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Overview
Vanity Fair is a social satire novel by William Makepeace Thackeray situated in early nineteenth century England and Europe. The novel, which was first published in 1848, has as characters Becky Sharp, an adventuress; Amelia Sedley, her friend; Joseph Sedley (Jos), Amelia’s brother; Rawdon Crawley, Becky’s husband; Miss Crawley, Rawdon’s wealthy aunt; Old Sir Pitt Crawley, Rawdon’s father; Young Sir Pitt Crawley, Rawdon’s brother; George Osborne, Amelia’s husband; and Captain William Dobbin, Amelia’s friend
Plot Summary of Vanity Fair
Becky Sharp and Amelia Sedley became good friends while they were students at Miss Pinkerton’s School for girls. It was proof of Amelia’s good, gentle nature that she took as kindly as she did to her friend, who was generally disliked by all the other girls. Amelia overlooked the indications of Becky’s selfishness as much as she could.
After the two girls had finished their education at the school, Becky accompanied her friend to her home for a short visit. There she first met Joseph Sedley, Amelia’s older brother, called Jos, who was home on leave from military service in India.
Jos was a shy man, unused to women, and certainly to women as designing and flirtatious as Becky. His blundering and awkward manners did not appeal to many women, but Becky was happy to overlook these faults when she compared them with his wealth and social position. Amelia innocently believed that her friend had fallen in love with her brother, and she discreetly tried to further the romance.
To this end, she arranged a party at Vauxhall. Becky and Jos, along with Amelia and her admirer, George Osborne, were present. There was a fifth member of the group, Captain Dobbin, a tall, lumbering fellow, also in service in India. He had been in love with Amelia for a long time, but he recognized that dashing George Osborne was much more suitable for her. All the maneuvering of the flirtatious Becky and the amiable Amelia, however, was not sufficient to corner Jos, who drank too much punch and believed that he had made a silly figure of himself at the party. A day or so later, a letter delivered to the Sedley household announced that Jos was ill and planned to return to India as soon as possible.
Since there was no longer any reason for Becky to remain with the Sedleys, she left Amelia, after many tears and kisses, to take a position as governess to two young girls at Queen’s Crawley. The head of the household was Sir Pitt Crawley, a cantankerous old man renowned for his miserliness. Lady Crawley was an apathetic soul who lived in fear of her husband’s unreasonable outbursts.
Becky decided that she would have nothing to fear from her timid mistress and spent most of her time ingratiating herself with Sir Pitt and ignoring her pupils. Becky also showed great interest in Miss Crawley, a spinster aunt of the family, who was exceedingly wealthy. Miss Crawley paid little attention to Sir Pitt and his children, but she was fond of Rawdon Crawley, a captain in the army and a son of Sir Pitt by a previous marriage. She was so fond of her dashing young nephew that she supported him through school and paid all of his gambling debts with only a murmur.
During Becky’s stay, Miss Crawley visited Sir Pitt only once, at a time when Rawdon was also present. The handsome young dragoon soon fell prey to Becky’s wiles and followed her about devotedly. Becky also took care to ingratiate herself with the holder of the purse strings. Miss Crawley found Becky witty and charming and did not attempt to disguise her opinion that the little governess was worth all the rest of the Crawley household put together. Becky, therefore, found herself in a very enviable position. Both Sir Pitt and his handsome son were obviously interested in her. Miss Crawley insisted that Becky accompany her back to London.
Becky had been expected to return to her pupils after only a short stay with Miss Crawley; but Miss Crawley was taken ill and refused to allow anyone but her dear Becky to nurse her. Afterwards, there were numerous other excuses to prevent the governess from returning to her duties.
Certainly, Becky was not unhappy. Rawdon Crawley was a constant caller and a devoted suitor for Becky’s hand. When the news arrived that Lady Crawley had died, no great concern was felt by anyone. A few days later, however. Sir Pitt himself appeared, asking to see Miss Sharp. Much to Becky’s surprise, the baronet threw himself at her feet and asked her to marry him. Regretfully, she refused his offer. She was already secretly married to Rawdon Crawley.
