False Meritocracies,
& the American Dream
Written by Mae Liu
“Despite Pip’s own lack of schooling, however, he considers himself above Joe—a misplaced sense of superiority that mirrors the attitude of first-generation immigrant children towards their own parents.”
“Indeed, as the chasm of socioeconomic inequality between the ruling and working classes has only widened since Dickens’ time, capitalism’s jaded promises of wealth seem little more than the stuff of dreams—a dream as precarious and foggy as the marshes’ waterline.”
The lingering fear of being reduced to caricatures of Asian immigrants flooded my mouth in an outpour of terse rebukes: no, Mum, you can’t just stop in the middle of the sidewalk to snap pictures. Yes, tipping is expensive but compulsory, and please, Dad, don’t argue with the waitstaff.
As a child, similar experiences had made my ears burn: the naturally raucous cadence of my mother’s village dialect, or the pristine Lunchables of my classmates juxtaposed with my strong-smelling, home-cooked fare. These are archetypal events in the tired immigrant narrative, from which children of diaspora inherit their sense of “other-ness,” and internalise an anxiety to assimilate.
Shame surrounding one’s status (race, class, etc.) seems to be the primary impetus driving the characters and plot of Great Expectations—and ultimately what left me feeling sympathy for Pip’s insatiable yearning for self-improvement. The novel is centred around Pip’s attempts to disguise and rise above his social station, spurning the telltale “commonness” imbued in his language and mannerisms. Upon closer reflection, the same Industrial Age dream that called countryfolk from their fields to make a fortune in the city seems to have been shrink-wrapped and re-sold with each generation of economic upheaval: notably, it manifests today in the immigrant consciousness as the American Dream. From Pip’s complacence towards Joe, his fixation with gentility, and his idealised vision of social mobility through intellectual advancement, Dickens has set the stage for a lasting critique surrounding the myth of equal opportunity under capitalism.
Both the themes and language of Dickens’ novel are charged with the concept of consumption, used to describe intellectual curiosity, while also alluding to its hierarchical implications. First, Pip describes that “in [his] hunger for information” he asks Mr. Wopsle to “bestow some intellectual crumbs upon [him].” This metaphorical liaison between knowledge and nutrition underscores the significance of education to the growth of social status—while also demonstrating the power imbalance between those with and without “proper” schooling. Being deprived of both status and education effectively leaves Pip as destitute as a lack of food would, therefore compelling him to scavenge for these scraps—whether in Mr. Wopsle, or with Biddy’s readings.
Consumption as a metaphor for social mobility also occurs in Biddy’s comic song, where a commoner laments that he was “done very brown” during his trip to London. This turn of phrase, literally derived from “[doing] thoroughly…a roasted joint of meat”, equates the exploited man to food prepared for consumption (think, too, of the phrase “eat you alive” —to completely overpower and render someone at your mercy). In the competitive arena of London’s industrial economy, individuals can either eat or be eaten, as Pip soon learns: under the guise of teaching, Mr Wopsle “only [wants Pip] for a dramatic lay-figure,” successfully bending and battering Pip to his will until he is “severely mauled.” Pip’s position of intellectual inferiority, like the comic song’s narrator, makes him susceptible to objectification and exploitation, exemplifying the decisive role of “genteel education” in social mobility.
Despite Pip’s own lack of schooling, however, he considers himself above Joe—a misplaced sense of superiority that mirrors the attitude of first-generation immigrant children towards their own parents. “Whatever [Pip acquires],” he tries to “impart to Joe” in hopes of “[making] Joe less ignorant and common, that he might be worthier of [Pip’s] society and less open to Estella’s reproach.” Here, Pip explicitly draws a line between him and Joe—deeming Joe too “ignorant and common” to associate with the circles Pip believes himself to fit in and aspire towards.
Pip’s efforts at teaching, rooted in contempt, also parallel immigrant children who take on the role of translator for their parents—bound by a sense of obligation, and spurred on by an acute fear of social rejection. The “uncultured” parent becomes a constant reminder of one’s “inferior” background—just as Joe has become a target for Estella’s reproach, and therefore a primary source of Pip’s shame.
In a similar vein, Joe and Pip’s relationship explores the difference between true gentility and the mere semblance of it: Pip “never [knows] Joe to remember anything…or to acquire, under [his] tuition…any piece of information whatever,” yet he would smoke “with a far more sagacious air…even with a learned air—as if he considered himself to be advancing immensely.” This absurd yet fascinating phenomenon calls to mind Claude Levi-Strauss’ “A Writing Lesson” (from his anthropological travelogue Tristes Tropiques) —in which native tribe leaders understand writing as a tool to exert intellectual superiority without actually being literate themselves. Despite not comprehending its contents, illiterate civilisations could still connect the appropriation of written knowledge with the capacity for social dominion. Joe, too, is aware of these lessons’ importance, and overcompensates due to his inability to retain anything substantial.
Perhaps the most striking commonality between Pip’s great expectations and the modern-day American Dream is an idealistic, overly romanticised idea of the wealthy. Dickens cleverly uses nature motifs to evoke contrasting associations and moods—especially Pip’s world, juxtaposed with the world of Miss Havisham and Estella. The marshes, in particular, become a recurring backdrop for many of Pip’s pivotal experiences—his encounters with Magwitch, for instance, but also the location of Pip and Joe’s weekly lessons, with “the old Battery out on the marshes” becoming their “place of study.” The visual imagery of foggy marshes invoke a stagnant uncertainty, alongside the murky precarity of criminal activity.
However, when Pip gazes out at the horizon, he “somehow [thinks] of Miss Havisham and Estella,” be it in relation to the “vessels standing out to sea with their white sails spread,” or the “light” striking a “cloud or sail or green hill-side or waterline.” His word choice is rich with symbolic implications: “white sails spread” invokes a sense of travel and freedom, while the syntax describing the light evokes a sense of infinite possibility (able to touch anything it wishes, from the clouds and ships to the hills and water). The ships and open waters reflect the social mobility and agency of the affluent, and this lush portrayal of the view—way out of Pip’s reach—makes the marshes pale in comparison. He notes it being “pleasant and quiet” “out there,” implicitly delineating how far removed he remains from his aspirations. “Miss Havisham and Estella and the strange house and the strange life appeared to have something to do with everything that was picturesque,” Pip laments, underscoring Dickin’s use of pathetic fallacy through contrasting natural landscapes that reflect Pip’s sense of inferiority.
Back in Asia, many hopefuls gaze out at America in the same rose-tinted ways. Yet upon my parents’ arrival, the mirage of a promised land collapsed, along with the pipe dream of wealth that no working-class citizen could possibly achieve in one lifetime. Clearly, the Industrial Age and its phantoms—internalised shame, the power dynamics of consumption, and false meritocracies—continue to haunt successive generations, setting Pip’s rags-to-riches-to-disillusionment trajectory into motion again and again. Indeed, as the chasm of socioeconomic inequality between the ruling and working classes has only widened since Dickens’ time, capitalism’s jaded promises of wealth seem little more than the stuff of dreams—a dream as precarious and foggy as the marshes’ waterline.