Light and Momentary

A few more thoughts about this year's Dickens novel

I've mentioned before that one of the things I love about my long-haul read-the-complete-works projects is the way they acquaint me with an author's habits of thought. I still think about Shakespeare when I encounter snails easing their way through the world. One of the fun things about rereading Dickens is seeing the connections I couldn't have seen the first time through. For instance: I first read Martin Chuzzlewit before I read Bleak House and Our Mutual Friend and Little Dorrit. I didn't know, when I first read about spontaneous combustion as a possible fate for the Misses Pecksniff in 2001, that Dickens would revisit the idea nine years later to glorious effect. I hadn't met Sloppy back then, so I couldn't appreciate Mr. Nadgett's buttons, gleaming like eyes. I couldn't see the similarities between Mr. Bucket and Mr. Nadgett (ferreting out the truth is good work, says Dickens, but also lonely work), or between Mr. Montague/Tigg and Mr. Merdle (moving other people's money around is a parasitic way to make a living, says Dickens, and leads to (spoiler alert!) gory death).

For all my fan-girling, there are aspects of Dickens' writing that consistently annoy me. He seems, on the one hand, to say that we are who we are: we can smooth off some of our rough edges and get clearer on what matters, but we don't change in our essentials. But both this year and last year, I read books in which central characters spend big chunks of the plot engaged in an elaborate charade. Here I am, looking skeptically over the tops of my glasses at that idea. Which is it, Mr. Dickens? Are we destined to be the people we are, or can we pretend persuasively to be very different sorts of people? I am also permanently irked by his female characters, for whom timidity and meekness seem to be the cardinal virtues.

These are small annoyances, though, and they are more than offset by the pleasures of the big novels. There are the thematic delights-- he writes about a world in which justice prevails and capital-T Truth, too potent to be hidden, works through multiple characters to make itself known. There are the fingerprints of craftsmanship-- I'm thinking especially about the opening and closing family gatherings in Martin Chuzzlewit, in which we can see plainly the perils of pettiness.

My 14yo is reading Tale of Two Cities (a decision that made me say "My work here is done"), and I told him a couple of weeks ago that I'd read it along with him when I finished Martin Chuzzlewit. "I'm going to be sad when it ends," I said. A Dickens chapter a day might not keep the doctor away, but perhaps it keeps away tolerance of injustice and sub-par writing.

#FAMDRAL, completed

I just finished Martin Chuzzlewit. I have to re-evaluate my whole ranking scheme for Dickens novels, because Martin Chuzzlewit used to be tied with Dombey and Son for last place. I was so wrong, friends-- so wrong! It is hilarious and savage and skillfully written. Highly recommended.

#FAMDRAL, the midpoint

I crossed the halfway mark in Martin Chuzzlewit today, right on schedule. You guys, it's SO GOOD. I will have to go back and add asterisked updates to the posts in which I complained about it.

The particular reason I wanted to read it this year was its American chapters, which I found unexpectedly resonant in 2001. It had been less than a year since we returned to the US after two years in the UK, and I kept laughing at his impatient descriptions of American mores. I wondered if those chapters would still be as engaging this time around, almost 17 years after our return home, but I am finding them so relevant. I think in 2001 I underestimated the degree to which racism remained a problem in the US: I just did not have any idea how hard it is to be black in this country. Dickens is flat-out savage about American racism in Martin Chuzzlewit. He wouldn't be so angry if it were just that people kept inserting themselves boastfully into conversations on this side of the pond, or Yank-splaining England to Englishmen. It's the part where racists keep spouting off about freedom and equality for all that causes him to incandesce. And nobody incandesces about injustice quite like Dickens.

I think it was last year, when I was reflecting on Our Mutual Friend, that I mentioned how much clearer Dickens' mastery of the craft of novel-writing had become to me over time. I'm seeing it here too, with his interleaving stories. Skillful and fun and thought-provoking, all in one free package.

So. My initial recommendation to read this book was pretty tepid -- tepid enough that I think there were only two takers -- but I am surprised every day by how much I'm enjoying it. Join me!

