There were advances to the process of printing that made reading materials far more available and far less expensive in the nineteenth century. And once the dependence on the (incredibly expensive) three-volume novel as a standard publishing type (a dependence fostered by circulating libraries, particularly Mudie’s, which could then charge a fee for people to borrow each separate volume) was broken the very late nineteenth century, it paved the way for the new dominance of single-volume hardbacks and, of course, paperbacks.

There were paperback options prior to the late nineteenth century: the publisher I looked at for my thesis (John Dicks) republished the serials from his penny weekly periodicals as sixpenny paperbacks. He also published cheap reprints of the classics: I have his volume of Shakespeare (which, admittedly, cost a shilling)—which includes all the works considered canonical in the nineteenth century, including the poems—and his edition of Robert Burns’s poems, which I believe sold for sixpence—which includes a long biography, all the poems, footnotes, and a number of letters to and from Burns.

So there were options. But what I’m talking about, like Salmon, is really more about the working classes. If you’re interested in that, I recommend Jonathan Rose’s The Intellectual Life of the British Working Classes.

(Warning: generalisations approaching.)

The middle classes were always in a more fortunate position. The Victorian middle classes were culturally aspirational: they were distancing themselves from the working classes and reaching up to the aristocracy. Their children were literate before the push for universal literacy and education in the late nineteenth century: they would have been schooled at home or sent to school, where the children of the working classes were still largely relying on one day a week at Sunday school. They would also have been able to afford the frequently exorbitant circulating-library fees (instead of having to rely on working-men’s clubs). And, of course, the expensive Victorian periodicals (the shilling monthlies, as opposed to the penny weeklies) in which the vast majority of Victorian novels were originally serialised were aimed at middle-class readers.

Victorian culture was extraordinarily literate: the number of periodicals they produced and the sheer density of content in those periodicals is rather staggering.

So, though the advances that made printing cheaper and broke the libraries’ stranglehold on the types of books produced would have benefited the middle classes, too, they already had advantages in terms of the reading available to them.

That’s really interesting: the fact that the books were written for and about boys didn’t stop girls from reading and imagining themselves doing fantastic things beyond what their culture imposed on them. I’ve been thinking a lot about how much industrialisation has screwed up society and the way we relate in communities yet there are so many ways it is an improvement on what was before: were (middle class) girls able to access things like Treasure Island before the printing press and before the establishment of the education system?

Salmon, Edward. “What the Working Classes Read.” Nineteenth Century 20 (1886): 108-17.

Interestingly, though, the absence of women doesn’t seemed to have mattered to readers in the slightest. Late Victorian surveys of school-age reading by a man whose name I’m sure I’ll remember in a minute showed that girls were far more likely to read Treasure Island or King Solomon’s Mines than they were to read the highly moral, good-girl-wins-through, domestic stories actually written for them (like Charlotte Yonge’s The Heir of Redclyffe).

If you think about it in terms of life-long learning instead of a course of study, then stop-start is not so problematic. Some people abandon their theses when they feel that they have got from the experience what they needed – which wasn’t the bit of paper. As someone who took a very long time to complete my thesis, I really believe the final work was the better for it, and I know that I’m not alone here.

If you’re considering an academic career, it will almost never be worth the sacrifice if you think in purely financial terms. Not when you’re a late starter like I was. But there are other benefits. It is extremely difficult coping with study and young children. But if you work it right and are willing to put in some late nights and weekends, the time flexibility means that you can often be there for your kids at times you might not be able to with a fixed 9 to 5 job. Also, don’t underestimate the value to kids of growing up in a home where learning is truly valued and ideas are freely and openly debated. Of course you can provide that atmosphere without embarking on a PhD, but if you do go down that path, sometimes it can just flow naturally without having to make a conscious effort. I have to admit, though, that this last aspect was certainly helped by having two of us studying at the same time.

Sounding like a wanker now, so I’d better shut up.

As Lisa and Catriona have said, there were periods of great stress and poverty, but I’ve always found the rewards have made that worth it. Discovering things about the world and myself, and how I understand it. And passing on those things through teaching is an absolute privilege.

I relate to Lisa’s statements about a passion for learning and curiosity, for me that goes right back to childhood and I’ve always been committed to life-long learning. I like the idea of teaching but find it a bit daunting to think about as well.

Some friends have expressed exasperation at my start-stop history of study, pointing out that I would have several degrees by now if I’d just stuck with something but the reason I drop out of things is that I get to a point where I feel I’m just being self-indulgent, I question the money and time I’m spending and the sacrifices my family make when there is no concrete specific pay-off at the end of it.

(Also Felicity wants to add: hbvvawsm dsd, which translates as Dad please get off the computer and play with me)

I can wholeheartedly try and talk you into a Ph.D. as a single, fixed experience. I loved every minute of my Ph.D. though my Masters is something I don’t care to think about. The Ph.D. is a unique experience, but you will be living on the poverty line while you do it—in fact, this year, I believe candidates on scholarship are actually living below the poverty line.

Provided you can live on scholarship (i.e. without casual teaching), then to some degree you will have time to sit and think (and write). Full-time academic work or sessional academia? Much less so. And every Ph.D. candidate I’ve ever known has required casual work—as Lisa says, they pay you for only a fraction of the hours you work, so you need to keep that in mind.