The NY Times recently posted a concise and cogent Editorial on the works of Charles Dickens.
Among the other parts of the Editorial, I found this quite interesting:
"Quite apart from the act of composing his novels, he was a whirlwind, living a life that is nearly unmatched in its vigor. He had one entire career as a magazine editor, another as an actor and manager of theatrical productions, still another as a philanthropist and social reformer. The record of his private engagements alone — dinners, outings, peregrinations with his entourage of family and friends — is exhausting to read. The novels stand out against the backdrop of hundreds of other compositions, all of them written against tight deadlines."
And...
"The man himself was uneven and could not be beaten into consistency any more than he could beat every one of his novels into perfection. The fact is that Charles Dickens was as Dickensian as the most outrageous of his characters, and he was happy to think so, too. Soon after the publication of “A Christmas Carol” in 1843, he wrote of himself to a close friend: “two and thirty years ago, the planet Dick appeared on the horizon. To the great admiration, wonder and delight of all who live, and the unspeakable happiness of mankind.” Planet Dickens feels as real as it does to us because he stalked the world around him."
Interestingly enough, I'm working my way right now through Dickens' Great Expectations - a mountain of a novel I remember hesitantly reading in high school - and I am loving it.
His ability to take a most modest moment in time and expand it into a near-historical, if not near-hysterical event is remarkable. His characters have sweat and grime on their persons, their lines have texture and rhythm within and among each word; not a sentence is stated without a purpose - either soon or within 300 pages. The plot lines are remarkable and the outcomes, almost anti-climatic.
Each closed book of Charles Dickens is a farewell of crafty friends, rascals of questionable worth and lines that we each wish we could memorize and restate on a more-than-regular basis in our free time.
Especially as we prepare to fly to Planet Dickens' next port of entry.
Den
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