#FAMDRAL day 7

You guys, I was so wrong about Martin Chuzzlewit. It's really good. Really good as in I am reluctant to put it down. Really good as in briskly paced* and bitingly funny.

*Just so we're all clear: "briskly paced" for a Dickens novel doesn't mean the same thing as "briskly paced" for, say, a Stieg Larsson novel. There's no escaping the lengthy and metaphorical landscape descriptions; you just have to roll with them.

It's possible that the wheels will fall off entirely as I enter the middle third of the novel, but so far it has been a delight. I am wondering if it seemed slow and draggy to me in 2001 because I'd only read one other fat Dickens novel at that point, or if there's some other reason I can't recall. At this point our guys are just about to set sail for the land of the forward and the home of the brash.

If you join me in the #FAMDRAL fun you'll be able to weigh in. You know you want to!

#FAMDRAL surprises

You guys, Martin Chuzzlewit made me laugh out loud today. There's a character named Mark Tapley who thinks that his cheerfulness does him no credit because his life is too easy, and so he is trying out ideas for amping up his suffering quotient. It's a hoot.

Dickens is savage in his descriptions of the Pecksniffs. Mr. Pecksniff reminds me of Bleak House's Mr. Chadband, only with unctuous malice instead of vacuity at his core. At least I suspect it's unctuous malice. I would love to chat about the Pecksniffs if anybody else is reading along.

I'm a little behind where I had planned to be, but there are no Martin Chuzzlewit police. And you know, I could hang out on Twitter reading about the coming apocalypse tonight, or I could climb in bed and read about kind-hearted Tom Pinch and a young man in need of redemption. Let's go with option B.

#FAMDRAL, day 1

It is time, my friends, for the Fourth Annual May Dickens Read-Along. If you're reading Martin Chuzzlewit with me we'll start out near Salisbury, with the sun gleaming through the clouds on an old village church. 

From the ivy-shaded windows such gleams of light shone back upon the glowing sky, that it seemed as if the quiet buildings were the hoarding-place of twenty summers, and all their ruddiness and warmth were stored within.

Well, actually we start with a weird genealogy chapter that reminds a person, despite a few bons mots, that Dickens was frequently paid by the word. But chapter 2 is looking better already.

Are you reading some Dickens with me this May? If you start tonight, you'll have three weeks before the FAMDRAL turns into the FAJOIBODE. (That's the Fourth Annual June "Oops, I'm Behind on Dickens" Experience.)

#FAMDRAL, baby

Oh, you guys, let's not talk about my day. Let's not talk about the student who managed to flap my unflappable chair. (Which means, in case you didn't guess, that I was far, far beyond flapped.) Let's not even cast a sideways glance at the situation that got referred to the college office today, because my chair has my back all the way, and the associate dean has hers. Let's not mention the fact that despite their support I came home so stressed that I required an anti-arrhythmia pill and a glass of wine. (It's been almost a year since I had any alcohol. It's just not my thing. Usually.) Let's not consider the fact that I will be meeting face to face with the student and the chair later this week, because this has been painful enough via email. Let's talk about something happy instead: let's talk about...[drum roll, please]...Martin Chuzzlewit!

It's almost time, friends, for the Fourth Annual May Dickens Read-Along, or #FAMDRAL for your social media hashtagging purposes. I am giving my last final on Wednesday, and then I am going to dive in on Thursday. This will give me 21 days in May to finish Martin Chuzzlewit. That's the perfect amount of time for me to read one of the fat Dickens novels -- it works out to about 40 pages a day. Who wants to join me in reading some Dickens?

In years past I have suggested that we all read the same Dickens novel, but in years past I have been suggesting books a little less obscure than Martin Chuzzlewit. I think you'll like Martin Chuzzzlewit, especially if we're reading it together and can chat about Sairey Gamp and CD's take on those brash Americans, but I would fully support a decision to read Oliver Twist instead. 

I have capital-O Opinions about Dickens, which I am happy to share if you are curious: two posts on how to read him, and another post on why. I'd love some company if you're up for a quick jaunt to the Victorian era.

P.S. Would also appreciate your prayers for speedy resolution of this situation.

