Written by Charles Dickens
Publisher: Chapman & Hall
First Edition: 1861
My Edition: 1998
Original Language: English
Okay if you read my second blog, then you know that I’ve been having a tough time getting through this book. I don’t know why that is, normally it only takes me three or four days to get through a book. I really wanted to like it. It’s a classic, you know? But I just could not get into it. It made me laugh at times, but there was not anywhere in it where my attention was completely captured. So my final opinion of it is, unfortunately, that I did not like it. Again, sorry Charles, I guess you’re just not my guy.
“In the little world in which children have their existence, whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt as injustice.” (page 61)
“Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.” (page 70)
“As I passed the church, I felt (as I had felt during the service in the morning) a sublime compassion for the poor creatures who were destined to go there, Sunday after Sunday, all their lives through, and to be obscurely at last among the low green mounds. I promised myself that I would do something for them one of these days, and formed a plan in outline for bestowing a dinner of roast beef and plum pudding, a pint of ale, and a gallon of condescension upon everybody in the village.” (page 147)
“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.” (page 160)
All in all, it was very well written. I could connect with it on some levels – everybody in the world knows that their hearts have pity for some less-fortunate person. But I just don’t think this book was written for my eyes, for my heart. So I’ll leave you with that.
Happy reading, friends.