Part 2

Discourse and Identity

Where in Oliver Twist the reader finds a third-person omniscient narrator, in Fingersmith the reader discovers there are two limited third-person narrators in the characters of Sue and Maud. Due to this, there is no progressively linear revealing of secrets, but a myriad of conflicting secrets throughout the narrative. This idea is starkly presented to the reader when Sue states that “[w]hen I now try to sort out who knew what and who knew nothing, who knew everything and who was a fraud, I have to stop and give it up, it makes my head spin” (117). The secrets the characters keep from each other in Fingersmith also deal with the nature of individual identity, as they do in Oliver Twist. The distinction arises from the context in which these secrets operate. Fingersmith expands upon the notion of literacy, which as mentioned above, operates in Oliver Twist. In Oliver Twist identity formation is connected to the market, whether in the form of trading in secrets or literacy, in Fingersmith, though, identity formation functions, solely, within the world of literacy, or, more specifically, discursive communities.

This becomes clear when the narration shifts to Maud. When Mrs. Sucksby informs Maud of her background, she tells of how Sue’s mother offered her monetary compensation to keep hidden Sue’s identity from her grandfather and uncle. In response to this, Mrs. Sucksby tells Sue’s mother, “’[k]eep your money. Keep your fifty pounds. I don’t want it. What I want, is this: Your pa is a gentleman and gents are tricky. I’ll keep your baby, but I want for you to write me out a paper, saying all you mean to do, and signing it, and sealing it; and that makes it binding’” (353). This passage reveals that secrecy has been removed from the framework of the market, as Mrs. Sucksby rejects the fifty pounds, to one of discourse which the text makes explicit with the emphasis placed on writing. The end result of all of this, though, is the same as the reader finds in Oliver Twist, the production of identity by the external world. As Maud tells Mrs. Sucksby in reaction to the above, “’[w]hat are you gazing at? Do you suppose a girl is sitting here? That girl is lost?’” (355). And then, finally, “’[s]he is a book, from which the words have peeled and drifted – ‘” (355).

This idea of Maud as a book with an externally-imposed, fluid identity operates on a second level as well. It is only through the eyes of Sue, then Maud, and then Sue again that the reader sees them develop an understanding of each other. As they are limited narrators, unlike in Oliver Twist, this has the effect of drawing both of them into the discursive community that constantly shapes, and reshapes, their respective identities. Because of this Sue and Maud can never exit the world of discourse since they are the ones telling their stories. At the end of Fingersmith, the reader finds Maud showing Sue the pornographic literature she has written and saying of it that “’[i]t is filled with all the words for how I want you … Look’” (582). This is process of being formed, or reformed, and there is no stopping point to this, unlike in Oliver Twist.

This sense of blurring in Fingersmith works not only in terms of the narrative voices, but also in terms of the setting. A casual reading of Fingersmith would seem to suggest a reinforcement of the division between the city and the country, and the values associated with both, that Oliver Twist tries to draw. One example of this is that in Fingersmith the country is hierarchical. Sue works as a maid for Maud. In opposition to this, Sue states of her upbringing in London that “it was a life without masters” (40). For all of this, though, the reader finds the two environments bleeding into each other. One distinct example of this is the role that pornography, and more broadly sexuality, plays. Sue begins the novel with a belief that she understands the ways of the world in regards to sexuality. As she says of the matter, “I thought I knew all about love, in those days. I thought I knew all about everything” (14). In spite of her belief in her own knowledge it is clear that she has been cloistered by Mrs. Sucksby, though. As Sue notes of two early admirers, “Mrs. Sucksby chased them both away. She was as careful of me in that department, as in all others” (14). It is the country, specifically the Briar, that the reader, first, finds an involved understanding of sexuality in the form of Mr. Lily’s encyclopedia of pornographic literature. This chasm that the novel establishes between the city and country in terms of sexual awareness it then proceeds to bridge, though. Maud says that it was her “uncle’s custom, occasionally to invite interested gentleman to the house, to take a supper with us and, later, hear me read” (215). From this passage, the reader discovers that, in the world of the novel, knowledge of sexuality is not geographically rooted as these “interested gentleman” live in London and are able to transgress the urban/rural divide at will.

This recognition that an understanding of sexuality is not geographically rooted has the effect of an encompassing of the urban within the rural in Fingersmith which Oliver Twist just hints at on a sub textual level. This is, also, found through the analogy the novel draws between the insane asylum Sue is forced into and the streets of London that Maud roams. Sue’s first impression of the asylum is that “[i]t was just like at Briar, though this house was smaller, and neater” (182). By associating the asylum with the Briar, the novel prompts the reader to the realization that the asylum, in its external appearance, contains attributes of the country. Internally, though, is a different matter. Sue finds that she “could not say anything, for trying to find my breath” (420). This disorientation is a result of her being, among other things, “carried [me] along a passage, through a set of doors and a room; then to a landing, another passage, another room – I tried to study the way, but they had me on my back” (421). It is, then, noted that “they had got me deep into the house, and that I was lost” (421). This sense of alienation that Sue experiences is akin to the one Maud feels when she escapes from Mr. Ibbs’s shop into the streets of London. In a daze Maud forces herself on by saying to herself, through internal monologue, “[t]ake wider roads now: the lanes and alleys twist, and are dark, you must not get caught in them. Run, run. No matter that the sky seems vast and awful to you” (392). The impression given to the reader here is similar. Just as the asylum is an enclosed area that results in disorientation, so is the city of London.

The importance of these two passages is where they lead in terms of the story. When Dr. Graves and Dr. Christie examine Sue in the asylum they attempt to make her write. When provided with a pencil and paper, she proceeds to write her name (449). This exercise is, then, repeated (456). By entering into the discursive community, Sue is attempting to assert, what she believes is, her intrinsic identity. Likewise, Maud immediately after escaping into the streets of London makes her way to Holywell Street. She knows of it because of, Mr. Hawtrey, the pornographic bookshop owner who is associated with Mr. Lily. At Holywell Street, a street of pornographic bookshops, Maud is once again in the realm of the sexuality-based discursive community that has created her identity.