The working life of Museum of London

Following on from her blogs about William Raban’s film Nightwalks and the key objects within our Dickens and London exhibition, this week PhD student, Joanna Robinson, asks if we can find out more about Dickens’ relatives through the characters in his books than by looking at photographs of them. Joanna is a PhD student working collaboratively with the Museum of London and the English department at King’s College, London.

As you walk into Dickens and London, the first artefacts to greet you, and ease you into a Dickensian state of mind, are a range of photographs of Dickens’ close family and friends. His private life, particularly his scandalous treatment of his wife during his affair with a much younger woman, has been a feature of numerous biographies in recent years. Even the jolly TV programmes on Dickens shown over Christmas 2011 saw presenters referring to this era of his life again and again, and sending the message that the public are not willing to forgive him. Such topics will inevitably be the first thing on people’s minds as they gaze upon the opening images in the exhibition, so that the wall of photographs feels almost like a line-up from a nineteenth century version of Hello magazine. And, similarly to Hello magazine, there is a real sense that these photos do not tell us the full story.

Ellen Ternan © Charles Dickens Museum

There is something eerie in this wall of ghostly faces, and I believe that this is partly because of the way they have been arranged for the exhibition. The problem with the length of Dickens’ career is that it is difficult to tie down any consistent arguments across his texts, and so his friendships can often be better traced through their influence upon his work. For instance, not only is Hard Times dedicated to Thomas Carlyle, but Carlyle’s thinking seems to have significantly shaped the novel. However, Carlyle’s voice does not pervade the whole of Dickens’ oeuvre. By having Dickens’ associates arranged in a line-up it is difficult to differentiate between the contexts in which he knew them, and their various impacts upon his writing career. This sea of faces, with their captioned biographies, is eerie because of their dislocation both from Dickens and each other. I find it helpful to imagine them on a pin board in the style of a police investigation, with different bits of string connecting the dots – but, to be fair, this would not look as nice as the way the exhibition has presented them.

Photographs are so misleading, as they can only freeze a single moment, and do not take into account changes across a person’s life. I certainly hope that none of my close friends become famous authors – I would just want the ground to open up under me if in years to come my fourteen-year-old self was preserved in an exhibition line-up! I wonder if any of Dickens’ friends would have insisted on being taken from their good side, just in case. Therefore, although I do not claim that it is uninteresting to be able to apply a face to a name, and it certainly is a nice, gentle introduction into Dickens’ world, I think that we can learn more about his friends from the novels.

Dickens shamelessly uses portraits of real people to inspire his characters, and their extreme caricature elements only highlight his sharp eye for the ridiculous in people. Moreover, we can track his changing responses to his friends far more easily in his writing than in photographs, even if our conclusions make us equally unsympathetic to Dickens himself. Poor Maria Beadnell (his first love)! How humiliating to appear first as Dora Spenlow in David Copperfield, then (after they had been reintroduced many years later and she was a middle aged widow) as Flora Finching in Little Dorrit. Personally, I’d be far more offended to be cast as Dora! Although the humour endures, Flora is much more sympathetically drawn than Dora. His portrait of Flora is thus not only revealing about his changing feelings towards an ageing Maria, but also shows his perspective as an older man. We get so much of Dickens’ own story from his tales about others, and they are insights that a family album will just not provide.

You can view portraits of Dickens family within the Dickens and London exhibition at the Museum of London until 10 June 2012.

Victorian hip hop artist, Professor Elemental, takes us through a brief history of Steampunk in advance of his performance at The alternative Diamond Jubilee at the Museum of London Docklands on Thursday 31 May.

Martin Scorcese is doing it, Justin Beiber had a bit of it and Philip Pullman is riddled with it. It’s Steampunk. Pretty much what all the kids are into these days. Well, not these days exactly, more in Victorian days…make-believe Victorian days.

Imagine, if you will, that the British Empire never crumbled and steam powered innovation paved the way to the future. Imagine a world where science fiction is woven into historical fancy and where afternoon tea is served in elaborate flying steamships by a robotic butler with a perfect moustache. In this world, there are rivet-studded jet packs, pirates, corsets and a great deal of politeness. There is even, on the odd occasion, a monkey butler with a hat made of bits of old clock.

Steampunk as a genre is relatively new, although its influences trace back to Victorian literature, particularly that of H.G. Wells and Jules Verne. Over the past few years it has been embraced by nerds, like myself, at shows and conventions around the world. Consequently (as with most things that us nerds enjoy), the mainstream has seized upon it. Now it seems that Steampunk’s well-oiled pistons are in everything from The Simpsons to Sherlock.

