David Copperfield --- A Book Review

The Kindle Cover

After reading Barbara Kingsolver's 2022 novel Demon Copperhead, a retelling of Dickens' David Copperfield, my addiction to reading Dickens took over.

I say "addiction" because that's the best way I can describe my love/hate relationship with that venerable author. Periodically I get this uncontrollable urge to read him. Then about three-quarters of the way through I vow NEVER to read him again.

I did better this time. According to my eReader, I got to 83 percent complete before I hit the red line. 

I think Dickens himself understood my situation.
     “Ah, child, you pass a good many hours here! I never thought, when I used to read books,
     what work it was to write them.” Copperfield's aunt said.

     “It’s work enough to read them, sometimes." he responded. 

These quotes from David and his aunt come in Chapter 62 (Yes, I said 62, How many books these days even have a Chapter 62?! According to Google, most modern novels have 10 to 12 Chapters.)

This is the original illustration
from the publication of Charles Dickens' David Copperfield in serialized form

beginning in May of 1849 and running through November 1850. 

It was published as a 624 page book in 1850.

Of course this was then, its publication date, five years before the Flying Cloud, a clipper ship, set the world's sailing record for the fastest passage between New York and San Francisco, 89 days 8 hours. That was by sailing around the Horn, Cape Horn, the southern most tip of South America. Because that was more than a half-century before the completion of the Panama Canal.

It was also well before radio, television, the internet, and streaming sight-and-sound entertainment into our homes. Most of Dickens' novels, including David Copperfield, were originally published in weekly or monthly installments in journals, which Dickens himself edited. Each month, subscribers would get a few chapters wrapped up in printed wrappers with illustrations, by the same illustrator who did the book. Someone in the household, would read to the rest while they listened and did what they did -- darning socks, tatting, shelling peas, mending harness, or perhaps sitting comfortably in their favorite chair enjoying a manly cigarette and sipping sherry or dipping a lady-like strip of toast in their tea. 

For the price of a half-penny, those who did not have subscriptions and probably could not read, could have the latest installment read to them.

Hence, the wonderfully descriptive Dickens passages like these describing Copperfield's childhood home before his widowed mother remarried. When you read these sentences, listen to what you are reading as the people back then would have done. Maybe even read them aloud.

     "On the ground floor is Peggoty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house
     on a pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a corner, without
     any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me, walking about, in a menacing
     and ferocious manner." 

And then several more sentences, equally long, and equally descriptive about the geese kept at the house Copperfield was born into. Keeping in mind that they lived in town not on a farm. In Victorian times, those well-enough-off to own their home, commonly kept food animals and had servants. David's mother had one, Peggoty.

Dickens describes the interior of the home quite completely including the store room one had to pass to get from the kitchen to the front door:

     "...a place to be run past at night; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars 
     and old tea-chests, when there is nobody in there with a dimly-burning light, letting a

     mouldy air come out of the door, in which there is the smell of soap, pickles, pepper,
     candles, and coffee, all at one whiff."

And from the bedroom window the young Copperfield could see "the quiet churchyard with the dead [including the father he never knew] all lying in their graves at rest, below the solemn moon."

     
     "There is nothing half so green that I know anywhere, as the grass of that churchyard;

     nothing half so quiet as its tombstones. The sheep are feeding there, when I kneel up, early
     in the morning, in my little bed in a closet within my mother's room to look out at it; and
     I see the red light shining on the sun-dial, and think within myself, 'Is the sun-dial glad,
     I wonder, that it can tell the time again?'"

Those readers and listeners, back then, knew this world. For them, these complete descriptions put them into the story just like we would be brought into the story today, if we were watching it on a screen.

Today's readers read much more quickly and do not want so much description. Plus the repetition in Dickens books necessary to recap what was previously read in last week's or last month's edition make reading Dickens today a slog as we read on and on in the equivalent of binge-watching. So our patience is tested, and, in my case, too often found wanting. And I complain. Out loud to my husband.

But his stories! Oh, my his stories! They are wonderful. Because the world! He lived in the world he wrote about. He paid attention to the people around him and he wrote their characters realistically.

I also, probably too often, read the gorgeously descriptive passages to my husband. I suppose it's no wonder my husband is always relieved when I finish a Dickens book.

For example: Dickens understood about the character Mr. Micawber, the kind and eternally optimistic would-be gentleman who continually lived beyond his means and ended up in debtor's prison. Along with his wife and ever increasing family. Dickens' own father spent time in debtor's prison, along with his wife and the younger Dickens children. 

It was at that point that twelve-year-old Charles was removed from school and sent to board with various family friends and work long hours in a blacking factory at very low wages, which had to be used to help pay for his care and the needs of his family in prison. He and his older sister spent their Sundays with their family in prison.

And the Dickens villains -- In David Copperfield we have the very attractive Steerforth. Of course we would have fallen under his spell, too. And the disgusting Uriah Heep! It was to the point where if he showed up again I wanted to rip that page out and hurl it across the world! And his mother with him.

But, of course, I was reading on my eReader....

Can I recommend you read David Copperfield? Of course I can. But I think listening to an audio version would be a good choice.

And I understand that the audio version of Demon Copperhead is well-done and would also be a good choice.

   

 

Something I Learned from Dickens

This is a photo of Charles Dickens from The Guardian, a British daily newspaper. To me, he looks like a kindly man looking at me, with sincere concern. 

