Barbara Kingsolver (2022)
When, at the age of 15, I first read David Copperfield, Charles Dickens’ classic novel of the protagonist’s struggle to rise above child poverty in a society seemingly structured to keep him poor, it was the first book that made me tear up at the end, that glorious end with the angelic Agnes ever “pointing upward.” I wasn’t sure that Barbara Kingsolver’s DemonCopperhead could possibly elicit anything like that response from my jaded, seen-it-all-before, read-it-all-before consciousness. Re-imagining the quintessentially British Dickens’ nineteenth-century story as a twenty-first century slice of American Appalachian life? How’s that likely to work?
Well, of course, it was likely to bomb spectacularly. But instead, what I found from the book’s very first paragraph was a voice that explodes off the page with both confidence and world-weariness, with stoicism and self-knowledge, with everything the character is going to exhibit in the rest of this blockbuster of a novel.
Dickens’ David famously opens with, “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.” By contrast, Kingsolver’s Copperhead (whose real name is Damon Fields, but he has red hair, so…) opens with, “First, I got myself born. A decent crowd was on hand to watch and they’ve always given me that much: the worst of the job was up to me, my mother being let’s just say out of it.”
In this life, you make your own choices, and if you’re going to get anywhere, and your mother is in and out of rehab constantly, you have to do it yourself, Damon tells you at the beginning. You think there’s going to be a hero in your life? Think again. There’s just you, trying to make your way in a world that’s stacked against you. Here’s a voice that, in its tone of genuine down-home rural Americanism sounds a lot more like Huck Finn than anybody in Dickens. Like Huck, he has a memorable way of putting things in his colorful American vernacular: He’s “the Eagle Scout of trailer trash,” he tells us at one point.
And I don’t mean to say that you must be familiar with David Copperfield to enjoy Demon Copperhead. You can follow the plot, empathize with the characters and absorb the themes of Kingsolver’s book without ever having heard of Dickens. But it does add something to the overall experience of the book if you know the Copperfield story. In particular, there’s a bit of fun for readers when they can recognize by name a Kingsolvian character intended to parallel a Dickensian one. Thus, when Damon’s abusive stepfather bears the name of “Stoner,” it’s easy to see the connection with David’s equally cruel stepfather, whose name happens to be “Murdstone.” Damon’s kind neighbors, the Peggots, clearly recall David’s friends the Peggottys and Clara Peggoty, David’s early nurse and lifelong friend. Dickens’ charming and narcissistic James Steerforth, who for a while promises to be that “hero of my own life” David looks forward to in his opening sentence, finds his counterpoint in Kingsolver’s Sterling Ford, nicknamed Fast Forward, star quarterback on the high school football team and, for awhile, Damon’s idol. Copperfield’s “child wife” Dora Spenlowe is echoed in Kingsolver’s Dori, and when Damon falls for his needy, childish Dori you don’t have to remember David Copperfield to know that relationship is going to be a disaster, but it helps.
Occasionally Kingsolver’s parallel characters are direct mirror images of Dickens’, as in the case of Damon’s grandmother Betsy and her eccentric friend Mr. Dick, who liked flying kites, mirroring David’s great-aunt Betsy and her eccentric friend Mr. Dick who also liked flying kites. Sometimes there’s more of a difference: Damon’s short-term foster father Mr. McCobb has a few things in common with David’s Mr. Micawber, lack of steady employment and perpetual new schemes to get rich among them, but Micawber is a well-meaning screwup, while McCobb is just trying to take advantage of the system. And Dickens’ Uriah Heep is a far more insidious villain than Kingsolver’s assistant coach U-Haul Pyles, whose downfall is far less precipitous than Heep’s in Dickens. And then there is “Angus” Winfield, daughter of the high school football coach and Damon’s foster-sister during the best and worst years of his life, who clearly parallels David’s guardian angel, Agnes Wickfield, and who you know from the first is going to be a major influence in Damon’s life.
Of course, knowing Dickens gives you an idea of the role these characters are going to play in the story. But the plot of Demon Copperhead is not therefore predictable, as Kingsolver translates these characters’ motivations and effects on the protagonist into a completely different milieu of time and place. Ultimately, what’s important about the influence of Dickens on Kingsolver’s book is not the superficial correspondences of plot or character, but rather their very significant agreement in terms of theme and authorial intent. In an afterword to her novel, Kingsolver writes, “I’m grateful to Charles Dickens for writing David Copperfield, his impassioned critique of institutional poverty and its damaging effects on children in his society. Those problems are still with us. In adapting his novel to my own place and time, working for years with his outrage, inventiveness, and empathy at my elbow, I’ve come to think of him as my genius friend.”
It is precisely those social evils that Kingsolver has directly in her sites in this novel: The institutional poverty of former coal-mining areas of her native Appalachia; the effects of that poverty on children, especially children whose parents have been victims of that poverty and are dead or imprisoned. She attacks the ineptitude and bureaucracy of child welfare services, the abuse of the system of foster care that allows people like Damon’s foster parents to take children solely for the sake of taking the monthly support money, or for gaining slave labor like the tobacco farmer who first fosters Damon. She attacks a justice system that will accept the testimony of an abusive stepfather rather than the word of the abused child.
But more than anything else she attacks the opioid crisis. Damon, who has a brief period when it seems he may escape the cesspool of his luckless life through success on the gridiron as a high school football star, has a terrible knee injury for which he is prescribed opioid pain relievers to which he becomes hopelessly addicted, and Kingsolver’s indictment of the doctors, salesmen, druggists, and especially the Sackler-owned Purdue Pharma are is merciless in the novel. It truly seems like there is no way out for Damon—but as David Copperfield had a talent in writing that finally helped pull him out of poverty, the fact that Damon has a talent for drawing—all he has left after football—does give him a ray of hope. I won’t spoil the end by telling you whether he’s able to use it.
Thus Kingsolver is not simply the heir of Dickens in recasting his most personal novel; she is more importantly the spiritual heir of Dickens’ novel of social criticism, something you don’t see much of any more. Where is Dickens today? Where are the Zolas? The Sinclair Lewises? The John Steinbecks? Gone. But we’ve still got Barbara Kingsolver.