When I was a child, I loved being alone. I had absolutely no qualms about being in my room,  preoccupying myself with my toys, CDs, and books, for what felt like hours on end. As I entered the gloomy teenage years, those hours increased and when I would finally venture downstairs for a couple of Milano cookies, I would be greeted with the classic “Hey, look who’s alive!” by my family. I probably rolled my eyes or scoffed, because I had better things to do than hang with the fam at fifteen. 

But at the most primal level, I was probably secretly pleased. 

I wouldn’t say I was melodramatic but I was romantic as a child (no wonder the Victorians and all of their strife was so appealing to me), and every romantic child at some point wonders “Would anyone notice if I ran away? Do they miss me when I’m away?” And the question luckily for me, was a resounding yes. I knew I did not have to ask my parents the question because I was part of a family that communicated that to me at all times, that they always wanted me around, that my presence was valued and sought after. I could never be more grateful for that implicit love after reading this book.

Imagine your father is so stuck up his own ass that he constantly forgets he has a daughter? Imagine your father only values people in how much money they can bring him and whether or not they can continue the family name so that he shuns, almost to the point of loathing, your very existence because girls aren’t worth a dime? 

Poor Florence Dombey knows such a father, and she accepts this lot with so much grace and humility and even guilt that your heart breaks over and over again. So many times she thinks “This time he’ll see me and call me to him!” and he never. does. Dickens plays with your heart like a little wooden yo-yo he took from some poor street urchin.

I could not believe how masterfully Dickens was able to keep this one together because she’s a mammoth. His earlier works imply that he really did not outline anything, I mean not a damn thing. I really think he sent out his serial installments without keeping drafts in the Google Drive. Random characters would disappear without a trace, reappear without warning. His earlier novels felt like Punch and Judy shows with slightly more sophistication. He leaned on this haphazard, caricature style so hard that as his novels progressed, they became almost unreadable. The Old Curiosity Shop: dull. Barnaby Rudge: less dull because of some riot violence but it still felt like you were walking through mud up to your thighs.

And Martin Chuzzlewit? More like Martin Guzzled-all my time. I had to abandon it because I dreaded picking it up.

And then Dickens, I guess in a panic since people were not happy with Martin, publishes a crown jewel, A Christmas Carol, and suddenly everything's coming up Dickens. He’s in everyone’s good graces again. And I think he learns a thing or two, chiefly:

People want to read about seemingly real people in plausible situations. People want to genuinely care for the characters they take the time to read.

Which leads the way to this brilliant work, his first novel following A Christmas Carol. Dombey and Son has all the trademarks of a classic Dickens novel but enhanced, “your-skin-but-better:” social commentary, impending industrialization and the expansion of capitalism, the family unit in Victorian society, and characters with the best names (Mrs. Macstinger, Susan “The Nipper” Nipps, Toots!). But what makes this novel a breath of fresh air following Martin Chuzzelwit is that, finally, ya boy Dickens seems to be actually planning the trajectory of the novel. So while there is still a huge cast of characters and many subplots, they all beautifully tie up and contribute to the main conflict of the story: Dombey’s pride and ambition blocking the relationship he could have with his good natured daughter Florence and the consequences of that swelled pride. Would you believe it, each character actually helps further or resolve that central conflict! We did it, Dickens!

Because of this, oh man was this a delightful read! Captain Cuttle, you beautiful bastard, I was scared you were going to be another extraneous ribbon in this cap, like we’re used to seeing, but you wound up being a key component by the second half and an extremely likeable character at that. And he has a hook for a hand?! Rock on.

Susan Nipper! Unsure of you, at first, you came off a little stern and shrill at the beginning, but that was only to protect your absolute heart of gold. She also has the balls to speak her mind to Mr. Dombey when everyone else kisses his big behind, so she gets major props.

Edith, oh Edith, A COMPLEX FEMALE CHARACTER THAN CAN BE UNLIKEABLE AT TIMES, THANK YOU GOD. Dickens’ earlier female characters are either plump mothers with rosy cheeks or they are beautiful damsels with rosy cheeks. End of list. While Edith is beautiful, she is also proud, at times haughty, tender, brave, stubborn, and gentle. She is allowed to be all things at once. I could cry, this is all I wanted Dickens, thank you. 

And then there’s Mr. Paul Dombey himself. Proud, arrogant, and oh so ignorant, it’s easy to see him as evil at first. But that description is more fitting for one of his close associates…Mr. Dombey is not a sociopath (though I wanted to call him one, many times). It made him all the more interesting that deep, deep down in those fancy britches, he cared. He did care for his little family but so much was in the way, so many walls that he built himself came in the way between himself and his love. I swear, this book was the equivalent of Dickens crying from the London rooftops, “Calling all stuffy Victorian fathers: please hug your children and fully feel your feelings. If you shove them deep down, there will be dire consequences…That is all!”

I chuckled, I cried (don’t talk to me about Chapter 16, I’m still not over it), I let Dickens take me for a ride. Just as I was about to give up hope and renounce Dickens as my favorite Victorian author, motherf*cker came through. He’s back on top. This only makes me more excited to read David Copperfield later this year: I know he is only getting better. In fact, I know this for sure since I have already read Great Expectations and I can tell you that there aren’t many other better books out there. Prove me wrong, I dare you. 

Next time I’m home, I’m giving my father a big hug and I’ll quietly thank him for being happy to see me when I emerged from my room. Fictional or not, some girls are not so lucky.