David Copperfield’s “Written Memory"
David Copperfield calls his project of recalling and structuring his life “my written memory” (ch 48), and he devotes much of his attention to how imagination weaves strands of experience and memory into a memorable whole.
1. Surrounded by negative models
- characters rely on writing or declaiming as a retreat from active participation in the world
- many of the writers content to repeat words to no effect
1. Mr. Dick flies pages of the Memorial on kites
2. Micawber writes endless letters to uncaring recipients
- Dr. Strong’s work preparing a sourcebook for language, the Dictionary
1. Presented as an endless task that blinds its creator to serious obscurities in human
Meanings and motives
2. To be fully useful, he must awaken from his dream of language, learn to read his words with
“new meaning,” and attempt to save his wife—not just his words—from “misconstruction”
3. Mr. Dick poses the ultimate problem of the writer: he can never get his subject
“quite right” or make it “perfectly clear” (ch. 14)
4. His obsession, which traps him in frustrating repetition, limits his effectiveness to
to the world and shows David the necessity of confronting, not just entertaining, the ghosts of the mind.
2. David attempts to give his version of the past validity and force by describing his memories as almost physical sensation that left a real rather than an imagined mark on his sensitive mind
a. Describes his memory of his old nurse Peggoty’s roughened finger, almost as if the finger had touched his memory as well as his child’s hand or face:
I have an impression on my mind which I cannot distinguish from actual remembrance, of the touch of Peggotty’s roughened forefinger (ch. 2)
b. David the adult narrator tries to recapture his childhood “objectivity” by making associations between present and past images
c. He focuses on physical objects that he claims trigger scenes buried in his memory, like the ring “associated in my remembrance with Dora’s hand” that causes a “momentary stirring in my heart, like pain!” (ch. 33)
d. Or the storm that kills Ham and Steerforth, which is so “indelibly” etched in his memory that he can get it back “at the lightest mention of a sea-shore” (ch. 55).
3. One can emphasize the success of David’s strategies by contrasting them with the vacuous generalities, predetermined questions (“Must not D.C. confine himself to the broad pinions of Time?”), and conventional images (“Are tears the dewdrops of the heart?”) that fill Julia Mills’s diary (ch. 38).
a. Julia’s comic failure suggests the limitations of cliched emblems of memory
b. Objects—like the first toy, the Christmas tree, the class ring, or the family snapshot album—objects that mark out public or generic development rather than individual pasts
c. Scenes instead rely on common experiences for their impact and yet are vivid and particular, like David’s childhood pleasure with his crocodile book or the catalog of smells that recall his schoolroom (“mildewed corduroys, sweet apples wanting air, and rotten books”) [ch. 9]
4. Memory as a way of editing one’s past
a. David recognizes he may be suspected of using his narrative powers to obscure his past.
b. “I write the exact truth,” he claims. “It would avail me nothing to extenuate it now” (ch. 44) But the issue clearly extends beyond any deliberate attempt to falsify the past; the difficulty is how an autobiographer knows or writes “the exact truth” and how fully the written life can approach the lived experience.
c. David makes a compact to “reflect [his] mind on the paper, [to] examine it, closely, and bring its secrets to light” (ch. 48).
5. David’s development as a writer and the experience of “retracing” his steps (ch. 31) lead him to greater self –consciousness about his process of shaping his material.
a. David does not fully welcome this maturity, because he sees it also as a loss of childhood’s innocent delight in words as objects. He must work harder to recapture the time when words recalled “no feeling of disgust or reluctance,” when he delighted simply in the “fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of their shapes, and the easy good-nature of O and Q and S” (ch. 4)
b. And he dreads the pain that writing can bring, the memories of betrayal and loss that may emerge with the delight.
c. He suggests that the writing of such sorrows makes the “indelible” (ch. 55) and that, like the past itself, the “remembrance” of the past “is fraught with so much pain” (ch. 14).
d. Yet he also recognizes that such times are lost forever without the meditative effect of language. Only through a verbal command—“Let me remember how it used to be” (ch. 4)—can he approach the past.
e. David’s desire to recapture some measure of his past begins to overcome his need to partition off or repress sorrow.
6. David’s various strategies for writing the past, contrasting scenes in which he calls attention to his art with those in which he asks permission to “stand aside” as narrator (ch. 43)
a. These “Retrospective” chapters—such as chapter 14, in which he describes himself as a ghostly director or magician “calling up” players from the past and raising and lowering the curtain on the scene that passes before him—suggests a distanced and passive narrator. . . .
b. A writer who appears as audience or reader of a scene.
c. He regularly portrays himself as an observer of his own life—a strange little boy off to one side watching the adults argue over his fate or a strange adult hiding behind doors while other adults take central roles in crisis scenes
d. The novel invites us to consider not only “what happens” but “how we are told of it.”
7. In chapter 63, David describes his structuring of the material as weaving, a metaphor that suggests the power of the adult’s imagination to make strong connections, find a meaningful “thread,” and link parts into a whole
a. But the metaphor also counters David’s earlier insistence on a truly objective narrative (ch. 2) and suggests the motive of catching or trapping.
8. If writing is to have a therapeutic value for David Copperfield and his society, he must learn the functions and malfunctions of writing.
a. His imaginative power to bring forth memories with the vividness of present experience must be tempered by an adult awareness of the art involved.
b. Words are not things but signs by which people struggle to communicate, and that struggle must aim for something more than a nostalgic retreat into a fictional world.
c. If the child is to be father to the man rather than a perpetual child like Micawber or Mr. Dick, he must direct his most serious personal issues out to the world and must tolerate a critical response from his adult self.
d. David’s writing can thus become a way to free him from obsessive repetition of his past and move him beyond egocentric concerns.
e. His story encourages sophisticated self-consciousness about language and writing, in both their literary and their social uses
The education of David’s “undisciplined heart”—provides the novel its focus.