But don’t fear – the Steampunk fraternity at the heart of the genre are universally lovely, imaginative folk, who have formed a genuine community that spans around the world. Some people take it very seriously indeed and gather regularly to play in an elaborate homemade universe of fantasy, wearing cyborg legs and complicated hats. For others, it is simply a big fancy dress party, a world of whimsy where one can visit an altogether more imaginative time.

Both sides of the coin are lovely, and I think there’s even space for a few more variations in the mainstream. For every cringe-heavy Justin Beiber video, there’s a film like Scorceses’ Hugo.

Oh, and there’s good music too – quite apart from my Steampunk hip hop frivolities, there is authentic punk (The Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing), ‘proper’ science meets music (Sarah Angliss) and rich gothic fantasy (Abney Park).

So do head out there into the steamy world of imaginary Victorian London, you’ll meet fine people and you’ll see and hear some amazing things. But don’t forget your top hat, ideally one covered in bits of old clock.

You can catch Professor Elemental at The alternative Diamond Jubilee at the Museum of London Docklands on Thursday 31 May, 6.45-9.45pm. Book in advance £6 (concs £5).
Celebrate Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee and party like it’s 1897! Be astonished by shows of burlesque and Victorian style hip hop, marvel at illusionists, and delight in steam punk-themed craft workshops. Dress code: fin de siècle finery and steampunk chic.

Having looked at William Raban’s film Nightwalks last week, PhD student, Joanna Robinson takes a closer look at two of the key objects currently on display in our Dickens and London exhibition at the Museum of London. Joanna  is a PhD student working collaboratively with the Museum of London and the English department at King’s College, London.

Tonight, in the blue corner – a real heavyweight on loan from a private collector – Dickens’s desk from Gad’s Hill Place! Aaand in the red corner – on loan from the V&A, and complete with annotations – the manuscript of Bleak House! Both contenders promise to pack a punch with the public… or do they? Perhaps the first question we should ask is can you have an exhibition on a well known literary figure without featuring these kind of artefacts? Dickens’ true heritage is his writing, yet how do you begin to structure an exhibition around something that is so intangible and subjective? In a way, desks and manuscripts seem to provide concrete proof of Dickens’ worth, and so justify his place in the canon and the existence of the exhibition itself. Yet even though they are clearly an expected facet of any display of this sort, it is difficult to know what it is they actually say about Dickens other than, “oh yes, he must have written something then.”

Nevertheless, so many of the people I speak to on their way out of the exhibition mention the desk in particular as their favourite display. The desk seems to give some people the feeling of a personal, even spiritual, connection to Dickens, and they see the desk as providing an insight into his writing process. Being a literature student, it came as a great surprise to me that the desk seemed to win round one against the manuscript – I certainly spent more time pouring over the famous opening from Bleak House, defaced by Dickens’s squiggly annotations, than gazing at the desk. I don’t mean to suggest that people weren’t impressed by the manuscript, yet the desk certainly seemed to have more impact. Of course, this might have something to do with how the display has been arranged. The desk is on a raised platform, under a spotlight, while the manuscript rests in an unobtrusive case along the back wall. If the exhibition were Camden Market, the desk would be a brightly coloured dress hung on the outside of a stall, which makes you stop even though you really don’t need a dress. Whereas the manuscript would be the great second hand book stall at the back of the Stables.

Dickens's Manuscript for Bleak House © V&A images and Victoria and Albert Museum

However, the responses from the public made me wonder whether I was missing something by thinking, “it’s a nice desk – but it is just a desk.” I am tempted to reach for Walter Benjamin as I try to understand its power over the imagination. Perhaps its literary associations have created an aura around it that gives it a palpable sense of uniqueness. One could claim that the desk has more impact because it is not reproducible, whereas Dickens’ words (even samples of his plans and annotations, if you get a good edition) are constantly replicated. Yet I am inclined to believe that its appeal may be even simpler than this. When Victorians emigrated they would take souvenirs to remind them of loved ones, finding a tactile comfort in these objects. The souvenir would somehow lessen their acute awareness of a human-shaped void even though they knew that they would probably never see their loved one again. The desk seems, to me, to constitute a kind of literary souvenir, and similarly provides a physical link between us and someone who is completely out of reach.

I do not mean to conclude that, after all, the desk should come out on top in this contest. Personally, I think the result is a tie. But it is interesting to see how many people yearn for a sense of connection to Dickens, which reading his work alone cannot satisfy. Not only does this reveal, if more proof were needed, the public demand for exhibitions like Dickens and London, but also how potent the Victorian souvenir culture still is.

