It only struck me as I started to read Tobias Smollett's Ferdinand Count Fathom (1753) that it had been well over a year since I'd read any Eighteenth Century fiction and, just as importantly, ages since I'd read a truly scholarly introductory essay. That's pretty bad for me. Paul-Gabriel Bouce's introduction was the perfect wake-up call - I don't recall reading a piece that felt quite so intellectual about a work of fiction for a long time now.
It's a shame this book is out of print. On the whole I'm quite snobbish about the editions of Classic novels I read. Generally, I feel, the Oxford World's Classics editions have the more carefully edited and thoroughly annotated texts, with great introductions. However, now and again Penguin Classics produce a title to match and this, from 1990, is one such in my view.
Having slogged my degenerated brain through the introduction and Smollett's turgid and unhilarious self-dedication I settled down for my laugh-a-sentence jaunt through this rogue's life, remembering how much I'd enjoyed Roderick Random (1748) some years back. After a few pages I remembered that some years back I'd also tried to read Peregrine Pickle (1751) but had given up quite early on - possibly because I wasn't in the right frame of mind for it at the time, or possibly because I thought it was rubbish (I can't remember now). I intend to have another go at that lengthy beast in the future.
Fathom is also a hefty length and is very densely written. Although the chapters are often quite short (good for commuting) you have to concentrate on what you're reading (not always good for commuting). The writer does rely on the reader recollecting certain episodes for the ending and I may not have helped myself by taking a break between volumes I and II, but since I raced through the second volume much more speedily than I did the first I feel the break was worthwhile and my mind returned to the text and the language in a more open and accessible way. Last time I read Sterne's Tristram Shandy I felt afterwards that I would have enjoyed it more if I'd taken a break along the way - these 'novels' were often originally published in separate volumes after all.
As Monsieur Bouce advises in the introduction, Fathom hasn't had the greatest respect from literary scholars since it first appeared and has not often been reprinted since. It's easy to see why, I feel. I didn't hate the book, but I certainly loathed the protagonist and his dupes and by the end I also loathed Smollett for dragging me through the whole affair to what is a rather open and unsatisfactory ending. I wanted blood but I got a rumbly tummy, effectively.
I expected grime, filth and chamber-pot humour with picaresque adventures, but the story lurches from one scam to the next like Dick Dastardly in an episode of Wacky Races. Yes, occasionally the scammer gets scammed and you find yourself begrudgingly feeling sorry for him, but the law of diminishing returns hangs heavy over the book as a whole and the longer it goes on, the more he steals and the more women he deflowers the more our credulity is stretched. We get the point early on, then it gets repeatedly hammered home for the next four hundred pages. There is very little in the way of 'light' to balance Fathom's 'dark'. By the time the 'hero' Melvil finds his backbone, and we meet the first benevolent Jew in English fiction, it's all a bit late in the day really and I'd given up caring either way.
My credulity was stretched most by Fathom's deciding, having failed to impress in English high society, to move to the provinces and become a doctor of medicine after reading a couple of books on the subject. Cue some hilarious instances where his complete lack of knowledge and experience cause risible effects? Spontaneous vomiting over the vicar as he reads the last rites? No. With amazing luck Fathom actually becomes pretty good. I've no doubt charlatans like this abounded in olden days, and Smollett himself was a doctor as well as a writer, but there may be some irony here that has just got lost over time.
I don't want to give away too much, so I won't mention any more about the story or the characters, only to say that in keeping with much fiction of the time the main protagonist is well-drawn (even if his motives are questionable) but the cast around him are very much ciphers.
I doubt there is any hidden agenda in the fact that Fathom could dupe and scam and diddle his way across Europe from Hungary, but England proved to be his match and his downfall. Smollett was a Scot, but he was trying to make his way in London and this piece of flattery presumably assisted these endeavours.
So, would I recommend this book to anyone? I'd recommend the edition, with its fine introduction and plentiful notes, but I'd recommend the book with caution - but after all, this is only my opinion...
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