Clear your schedules, folks

Today I was thinking about which fat Dickens novel I'd like to re-read next, after the spring semester ends. "Martin Chuzzlewit!" I said to myself. It's the only novel that's partially set in the US, and its biting observations about American culture still resonate. I read it for the first time in 2001, not long after our return from two years in the UK, and I am curious to see how my memories hold up. Plus it's an interesting time in which to reflect on outsiders' perceptions of the wacky ways we do things here in the US.

"Oh!" said my brain to itself, "let's spread the word right away! How many people will want to join in? We could make a hashtag: #FAMDRAL, for Fourth Annual May Dickens Read-Along!" And then I thought realistically about the number of people who will probably want to re-read a 900-page novel that I myself have classed in the bottom tier of Dickens novels, and I had to laugh at my enthusiasm.

But hey-- if you are pining away to learn more about the Dickensian perspective on US quirks and redemption through illness and Victorian midwifery, you have 3.5 months to deal with your current reading backlog. I know you won't want to miss a minute of the #FAMDRAL party.

At the top of my own pile is a brand-new book called Class. The Times reviewed it this week and I bought it impulsively. The main character is increasingly unlikable and yet I do not want to see the trainwreck I fear awaits her. It is crisply written, packed with on-target zingers about mommy-wars nonsense and subtle flavors of racism, but it is also pretty depressing. This character won't stop telling lies, though, and I almost can't deal with it. (My reaction reminds me of the way I felt about Eligible. People on the internet had all kinds of complaints about that book; I liked it except for the lies. I hate it when characters I'm supposed to like keep telling lies.)

I am bracing myself to find out what happens. Something I appreciate about Dickens: you're never expected to root for a person who lies habitually. There, I bet that filled you with firm resolve to join me in May. (I bet Tracy, who may not have forgiven me for persuading her to tackle Bleak House three years ago, is pretty sure what she's not reading in May.)

Today's the day!

It's David Copperfield time!

Chapters 1-4 will introduce you to the wax doll who meets and marries a waxwork man. (I remembered Davy's mother fondly, as someone innocently inveigled, but today her vanity and shortsightedness pulled me up short.) They will introduce you, with capital-F Foreshadowing, to Emily of Yarmouth. And they will introduce you to Peggotty of the bursting buttons and tender heart. I am wondering if her rocket-launched buttons will pop up again, like Sloppy's in Our Mutual Friend.

There's lots I don't remember about this book. On the first page David Copperfield is born in the caul. I thought to myself, "I can't believe I didn't remember that! I always notice babies born in the caul, ever since Joe was born in the caul!" It dawned on me: the last time I read this book, there was no Joe.

At the end of chapter 4 our hero is jolting off to boarding school. What fate awaits him there? Join the read-along and see for yourself!

Summer reading plans amid wintry temps

Who's up for a David Copperfield read-along?? You know you want to!

I have finals week coming up here, and I'm in the middle of the fourth book of the Barsetshire Chronicles. Hm...I'm trying to decide how quickly I can realistically finish Framley Parsonage and I'm thinking that a week is about right. (I did not know when I decided to read all of the Barsetshire Chronicles that book 6 is something like 900 pages long. That's a lot of Barsetshire doings right there, my friends.) 

How about this: I propose a David Copperfield read-along that starts ten days from now, on May 11. Three weeks is just the right pace for one of the big fat Dickens novels: you can knock it out in 35-40 pages per day, which means that you don't have to abandon the rest of your responsibilities but you also don't forget who Betsey Trotwood was. (Oops, I called her Betsey Trotter in the first version of that sentence. Can you tell I haven't read David Copperfield since 2000?)

It goes without saying that there's no pressure to finish the book in three weeks. I'll be blogging it as I go, but I'll be careful about spoilers. If you've never read it, you totally should -- it's the best* Dickens novel.

*I say this today. I can never decide whether it's really truly better than Bleak House and Pickwick Papers.

Who's in?