Following this disclosure, Rawdon and his bride left for a honeymoon at Brighton. Chagrined and angry, old Miss Crawley took to her bed, changed her will, and cut off her nephew without a shilling. Sir Pitt raved with anger.
Amelia’s marriage had also precipitated a family crisis. Her romance with George had proceeded with good wishes on both sides until Mr. Sedley lost most of his money through some unfortunate business deals. Then George’s snobbish father ordered his son to break his engagement to a penniless woman. George, whose affection for Amelia was never stable, was inclined to accept this parental command; but Captain Dobbin, who saw with distress that Amelia was breaking her heart over George, finally prevailed upon the young man to go through with the marriage, regardless of his father’s wishes. When the couple arrived in Brighton for their honeymoon, they found Rawdon and Becky living there happily in penniless extravagance.
Captain Dobbin also arrived in Brighton. He had agreed to act as intercessor with Mr. Osborne. Nevertheless, his hopes of reconciling father and son were shattered when Mr. Osborne furiously dismissed Captain Dobbin and took immediate steps to disown George. Captain Dobbin also brought the news that the army had been ordered to Belgium. Napoleon had landed from Elba. The Hundred Days had begun.
In Brussels, the two couples met again. George Osborne was infatuated with Becky. Jos Sedley, now returned from India, and Captain Dobbin were also stationed in that city; Captain Dobbin was in faithful attendance upon neglected Amelia. Everyone was waiting for the next move that Napoleon would make; but in the meantime, the gaiety of the Duke of Wellington’s forces was widespread. The Osbornes and Crawleys attended numerous balls. Becky, especially, made an impression upon military society, and her coquetry extended with equal effect from general to private.
June 15, 1815, was a famous night in Brussels, for on that evening the Duchess of Richmond gave a tremendous ball. Amelia left the party early, brokenhearted at the attentions her husband was showing Becky. Shortly after she left, the men were given orders to march to meet the enemy. Napoleon had entered Belgium, and a great battle was impending. As Napoleon’s forces approached, fear and confusion spread throughout Brussels, and many of the civilians fled the city, but Amelia and Becky did not. Becky was not alarmed, and Amelia refused to leave while George was in danger. She remained in the city some days before she heard that her husband had been killed.
Rawdon returned safely from the Battle of Waterloo. He and Becky spent a merry and triumphant season in Paris, where Becky’s beauty and wit gained her a host of admirers. Rawdon was very proud of the son she bore him.
Amelia also had a child. She had returned to London almost out of her mind with grief, and only after her son was born did she show any signs of rallying. When Becky grew bored with the pleasures of Paris, the Crawleys returned to London. There they rented a large home and proceeded to live well with little money. By this time, Becky was a master at this art, and so they lived on a grander scale than Rawdon’s small winnings at cards would warrant.
Becky had become acquainted with the nobility of England and had made a particular impression on rich old Lord Steyne. At last, all society began to talk about young Mrs. Crawley and her elderly admirer. Fortunately, Rawdon heard nothing of this ballroom and coffeehouse gossip.
Through the efforts of Lord Steyne, Becky eventually achieved her dearest wish, presentation at Court. Presented along with her was the wife of the new Sir Pitt Crawley. The old man had died, and young Sir Pitt, his oldest son and Rawdon’s brother, had inherited the title. Since then, friendly relations had been established between the two brothers.
If Rawdon realized that his brother had also fallen in love with Becky, he gave no sign, and he accepted the money his brother gave him with good grace; but more and more, he felt himself shut out from the happy life that Becky enjoyed. He spent much time with his son, for he realized that the child was neglected. Once or twice he saw young George Osborne, Amelia’s son.
Amelia struggled to keep her son with her, but her pitiful financial status made it difficult to support him. Her parents had grown garrulous and morose with disappointment over their reduced circumstances. At length, Amelia sorrowfully agreed to let Mr. Osborne take the child and rear him as his own. Mr. Osborne still refused to recognize the woman his son had married against his wishes, however, and Amelia rarely saw the boy.
