The Moonstone by
Wilkie Collins
My rating:
5 of 5 stars
It kills me to think that it’s coming up to forty years since I first read
The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins. Though I list it among my influences as a writer, the truth is, when I saw it was the next book for my Crimes & Thrillers reading group, I seriously wondered whether I’d still be able to understand it, let alone enjoy it.
I tend to believe that, with some notable exceptions, the shelf life of a novel is approximately fifty years, by which point the cultural references are lost and, as our language has developed and moved on, the original meaning of the text becomes obscure. There’s an unintentionally hilarious example of this in
The Moonstone, where Mr Franklin Blake, a young man with prospects, asks Mr Bruff the solicitor to arrange a meeting with his beloved Rachel at the lawyer’s house:
“
…‘May I venture to suggest – if nothing was said about me beforehand – that I might see her here?’
‘Cool!’ said Mr Bruff.”
Cool, especially followed an exclamation mark, no longer means “impudent” or “presumptuous” as it once did. But as
The Moonstone is approximately a hundred and fifty years old, it’s amazing that the bulk of it remains perfectly readable, thanks in the main to the old family retainer Gabriel Betteredge’s narrative voice, in which half of the book is delivered.
Examine the plot and you’ll see that the two main characters are the star-crossed lovers, Franklin Blake and Miss Rachel Verinder. But, judged by their actions alone, they come across as surprisingly unsatisfying heroes. Rachel (who isn’t permitted a narrative voice) spends the first half of the book locked in her room refusing to see or to speak to anyone; Blake (whom I liked during his time as a narrator) spends the entire book trying to get Rachel to see him and is disappointed time and time again. The only reason I was prepared to think highly of these two was because Gabriel Betteredge clearly thinks highly of them and manages to humanize them by recalling snippets from their youthful past.
Collins went to great lengths to give each of the many narrators his or her own identifiable voice. Most work very well, and, really, these are the characters I take with me having finished the book. There are however some exceptions. The retired Sergeant Cuff, formerly of Scotland Yard, could not sound drearier, and his summing up of the case—after the true thief is unmasked at the climax—falls especially flat. But it’s Mr Murthwaite, traveller to exotic climes, who provides the most impenetrable and boring speech of the whole novel:
“
‘…The organization is a very trumpery affair, according to our ideas, I have no doubt. I should reckon it up as including the command of money; the services, when needed, of that shady sort of Englishman, who lives in the byeways of foreign life in London; and, lastly, the secret sympathy of such few men of their own country, and (formerly, at least) of their own religion, as happen to be employed in ministering to some of the multitudinous wants of this great city. Nothing very formidable, as you see!…’”
Hmm…
I also found the Christian busybody Miss Clack’s narrative, which proved really popular with readers when
The Moonstone was first serialized, to be fairly tough going, though it’s never as impenetrable as Murthwaite. Luckily some of its humour still survives. One of Clack’s favoured charities is the British Ladies’ Servants’ Sunday Sweetheart Supervision Society, presumably providing a chaperone service for courting maids on their half day off – as if their lives were not made miserable enough already!
There are two minor characters who deserve special attention: the maid Rosanna Spearman and the doctor’s assistant Ezra Jennings. Both are outcasts, both possess some physical deformity of a sort, and both are denied the partner whom they love. It occurs to me that they represent what Rachel and Blake might have become if the mystery of the diamond had never been sorted out. Jennings, who is instrumental in this, clearly has a well-developed back story, and one that is shrouded in mystery, which made me wonder if Collins was preparing the way for a future novel.
I wondered the same thing too about a very minor character, Octavius Guy—better known as Gooseberry—who, like Jennings, turns up towards the end of the book. Despite being a minor character, he is very likeable and has praise heaped on him from all quarters. Here’s what Sergeant Cuff has to say:
“
‘One of these days,’ said the Sergeant, pointing through the front window of the cab, ‘that boy will do great things in my late profession. He is the brightest and cleverest little chap I have met with, for many a long year past…’”
For all its faults I still love
The Moonstone, and cherish the fact that my own writing has been compared to it. I’ve come to notice that nearly all of my favourite books are flawed in some fashion, for which I always seem to love them more.
The Moonstone remains a great book.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!
View all my reviews
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