A few thoughts on Our Mutual Friend

Over the weekend I finished rereading Our Mutual Friend. I have been making notes to myself on the dining room whiteboard about the things that struck me this time through, and probably the biggest one is craft. That could be a really negative thing -- I hate reading books in which the writer seems to say "Look at me being a Talented Writer!" -- but I was delighted by the blend of joy and skill that bubbles through the book. 

I've posted before about the webs of connections that characterize Dickens' longer novels, but I found it especially striking in Our Mutual Friend. Toward the end I was thinking, "Wait, when did Mortimer Lightwood meet Mr. Riah? Oh, I remember! Yet another clever thing for Dickens to arrange!" He is sometimes criticized for creating one-note characters, but in the longer novels with their giant casts it's a help to have an identifying feature. It's like rosy-fingered Dawn, only more exuberant: Sloppy's buttons are like eyes, Sloppy's buttons are watching you, Sloppy is a veritable Argus of buttons. When Sloppy reappeared at the end of OMF I sighed an unwitting sigh so emphatic that my 13yo asked me what was going on. "This is perfect," I said. "Absolutely perfect." Dickens uses an emblem of Sloppy's poverty and misery to turn him into the jubilant agent of a well-deserved comeuppance.

Somewhere around 2008 I got annoyed with Dickens' female characters. They tend to take the identifying feature thing too far for my taste: there's Ditzy But Sweet (Exhibit A: Dora in David Copperfield) and Noble Despite Circumstances (Esther in Bleak House). But Bella Wilfer is genuinely interesting. I sympathized with her even when I cringed a little at her, and her transformation is persuasive. In the scenes where she chats with the Inexhaustible Baby I wanted to invite her over for tea; I can hear her laughter in my imagination.

Another bit of novel-craft that stood out to me was the Bella-Lizzie contrast. (If you're reading this book (I'm looking at you, Kerry!), maybe skip to the next paragraph.) Early on we're introduced to two very different father-daughter relationships. Over the course of the book we see their entanglement with the mutual friend of the book's title, their meeting and becoming friends midway through, and their eventual marriages. Another thing I love about Dickens is his certainty that life is full of unexpected good gifts, and that comes through clearly in his portrayal of these two.

Last time I didn't notice, or at least I don't recall noticing, the thwarted malice of the old man whose will sets the book's events in motion. He intended to cause his son suffering that would endure for years after his death. What actually unfolds puts me in mind of Joseph's comment to his brothers: you meant this for evil, but God meant it for good. The same idea is more explicit in Bradley Headstone's turmoil (when Dickens names a character Headstone, you have a pretty good idea from the get-go that doom attends him): love transforms even the most evil intent. Love can bring good out of any circumstance.

Context

I do not remember enjoying Our Mutual Friend this much on my first time through it. This morning at swim lessons I was reading the chapter in which the Podsnaps throw a party for their daughter Georgiana, and I was thinking about the ways that my mood shapes my willingness to be amused and to suspend disbelief. 

Dickens does nothing halfway. In the run-up to retrieving a dead body from the Thames, his characters observe that under the pained light of a wretched dawn, even the signs on buildings look like tombstones over dead businesses. In the real world, one of the frustrating things about grief is that the rest of the world proceeds in its usual fashion, offering no indication that a hole has been torn in the fabric of the universe. Not so in Dickens, where your cutlery and cabinetry illuminate your character and perhaps the next plot point.

This evening, again at swim lessons, I was skimming the introduction before I decided that I didn't want to be reminded of any surprises I might have forgotten over the past 8 or 9 years. Before I bailed, though, I read that Our Mutual Friend was savaged by Henry James. In his view, Dickens didn't deserve to be called a great novelist. The literary world had moved on from his offerings to appreciate the more naturalistic works of writers like George Eliot. To this I said harrumph, because if I were trapped on a desert island with the works of Dickens, James, and Eliot to keep me company, I think the James compendium might wind up toasting my marshmallows. And though I might keep dipping grumpily into the Eliot, shouting FLEE FLEE FLYYYYYY to Dorothea Brooke while she married Casaubon yet again, it would be Dickens who would bring me solace while I waited to be rescued. I might have thought, "Oh, Henry James, you only WISH you could write (and sell?) like Dickens."