Rawdon was now deeply in debt. When he appealed to Becky for money, she told him that she had none to spare. She made no attempt to explain the jewelry and other trinkets she bought. When Rawdon was imprisoned for a debt, he wrote and asked Becky to take care of the matter. She answered that she could not get the money until the following day. An appeal to Sir Pitt, however, brought about Rawdon’s release, and he returned to his home to find Becky entertaining Lord Steyne.
Not long afterward, Rawdon accepted a post abroad, and he never returned to his unfaithful, scheming wife.
Amelia’s fortunes had now improved. When Jos Sedley returned home, he established his sister and father in a more pleasant home. Mrs. Sedley had died, and Jos resolved to do as much as he could to make his father’s last days happy.
Captain Dobbin had returned from India and confessed his love for Amelia. Although she acknowledged him as a friend, she was not yet ready to accept his love. It was Captain Dobbin who went to Mr. Osborne and gradually succeeded in reconciling him to his son’s wife. When Mr. Osborne died, he left a good part of his fortune to his grandson and appointed Amelia as the boy’s guardian.
Amelia, her son, Captain Dobbin, and Jos Sedley took a short trip to the Continent. This visit was perhaps the happiest time in Amelia’s life. Her son was with her constantly, and Captain Dobbin was a devoted attendant. Eventually, his devotion was to overcome her hesitation and they were to be married. At a small German resort, they encountered Becky once more. After Rawdon left her, Becky had been unable to live down the scandal of their separation. Leaving her child with Sir Pitt and his wife, she crossed to the Continent. Since then, she had been living with first one considerate gentleman and then another. When she saw the prosperous Jos, she vowed not to let him escape as he had before.
Amelia and Jos greeted her in a friendly manner, and only Captain Dobbin seemed to regard her with distrust. He tried to warn Jos about Becky, but Jos was a willing victim of her charms.
Becky traveled with Jos wherever he went. Although she could not get a divorce from Rawdon, Jos treated her as his wife, and despite Captain Dobbin’s protests, he took out a large insurance policy in her name. A few months later, his family learned that he had died while staying with Becky at Aix-la-Chapelle. The full circumstances of his death were never established, but Becky came into a large sum of money from his insurance. She spent the rest of her life on the Continent, where she assumed the role of the virtuous widow and won a reputation for benevolence and generosity.
Analysis of Vanity Fair
When critics call William Makepeace Thackeray’s characters in Vanity Fair lifelike, they are using that term for a subtler meaning than it usually conveys. His people are not true to life in the sense of being fully rounded or drawn with psychological depth. On the contrary, readers sometimes find their actions too farcical to be human, as in Jos Sedley’s ignominious flight from Brussels after the battle of Waterloo, or too sinister to be credible, as in the implication that Becky poisons Jos to collect his insurance—totally out of keeping with what readers learned about her in the previous sixty-six chapters. She may be a selfish opportunist, but she is not a murderess.
Thackeray’s characters are lifelike if “life” is defined as a typological phenomenon; when readers shrug their shoulders and say “that’s life,” readers are indulging in a kind of judgment on the human race that is based on types, not individuals; on the common failings of all men and women, not on the unique goodness or evil of some. Insofar as all people share one another’s weaknesses, everyone is represented in Vanity Fair. Human banality levels all. That is the satirical revelation that Vanity Fair provides; that is the way in which its characters are lifelike.
Thackeray’s general approach is comic satire; his method is that of the theatrical producer, specifically, the puppeteer. In his prologue, he calls himself the “Manager of the Performance” and refers to Becky, Amelia, and Dobbin as puppets of varying “flexibility . . . and liveliness.” Critics usually interpret this offhanded way of referring to his principal characters as a vindication of his own intrusions and asides; as a reminder to the reader that he, the author, is as much involved in the action as any of his characters.
