—broaden the attack. They find the tangled subplots of the longer books especially off-putting: to them, squads of satellite figures divert the novel's thrust; they clutter or simply complicate argument and form, giving us a busier book but not a better or a subtler one.
In recent years one rarely hears such carping. The current generation of critics, caring less for concision and theories of
“pure" fiction, generally defends the propriety of narrative designs as broad as they are long. At least in the novels after Martin Chuzzlewit, many are now prepared to accept the Dickensian universe entire. Armed with phrases such as "parodicechoic structure," "analogical method," and "inclusive social vision," they have justified materials once thought extraneous or worse.2

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