While in one mood I am charmed by the backup policeman whose name is Officer Reserve, in another I might be irritated by the troweled-on creepiness of Mr. Venus. There are many moments in a Dickens novel in which I can see that my emotions are being manipulated. Sometimes it works; sometimes it makes me laugh. Sometimes it vexes me.

Twice recently I saw Dombey & Son described as a particularly appealing and accessible Dickens novel, a description that made me say (articulate as always) "Huh?" I hated D&S -- rejoiced when it was over. Also in my personal lowest tier: The Old Curiosity Shop (the one whose readers flooded onto the docks in NYC, unable to contain their impatience about Little Nell's fate) (spoiler: she dies. It's a relief, actually) and Hard Times. I know of a woman who wrote her dissertation on Hard Times. I can't even imagine the torment.

This week I am wondering, though, whether those books deserve their rankings in my own system. Was I really grumpy when I read Dombey & Son? Is Hard Times as bad as I remember? Is Little Nell really that bathetic? (I think the answer to that last question is probably yes.)

Have you come back to a book and found it much better (or much worse) than you remembered? Don't you want to join me in the search for Mr. Rokesmith's identity? In contrast to Mrs. Lammle (c'mon, you know you want to find out more about Mrs. Lammle), I inveigle only for the enjoyment of the inveigled.

Summer Reading

Hey, friends, remember last summer when I said, "Let's read Bleak House!" and bunches of you said, "What a great idea!" (Well, there were at least three of you who gave it a shot.) Let's read more Dickens this summer!

I was already planning to read Our Mutual Friend this summer, because it's about rubbish. (Did you guess, from that impressively persuasive opening, that I used to work in the marketing department of a small publishing house? Wonder why they never let me write any of the catalog copy...) Just recently I read Adam Gopnik's New Yorker essay on Trollope, in which he opines that Our Mutual Friend is the Dickens book that people who don't like Dickens actually like. (Did you follow that? If you've always thought you don't like Dickens, you should totally read Our Mutual Friend with me. You'll definitely like it. Adam Gopnik says so.)

This classification perplexes me, however, because Our Mutual Friend seems to me to fit right in with the rest of the oeuvre. Gaffer Hexam on the Thames, the Veneerings at dinner, the dustman in his kingdom of rubbish -- nobody else could have written those characters, if you ask me. Tell me what you think, please! I'd love to hear it. 

(I'd also, parenthetically, love to hear your thoughts on Gopnik's essay. I was taken aback by his read on the Barsetshire Chronicles -- I thought Mr. Harding was being scrupulous, in an endearing and well-intentioned way, but Gopnik doesn't see it like that. But back to Dickens--)

This summer I'm also going to try reading Tale of Two Cities to some combination of my children. My 15yo says he's too old to be read to and too anti-Dickens to tolerate ToTC, but I am wondering if I can lure him in. I expect the 13yo and the 10yo will be game. Stella interrupted tonight's chapter twice tonight to say, "Mama, this is *not* very interesting to me," but I think as the story unfolds she may be drawn in despite herself.

My husband always used to say that he didn't like Dickens except for Tale of Two Cities, which (in his view) wasn't very much like other Dickens novels. I disagree completely, though. The ideas that drive ToTC are all over his other books: the value of freedom, the scars that prison inflicts on the imprisoned, the redemptive nature of work, the importance of self-sacrifice, the capacity of the human soul for transformation. I haven't read it since 1997, so I'm interested to revisit it. 

Anyway, that's my plan: to read two Dickens novels that aren't very Dickens-y, at least in some estimations. Join me! You know you want to witter via Twitter about Madame D's cryptographic methods. I remain skeptical that Dickens knew much about knitting, but boy, the man could plot.

Why the 21st century needs Charles Dickens: 7 reasons

Between 2000 and 2010 I read a Dickens novel every year. Four years after I finished my Dickens project, I came back to Bleak House. This is a post about why I plan to work my way through his books again.