Nevertheless, readers should probably take a harder look at Thackeray’s metaphor: He is a puppeteer because he must be one; because his people are puppets, someone must pull the strings. The dehumanized state of Regency and early Victorian society comes to accurate life through the cynical vehicle of Thackeray’s puppeteering. Sentimentality and hypocrisy, closely related social vices, seem interchangeable at the end of the novel when Thackeray gathers all the remaining puppets: Amelia and Dobbin, a “tender little parasite” clinging to her “rugged old oak,” and Becky, acting out her newfound saintliness by burying herself “in works of piety” and “having stalls at Fancy Fairs” for the benefit of the poor. “Let us shut up the box and the puppets,” concludes Thackeray, “for our play is played out.”
Despite the predictability of all the characters’ puppetlike behavior, they often exhibit just enough humanity to make their dehumanization painful. Thackeray wants readers to feel uncomfortable over the waste of human potential in the vulgar concerns of Vanity Fair. George Osborne lives like a cad, is arrogant about his spendthrift ways, is unfaithful to his wife, and dies a hero, leading a charge against the retreating French at Waterloo. The reader is left with the impression that the heroism of his death is rendered irrelevant by the example of his life. Such satire is demanding in its moral vision precisely because it underscores the price of corruption: Honour becomes absurd.
Rawdon Crawley’s love for his little son slowly endows the father with a touch of decency, but he is exiled by the “Manager of the Performance” to Coventry Island where he dies of yellow fever “most deeply beloved and deplored.” Presumably the wastrel, separated from his son, dies in a position of duty. Or are readers to pity him for having been forced, by his financial situation, to accept the position at Coventry as a bribe from Lord Steyne? Thackeray is elusive; again, the suggestions of pathos are touched on so lightly that they hardly matter. The indifference itself is Vanity Fair’s reward.
For all of his jocularity and beef-eating familiarity, the “Manager of the Performance” sets a dark stage. Vanity Fair is colourful enough: the excitement at Brussels over Waterloo, the gardens at Vauxhall, the Rhine journey; but it is a panoply of meretricious and wasteful human endeavour. Readers really do not need Thackeray’s moralizing to convince them of the shabbiness of it all.
Astonishing is the fact that, despite the novel’s cynicism, it also has immense vitality. Readers sense the very essence of worldliness in its pages. It is difficult to deny the attractiveness of Vanity Fair. John Bunyan made that perfectly clear in The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678), and Thackeray simply updates the vision. What was allegory in Bunyan becomes realism in Thackeray; the modem writer’s objectivity in no way detracts from the alluring effect achieved by Bunyan’s imaginary Vanity Fair. Bunyan still operates in the Renaissance tradition of Spenserian facade; evil traps man through illusion, as exemplified in the trials of the Knight of the Red Crosse. Thackeray drops the metaphor of illusion and shows corruption bared—and still it is attractive.
Becky Sharp is described as “worldliness incarnate” by Louis Kronenberger, but the reader cannot deny her charms. Thackeray calls his book “A Novel Without a Hero,” but readers and Thackeray know better. Becky’s pluck and ambition are extraordinary; her triumph is even more impressive because of the formidable barriers of class and poverty she has to scale. When she throws the Johnson dictionary out of the coach window as she leaves Miss Pinkerton’s academy, readers are thrilled by her refusal to be patronized; her destructive and cruel manipulations of the Crawleys have all the implications of a revolutionary act. Thackeray actually emphasizes Becky’s spirit and power by making virtuous Amelia weak and sentimental. Although readers are tempted to see this as a contradiction of Thackeray’s moral intention, they must remember that he understood very clearly that true goodness must be built on strength: “Clumsy Dobbin” is Thackeray’s somewhat sentimental example of this point. The human tragedy is that most men and women cannot reconcile their energies with their ideals and that in a fallen world of social injustices, people must all sin in order to survive. It is ironic that precisely because Becky Sharp is such an energetic opportunist, readers almost believe her when she says, “I think I could have been a good woman if I had 5000 a year.”
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