Elizabeth Singleton, Host at the Museum of London, introduces our our final Dickens Book Club book for May, David Copperfield.

Hello all, my name is Elizabeth and I work as a Host at the Museum of London.  I must admit that Dickens has always been on the periphery of my literary life. Sure, I have always been acquainted with his work – from the multiple adaptations I have seen on screen and stage – but I have yet, until today, actually delved into the original work.

And what better way to start than with the novel the writer described as his ‘favourite child’, David Copperfield. In the preface to the book Dickens writes that the novel was a result of a two year ‘imaginative task’, and how, having at last finished it, he is so torn between pleasure and regret at its end – his pleasure deriving from  ‘the achievement of a long design’ but his ‘regret in the separation from so many companions’.  I do so love this idea, as I have often felt the same way as a reader at the end of a particularly enjoyable read; I have found that I have lamented the parting of such characters that have taken such an active part in my imagination, but find I am forever grateful to have met them in the first place. This, I believe, is the best thing about starting a new book – the promise of new characters you will meet along the way as the adventure unfolds.

And what a book this is! My first thoughts, I must admit, centred around the sheer size of the novel – ‘blimey, quite an adventure there’ – but delve into it I will! I have no idea what I will find, as I know very little about the story, only that the author is said to have drawn inspiration from his personal life. So, let’s see who I’ll meet…

Inspired by William Raban’s film Nightwalks, currently showing in our Dickens and London exhibition, PhD student, Joanna, explores the implications of voiceover in retelling Dickens’ stories for a modern day audience. Joanna Robinson is a PhD student working collaboratively with the Museum of London and the English department at King’s College, London.

Lurking in a dark corner of the Dickens and London exhibition, I bide my time. Ready at a moment’s notice to spring forth and pounce upon some unsuspecting member of the public, brandishing a questionnaire. William Raban’s film, The Houseless Shadow, is the exhibition’s final flourish and clearly makes an impact – I know because everyone stays seated throughout, exiting en masse when the film finishes and sending me into a questionnaire-touting frenzy!

The Houseless Shadow aims to expose links between the city of Charles Dickens and life in our modern metropolis by overlaying Raban’s film of the city at night with Dickens’ famous essay, Night Walks. Those kind enough to put up with a few questions from me were all impressed by the film, and had been convinced that Dickens’ topicality endures. Londoners in particular felt a peculiar affinity with the film, in a similar way to the old maps of London – almost as if these artefacts allowed them to reclaim a close relationship with Dickens through the city, despite the distance of two centuries. Yet although the film helped to create a sense of ownership over the city through voyeurism, and brought some people to Dickens through this, a London postcode was not a limiting factor. Everyone wanted a piece of Dickens! It was fascinating to witness how people looked for a personal or family connection to Dickens in the exhibition, yet whether through a familiarity of place, or a concern with continuing social issues, most people found this through the film.

This made me wonder whether Raban’s film could start a new breed of Dickens adaptations.  I am as easily pleased by extravagant costumes and a happy ending as the next person, but let’s face it most of Dickens has been done to death.  And despite this somehow the adaptation never seems to approach the brilliance of Dickens’ writing! Of course, the original has authority by default, and it would be impossible (and dull) to try to attempt a word for word adaptation. Earlier this year I attended a talk by Simon Callow, where he suggested that the reason adaptations fail, and similarly why Dickens’ writing for the stage was so awful, is because they exclude his narrative voice. This is certainly necessary – any attempts I have seen to include Dickens’ voice always make me cringe.  Like when the BBC’s most recent version of Bleak House had Denis Lawson look moodily out of a window as he soliloquised: ‘Dead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen…’ etc, I could only reply ‘oh why, Denis, why?!’  Could it be that a voiceover could solve this problem?

Although voiceovers in movies are generally scorned by film buffs, the narrative voice in Raban’s film allowed people a novel perspective on Dickens that was (in my brief survey) universally well-received. People at the exhibition praised its freshness, and the new relevance it brought to Dickens’ work. Raban’s success in bringing Dickens into conversation with the modern city undoubtedly influences these favourable reviews, yet The Houseless Shadow is also striking for reintroducing Dickens’ narrative voice to film. Night Walks features some of Dickens’ finest writing, so it could be argued that this mode would not translate well across all of his oeuvre – but imagine how much better a voiceover would have been than just putting Dickens’ words into the mouth of a character! Others may argue that voiceovers would detract from the realism of adaptations, but to them I say – this is fiction. It is Dickens’ unique voice that keeps us reading him today, so why shouldn’t it keep us watching him too?