1. Because Dickens teaches us to pay attention. I have posted before about how the internet has left me with the attention span of a concussed fruit fly, but in my secret heart I didn't really believe it. My secret heart said, "I don't have an attention problem! I read lots!" Sorry, secret heart, but a return to Dickens has made it clear that you were delusional. Dickens says, "The world is full of important things. Notice them! Remember them! Or else you will be really confused on page 700!"

2. Because Dickens reminds us that we're all connected. In real life it is unlikely that the person you scarcely notice crossing your path will turn out to be the Key Player in unraveling both a troubling mystery and a legal tangle (don't you love Mr. Bucket?), but it happens all the time in Dickens. My 14yo views this as a bug; I am certain it is a feature. In real life there are more degrees of separation, but everyone you pass deserves consideration nonetheless.

3. Because Dickens encourages flow. Both languor and drudgery are enemies of joy: both Lady Dedlock and Jenny are unhappy specimens. But Esther immerses herself in her work -- as a cure for uncertainty, as a response to the blues, as a habit worth forming for its own sake.

4. Because Dickens shows us that life is short. This time through I was a little surprised by the body count in Bleak House: there are Coen Brothers movies in which fewer people die! The book is peppered with reminders that life is meant to be lived with purpose, that faith is meant to teach us to sow kindness in the present in preparation for eternity. (What happens if we sow pomposity and bloviation instead? Why, my friends, we bloviate. And pompose. Just ask Mr. Chadband. Is he not a riot? Does he not make you laugh out loud?)

5. Because Dickens knows that life is full of surprises. There is a thread that runs all through the novels of Dickens: time drives hidden things into the light. Sometimes this is a dread occurrence, but mostly it reflects a certainty that life is liberally sprinkled with good surprises. From piled-up detritus, from all the things we attempt to cast off and bury (and OH now I want to reread Our Mutual Friend and think more about rubbish collectors!), the truth will out and truth is intrinsically good. 

6. Because Dickens says, "Be cautious about first impressions." I didn't remember the shifts we see in either Mr. Tulkinghorn or Mr. Bucket. And who would have guessed that Sir Leicester had so much good in him?

7. Because Dickens boosts your stamina. These days I worry that an 800-word blog post is too long. In a TL;DR world, an 800-page book is beyond the pale. The task of finishing a Dickens novel is a delicious (if occasionally bathetic) reminder that I can eat an elephant one bite at a time: if I show up, if I keep taking a whack at it, eventually I'll get there.

Want some ideas about reading DIckens yourself? I have a post or two for you!

Bleak House Blogging, Vol. 3

"...Spontaneous Combustion, and none other of all the deaths that can be died."

Last night I vaulted out of bed to read the end of chapter 32 aloud to my husband. "This is the best book in the world," I told him. That scene encapsulates so much of what I love about Dickens, the way it fearlessly straddles the line between horrifying and hilarious. It bespeaks a big brass of pair of writerly cojones: I imagine him thinking, "Hmmm, how am I going to keep these letters out of Guppy's hands? I know, I'll have a character spontaneously combust!"

Chapter 33 picks those themes right up: it's an unexpectedly small world, in which horror and hilarity meld in unexpected ways. Mr. Smallweed makes me laugh in spite of myself. Which is the point, I think.

During the years when I was reading Dickens regularly, it would take me about 200 pages to feel like I was in the groove. After some time away, it's been harder to get going. I'm a bit past the halfway mark, and I'm just beginning to think, "I don't want to put this down." If you are bogged down, persevere! Mrs. Bagnet awaits, and you wouldn't want her to reach out of chapter 34 to jab you with her trusty umbrella.

Bleak House Blogging, Vol. 2

How's it going, everybody? I have been so pleased to see comments and emails and tweets about people reading Bleak House. I feel like a drug dealer, rubbing my hands with glee about getting you all hooked on the good stuff. Except I will not be raking in the Amazon affiliate dollars here, since Kindle versions of Dickens novels are pretty much free. 

I was going to write a post that was more generally about summer goals, but I couldn't figure out an un-snore-y way to write it. So let's talk about Bleak House instead. I have been moving more slowly than I had hoped, but maybe that's for the best. I have some questions for you to consider, but please do talk about whatever floats your boat. 

