Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

In his introduction to the Penguin classics edition of Thackeray's Vanity Fair, John Carey suggests it as the 'greatest English novel', and the model for Tolstoy's War and Peace. Having not had the literary pleasure of the latter, I cannot pass comment on that. I do, however, disagree with the first part of Carey's statement, for Bleak House currently occupies that exalted seat. (Thackeray would have grumbled at hearing this, for he and Dickens had altercations in their later years.) Rather than abusing Vanity Fair from the outset, I'll hasten to add that I did enjoy the book considerably and was pleasantly satisfied with Thackeray's knowing, deviously irreverent and cutting tone. The story is subtitled 'A Novel Without a Hero', although arguably the awkward but soft-hearted William Dobbin aptly fills this role. Amelia Sedley plays the gentle, humble, and utterly useless Victorian heroine, whereas Becky Sharp is a highly intelligent and manipulative social climber. The stage is set to parade a host of infinitely ridiculous and vain typecasts: preening dandies, blundering fools, hypocrites, schemers, and all the vacuous fakers one encounters daily.

The events of the novel take place before and after the infamous battle of Waterloo, grounding the book within the context of historical realism. Indeed, despite Thackeray's use of stereotypes, the style of Vanity Fair was radically realist for its time. Characters are driven by worldly motivations; selfishness and wickedness abounds even among the more generous temperaments. Dobby, the unanimous hero, turns out to be a 'nice guy', lecturing Amelia for not reciprocating his years of devotion, effectively for not putting out. The central character of Rebecca Sharp flaunts the genteel rules of decorum by possessing agency, opinions, and an openly flirtatious nature. Immensely popular with the men, she earns the ire of her womenfolk whilst ingratiating herself into increasingly sophisticated spheres of society. As seen in his earlier novella, The Luck of Barry Lyndon, ascent to the aristocracy is a favourite theme of Thackeray's. With the apex of fashionable society and wealth almost achieved, he invariably casts them down again into poverty and infamy.

My favourite aspect of Thackeray's writing is not so much the plot, but the sneering contempt with which he passes judgement on his creations. To ward off arrogance, he good-humouredly criticises himself, exposing not only his personal vanities and follies, but also his deliberate clumsiness as a writer. Protracted reveries are pulled up suddenly with an apology to the reader, as though forcing himself from bitter recollections. His insight into human nature is, in many ways, superior to that of his contemporary and rival, Dickens. Observations following the sudden death of a main character are at once cruel, darkly hilarious, and completely honest. Dickens would never have had the courage to abuse his characters as Thackeray delights in doing. Annoyances in the text are rambling lists of noble personages, wittily catalogued in mock Homeric fashion but eventually tedious, as well as the frequent references to now unknown or obscure people, places, and events. Although footnotes are installed by Penguin, I often didn't care quite enough to use them.

Rating: 3/5