"On the banks of his native Mowe [Mr. Trafford] had built a factory which was now one of the marvels of the district; one might almost say, of the country: a single room, spreading over nearly two acres, and holding more than two thousand work-people. The roof of groined arches, lighted by ventilating domes at the height of eighteen feet, was supported by hollow cast-iron columns, through which the drainage of the roof was effected. The height of the ordinary rooms in which the work-people in manufactories are engaged is not more than from nine to eleven feet; and these are built in stories, the heat and effluvia of the lower rooms communicated to those above, and the difficulty of ventilation insurmountable. At Mr Trafford's, by an ingenious process, not unlike that which is practised in the House of Commons, the ventilation was also carried on from below, so that the whole building was kept at a steady temperature, and little susceptible to atmospheric influence. The physical advantages of thus carrying on the whole work in one chamber are great: in the improved health of the people, the security against dangerous accidents for women and youth, and the reduced fatigue resulting from not having to ascend and descend and carry materials to the higher rooms. But the moral advantages resulting from superior inspection and general observation are not less important: the child works under the eye of the parent, the parent under that of the superior workman; the inspector or employer at a glance can behold all." (Book 3, Chapter 8)

At this point, our hero, Charles Egremont, is touring the industrialized north. But this isn't some crazy vacation package: Egremont is on a mission. He's investigating the state of England, and the division between the rich and the poor. His conclusion? Things are falling apart. As a result, the novel is full of scenes that basically show us How Not to Do Things. But this scene is unique. Egremont visits Mr. Trafford's factory, which turns out to be the best place ever to work.

Employer of the Century

How do you know you're reading an Industrial Novel (a.k.a., Condition of England Novel)? Just use this handy list:

• One or more characters tour a factory.
• At some point, the workers strike.
• Someone dies because of a workplace injury.
• Characters argue about the relationship between employers and workers.
• You come across the word "effluvia."

Disraeli's Sybil is a go-to example. And Disraeli wasn't just a novelist building factories in the air. He was also a politician and totally passionate about the problems England was facing. So when his characters visit a model factory, it's not just one factory—it's a blueprint for how industrialization could be warmer, kinder, and all around fuzzier.

Disraeli isn't subtle about the conclusions. Two paragraphs after this, we hear that the "influence of such an employer and such a system" is "infinitely beneficial." Yep, "crime [is] positively unknown," the men are "well clad," the women have "a blooming cheek," and no one ever gets drunk. Basically, if you build this factory, all your problems will be solved.

But Disraeli's not only making recommendations for factory design. Most Industrial Novels had far loftier goals: their authors thought something was seriously and systematically wrong with the way industrialization had gone down, and they wanted to figure out how to fix it. Better communication between employers and employees? More rights for workers?

Sometimes the authors got a tad carried away and decided that their novels were, in fact, the first step to solving everything. If people just knew how bad life was for some workers, then surely they'd take action, right?

Novel or Guidebook?

The style of this passage might catch you off guard. It doesn't really sound like a novel, but like a guide for designing a factory. We hear about the dimensions and capacity of this place, and even the oh-so-enlightened plan for good ventilation (say goodbye to heat and effluvia). And it's totally family friendly... right? (Okay, so the 19th century was still figuring out that whole child labor thing.)

But this style is at the heart of the Industrial Novel. It's all about didacticism, which is a fancy word for "giving instructions." Actually, a lot of Victorian literature could be described this way. These authors were on a mission, and they didn't shy away from a good soapbox when they found one.