1. What do you think about the Jarndyce-Skimpole relationship? Do you want to give cousin John a shake? (a kind, friendly, non-violent shake?) Because I sort of do this time around. Is Skimpole more cunning than he lets on?

2. The focus on duty is at odds with follow-your-bliss culture. What's your reaction to the idea that love must help us fulfill our duty?

3. What is something in 21st-century fiction that will sound as charmingly anachronistic in 150 years as the portrayal of barefoot Hortense as a madwoman? Love that bit!

Oohhhh, I have spoiler-y sorts of questions too but I am restraining myself.

Bleak House Blogging, Vol. 1

Whatever you are reading this summer, I suggest that you put it aside for a few weeks and read Bleak House instead. It is on my short list of Best Books In The English Language and it is sheer delight to come back to it. Or at least it is almost sheer delight. To be perfectly content I need some pals to chat with me about its delights. (And its occasional shortcomings. Slim informs me that she is only playing along if she can mock Esther. Is Esther plausible, do you think? Given her background, wouldn't you expect her to be a BIT more shriveled and bitter? You know you want to talk Dickens this summer, don't you?)

Thoughts from the first 60 pages: it's been four years since I last read a Dickens novel, and I'd forgotten how much I enjoy his wordsmithing. From the first paragraph: "...with flakes of soot...as big as full-grown snowflakes -- gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun." I had forgotten, too, the intensity of his contempt for the legal system. This time through I know how it's all going to shake out, and maybe that makes it easier to hear the message -- give it up, people! Laws and lawyers will never bring you happiness. Is it true, do you think? It's hard for me to get entirely on board with his cynicism.

As I had hoped, it is delightful to meet these characters again. This time through it seems like a bold authorial decision to juxtapose Lady Dedlock in chapter 2 with Esther in chapter 3. I do love Esther, even though I can see where Slim is coming from. I think Ada is a little dippy, though I try to like her for Esther's sake. And oh, Mrs. Jellyby! And Mr. Krook! Better watch out, Mr. Krook!

The last time I read this book, I thought that Dickens was condemning Mrs. Jellyby for having interests outside her home. It annoyed me. But this time through, I don't think he's saying that she should give them up, just that she needs to re-prioritize. He's not suggesting that she should dismiss her servants and clean up her own messes, just that her servants (and her children, and her home) need some management. What say you? I'd love to hear what you think!

One more post about Dickens

Sarah and Lissa and Lilian asked for a little more information about my Dickens project, so here's an outline of how I did it with some notes on the books. As I mentioned in my first post, I had already read Great Expectations, Tale of Two Cities, and Oliver Twist before I decided to read them all. If you've never read any Dickens, start with those.

2000: I started with David Copperfield, and it remains one of my very favorites. It's a great way to start on the longer novels, because the characters are so engaging.

2001: I picked Martin Chuzzlewit because it was the only Dickens novel on the shelf at the branch library, and I spent nine long weeks battling through it. It was fun to see Dickens' perceptions of America and Americans since we had just returned from two years in the UK. I also remember being struck by Dickens' emphasis on illness as transformative (for both patient and nurse), and by the glimpses of 19th-century midwifery. It was mostly a slog, though.

2002: Little Dorrit had been on my shelf for years, and I decided to finish it before the arrival of our third son. (Lesson learned from 2001: don't drag it out.) This one taught me to pay close attention, because I was still puzzled about Mrs. Clennam's prevarications when I finished the book.

2003: OH! Bleak House! Love love love puffy heart love. Might be my favorite. This year I also read Great Expectations to my oldest son, which took some determination. Well worth it -- I'll always remember sharing that beautiful ending with him. "Mom," he said quietly, "that gives me a funny feeling inside." Me too, sweetheart.

2004: The Old Curiosity Shop was hugely popular in its day. I am not a fan. I wished Little Nell would hurry up and die already.

