Oliver Goldsmith (1730–1774)

It’s probably best to go into this one with the same mindset as a stage comedy. Things just happen. Coincidences abound. The vicar almost gets his son married—but then a merchant runs off with his savings! He successfully sells his horse at market—to a conman! And so on and so forth. Which is not to say that I found any of that annoying, being used to novels where plot and theme are a bit tighter and more believable, because this is a satire, a comedy, and a 250-year-old novel, so my show more expectations were about on par. I didn’t even mind the wordiness or the fact that, when the vicar really gets going, I had to reread a page to figure out what he was saying. Also, the characters are more rounded than I thought they’d be!

I had fun reading this, in other words, though it’s not the best bit of 18th-century writing I’ve read. There’s a lot of parody and satire in it, from the small and domestic misfortunes that are treated as the end of the world to the vicar’s stubborn insistence on being kind and forgiving to everyone (including the aforementioned conman) to his views on marriage to the bit near the end where he’s sure he’s converting an entire jail but they’re making fun of him the whole time. I suspect there’s also a bit of parody in how quickly and randomly tragedy strikes, but I haven’t read any other sentimental novels so I can’t comment.

And yes, if you couldn’t tell from my summary, there are Austen vibes. (She must’ve read this. It was a bestseller and, well, let’s just say there are mistaken identities and a rake who’s taken for an honest man and the vicar reminded me a lot of Mr. Bennett at times.) That alone would make this worth reading, but it was enjoyable apart from that and I’m glad to have read it, and read it when I did so I could appreciate what Goldsmith was doing. I can totally picture it being read aloud in social settings with people tittering behind their fans and then debating the satire over sherry or embroidery.

Recced, but not fannishly. ‘Twas good and holds up, but is also not the best novel in the world.

Warnings: Period sexism. One scene with the g-slur describing a fortune teller. Several reports of comedic abduction.

7/10 show less

When Margery and Tommy Meanwell are orphaned, after their father is driven off his farm by the greedy landlord, Sir Timothy Gripe, the two young people find themselves in a terrible situation. Their wealthy relatives won't take them in, and although a well-meaning clergyman attempts to help Margery, after her brother goes to sea, Sir Timothy and Farmer Graspall (what an aptronym that is!) force him to abandon her. Despite her poverty, Margery has the two shoes given to her by the kind Mr. show more Smith - something for which she rejoices, leading to her nickname "Margery Two Shoes" - and she sets out to improve herself, teaching herself to read. When she warns Sir William Dove and Sir Timothy about a plot against them, the former establishes her as a teacher in a little country school. Here she adopts many teaching methods that were new and progressive for that time (the 18th century), incorporating movement into her lessons, and emphasizing the importance of kindness to our animal friends. Becoming something of a moral authority in the locale, Margery is accused of witchcraft because of her many animal companions, but she is championed by Sir William. Eventually she marries Sir Charles Jones, is reunited with her brother Tommy, and becomes a benevolent force in her area...

First published by John Newbery in 1765, The History of Little Goody Two Shoes; Otherwise Called Mrs. Margery Two-Shoes was a ground-breaking work, in the history of Anglophone children's literature, and although many contemporary readers might find it overly didactic, it actually had considerably more levity and entertainment value than the children's books - many of them produced by the Puritans, and other religious figures - that preceded it. It is not the source of the term "little goody two shoes," which we today understand to be a person who is nauseatingly rule-driven and "good," but it certainly popularized it. What's fascinating about this, is that the word "goody" is actually an abbreviated form of the English honorific "Goodwife," which was used to address women of a social status lower than "mistress" (i.e.: the mistress of a house), and didn't have the same connotation of overwhelming and obnoxious virtue that it currently does. Perhaps when the original meaning of "Goody" was lost, people assumed it meant "good," and came to think that "little goody two shoes" had a mocking ring to it.

However that may be, the story here was engaging, and had many fascinating elements. The author begins with a discussion of land leasing and its injustice, which opens a window into the social issues of the day. The educational methods used by Margery were also interesting, and the focus on humane treatment of animals eye-opening. This latter is a theme one sees often in 18th-century children's literature. Sir William's comments on the stupidity of witchcraft accusations - "a Woman must be very poor, very old, and live in a Neighborhood, where the People are very stupid, before she can possibly pass for a Witch" - were both apt and entertaining. Finally, the social rise of Margery is of note - she starts out as the orphaned daughter of a poor farmer, and winds up a wealthy, titled lady - as the 18th century sees the very beginning of the breakdown of the nobility as the primary authority in England. The authorship of this book is contested - like all of Newbery's books, it was published anonymously, although some attribute it to Oliver Goldsmith - but whoever created it certainly did something different! Recommended to all readers with an interest in 18th-century English children's books, or in the titles published by John Newbery. show less

I literally only wanted to read this because of a passing reference (or two) in Jane Austen's Emma! (Harriet gives a copy to Robert Martin, and Mrs Elton misquotes the verse about woman stooping to folly, I think!) I found an old library copy and couldn't resist. But, having suffered through Evelina and the like in the past, I had to brace myself. Goldsmith is slightly more witty than Burney, but still dedicates whole chapters to random subjects.

The story, even in such a short book, is show more bonkers. Talk about melodrama! The vicar of the title lives an idyllic life with his loving wife and large family of two daughters and four sons until the proverbial hits the fan. He loses all his money, they have to move to another parish miles away belonging to a dodgy landowner who puts Willoughby and Wickham in the shade, his eldest daughter elopes but nobody is sure who with, the family house burns down, he's thrown in jail for not paying his rent, where he finds his son, sent away to earn his fortune, who has killed someone in a duel. I think!

Mental, densely packed, but still just about readable! show less

The story opens in the country parsonage of Dr Primrose, a kindly man who has a good heart, a good family and a good income, some of which he gives away to his poorer parishioners. Suddenly, his idyllic life is devastated by a series of misfortunes and he ends up in debtors gaol. Yet, despite all this calamity and injustice, the vicar never loses sight of Christian morality, and while his convictions lends him a certain moral nobility, in the end it also brings justice and show more restoration.

Through a simple, almost fairy-tale plot; people go through much of the book, disguised as to their real identity, there are unbelievable coincidences and the ending is so improbable that, in a sense, seems at variance with what came before, Goldsmith provides a charming satire on the dangers of undeserved wealth and the immense power that it can exert on those less fortunate. It is also an artful send-up of many of the literary conventions of his day, in particular the stoic bravery of the hero.

This isn't an easy read. Alongside its vivid and very realistic seeming window in to many aspects of life in the England of the 1700’s, even down to its parlour games, there are some liberal bouts of sermonising; the Vicar himself, loves to preach and pontificate on the proper morality of life. In one eloquent passage he argues that widowed vicars should never remarry and for prison reform, noting that compared to the rest of Europe, English punishment is too harsh and indiscriminate. But what makes this book readable is the fact that he also has an enjoyably sly sense of humour coupled with an amusing naivete.

"I … chose my wife, as she did her wedding-gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but such qualities as would wear well."

This book was published in 1766 and although I had a few issues with it, mainly it seemed to be over-reliant on coincidences to drive the plot rather than real storytelling, but that said it it amused more than several other 18th-century English novels, namely Defoe's 'Robinson Crusoe' and Swift's 'Gulliver’s Travels' that I've read, and as such was pleased that I made the effort. show less