2005: Pickwick Papers is most likely my favorite, but it arrived at the top spot by a circuitous route. I tried to read it in college and gave up after 20 pages. I tried to read it in the winter of '05 and gave up after 60 pages. I set my teeth and dove back in at the beginning that summer. About 150 pages in I was completely hooked. Of all his books, this one is the most fun: whimsical and deliciously preposterous in places, with the bathos confined to stories told by the characters. I knew it had to get better, because why else would the March sisters have loved it so? It did -- oh, did it ever. Persevere, Lissa! I promise you'll be glad you did. (Note to any Dickens newbies: I do think it's helpful to have read some of his other stuff first.)

2006: Our Mutual Friend is in the Little Dorrit class -- not one of his very finest but a good read anyway.

2007: Same for Barnaby Rudge. Remembering the eerie feel of this one still gives me a pleasant shiver.

2008: Dombey and Son is obscure for a reason. Evanescence of riches, fragility of life, importance of family, all presented in a way that made me say "blah blah blah" instead of nodding in recognition.

2009: Hard Times must be his shortest novel. It's a quick read that hits on a lot of familiar themes.

and 2010: Nicholas Nickleby, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

I'd love to hear about your Dickens adventures!

In which Jamie completes a task begun ten years before

I finished my Dickens project Friday night. It was SO satisfying.

For a long time I didn't talk about the project because it's kind of pretentious-sounding. The thing is, once you get into his groove, Dickens is really fun and not drudgery at all. Some of my favorite things about this project:

1. The earnest young men, like Pip, David Copperfield, and Nicholas Nickleby. They mean well, they try hard, they make a hash of things, they rue the hash-making, they learn some things, they make more hash, they [insert plot meanderings here], and then they find true love as wiser and more prudent men. I love watching them grow out of callow youth and into honorable manhood.


2. The crazy plot twists. Sometimes they are wildly implausible, but I eat them up anyway. When Dickens takes those dangling threads and wraps them up neatly, it speaks to the part of me that hopes this messy life is a tapestry and not just a tangle. Dashed hopes, lost loved ones, unrighted wrongs -- when you read Dickens you remember that injustices can be made right in unexpected ways. It's not over until the fat lady sings, or perhaps until she finds a suppressed will that allows the heroine to live in comfort the rest of her days.


3. The antidote to internet-induced-rabid-gerbil-brain syndrome. You know how Google is making us stupid and all that? Dickens is a great remedy. I have turned into an inveterate skimmer and it frustrates me. This project compelled me to read every word on every page for 800 pages at a time, a welcome and rewarding discipline. If you skim a Dickens novel you'll wind up badly confused, and I hate being confused.

I am delighted that I finished up with Nicholas Nickleby, because I am especially fond of the whimsy that surfaces more in early Dickens novels. Parts of it are laugh-out-loud funny. I saw the big revelation coming, which also delighted me because I can't usually predict his plot twists. It made me think to myself, "I get it! I can anticipate where he's going with an idea now!"

My supervisor in my first job out of college talked about being really sad when she finished all of George Eliot. I wondered if I might feel that way when I closed Nicholas Nickleby, but I didn't. I have spent hours and hours wandering the streets of London and the English countryside with Mr. Dickens as my guide. We have passed through woods and fields and slums and palatial estates, with stops abroad as well. I am not sorry to have visited all the places he has to show me. I am looking forward to passing through again someday, and saying to the people there, "It's good to see you again!"

Want to read all of Charles Dickens' novels?

Full disclosure: I am not exactly qualified to write this post. I have one novel to go*. But here's how this post came about: at the end of 1999 I was thinking things over. Y2K was rapidly approaching, and I was going to turn 30 that year. We'd only had an internet connection in our home since the spring, but already I was aware of its time-sucking focus-splintering dark side. I remember looking out across the next decade and thinking about who I wanted to be at the end of it, and about what kind of steward I hoped to be of the gifts God had given me. Also, we had no shower in our little rental Edinburgh house, and I had discovered that a person could get a fair amount of reading done in that quiet half-hour in the bath at night.

I decided that every year I would read a Dickens novel and a Shakespeare play. I figured I'd get them read by menopause. It turns out that I'll finish all of the Dickens novels* before I turn 40. It's been really fun. Here are three tips if you are interested in a Dickens project of your own.