I couldn't find an image of him smiling. I looked. Although he was an international literary celebrity, famous for his humor, satire, and cutting observations of people and society, he did live and work during the Victorian Era and smiling for photos was "simply not done."

Those of you who know me, know I am addicted to many things, one of which is Charles Dickens' novels. And as such, I periodically MUST read Dickens. Then about three-quarters of the way through, I swear I will NEVER read Dickens again.

Well, I read Barbara Kingsolver's Demon Copperhead (See my review here) and could not resist revisiting Dickens' David Copperfield.

Now I am of a region of the country and of a generation that falls easily and thoughtlessly into "old sayings." I say "thoughtlessly" lightly, but it is absolutely the correct adverb to use. 

About a quarter of the way through David Copperfield, I came to a statement by an as yet unimportant character named Malden. He said "I don't want to look a gift-horse in the mouth, which is not a gracious thing to do...." 

I do know what that means, or thought I did. Don't question good fortune, like it's bad luck or something. Not being of pre-automobile times, I never thought about what it literally means.

I have known for a very long time that horse traders are infamous for their sharp dealings when selling a horse, especially to an unwary buyer. The buyer should watch the horse move to be assured that it is sound on its legs.

 And the buyer should also check the horse's teeth, because you can tell its age and its general history of care from their condition.

So...when someone does you a favor or hands you a gift, of course it would be rude to look for a nefarious motivation or an otherwise flawed gift.

Who knew?!

And now that I look at that Dickens photo, I'm reminded of Fidel Castro. Oh, well.

Old Books

The A to Z Blogging Challenge is keeping me engaged with writing and reading. Not that I have a problem finding time to read or doing it.

I read when I go to bed. I read when I get up. I read when I eat, when I watch television, while I wait. But, you'll be glad to know I gave up reading while I drive. Thank goodness for audio books.

While visiting other blogs in the A to Z Challenge I ran across one who talked about rereading books and how the book was different the new time we read it. They asked which books we reread and how we read them differently each time. (I never think to ask my blog readers what they think, but I always appreciate them taking their time to comment. And I love reading the comments on other bloggers' posts.)

I reread Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. It keeps me writing. It keeps me sane.

I know what's going to happen next, so I can put it down and get back to writing, or do the laundry, or keep a commitment. When the daily stress gets to be too much, I can jump back into whichever book I'm on and escape to a place where the stress is so much greater than mine that mine is forgotten. Who'da thought books about impending doom with characters racing from battle to battle, facing terrifying mutants would be my security blanket?

It's hard to justify rereading books when there are so many out there that I haven't read yet. So many old ones. So many new ones. So many yet to come. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to have experienced all the books you want to read without having to take the time?

Ah, but I started out thinking about old books. An 'old' book is any book written by Dickens or by any other author that I've read. New books are those I've not read yet regardless of when they were written.

That inspired me to reread Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. I started it, but I can't finish it. I've learned too much about writing and can't turn off my inner editor to enjoy it. It tells the story too much from the outside. Why that should stop me, I don't know. But I've the same problem with Julian Fellowes' new book Belgravia.

It's not that I need a story in first person, to feel a part of it. To be there. But I do need the story told from the characters' points of view, not the author's.

Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath was required reading when I was in high school. What a terrible choice to require of teens to read. His Of Mice and Men would have been a much better choice.  It's a deliciously tragic story of friendship. They did have us read Romeo and Juliet. Teens love tragedies. Life, at that age, is so intense and in the moment.

The tragedy in Grapes of Wrath takes too long for people too young to know just how long life can be especially when it's tragic. And it often is.

Grapes of Wrath is the story of a lifetime of human endurance. By the time I'd slogged through it as a teen, the ending was just another in a long line of dreariness. I completely missed the characters' strength to carry on even though there was no light at the end of the tunnel. I'm so glad I reread it thirty years later.

And Dickens? Reread Dickens? Certainly not. I get tired of him about three-quarters of the way through and swear never to read him again. But I always finish the book and find myself later looking to read him again -- maybe nine months, maybe two years, but I always come back. It's his characters. The situations they find themselves in. I know them personally. Not just from inside Dickens' books but from down the street, from my childhood, from my family.

There is something in Dickens about writing to be learned by rereading. How does he make them seem real? Involve us in the story?

I can feel an old Dickens book coming on.

Style vs. Story -- an essay

Jackson Pollock,

image from westpacificview.com

My husband recently finished reading Cormac McCarthy’s Border Trilogy. If you’ve been following my blog very long, you know I’m a big fan of those three books. My husband is not only widely read, but well-read so I value his opinion.

The Border Trilogy? He liked them. After he got past McCarthy’s style.

McCarthy does not use standard punctuation. For someone who not only knows the basic rules of punctuation, but respects the role of rules in controlling chaos, this can interrupt the flow of the story.

Much of McCarthy’s stories are in dialogue for which he uses few or no attributions, making it sometimes difficult to know who’s speaking. Again, because the reader may have to go back quite a ways to figure out who’s saying what, the story is interrupted.

McCarthy writes run-on sentences that would give Henry James pause. And yes, by the end of the book, McCarthy the story-teller becomes McCarthy the Philosopher with a capital P.

All this being said, why did my husband like the books? For the same reasons I did. The characters, the setting, and the stories. McCarthy does those three things so well, that many of us readers overlook (and in some instances, overcome) his style.

Not everyone is willing or able to get past a writer’s style to get to the good parts.

How many of us were introduced to Shakespeare in school? And haven’t touched him since.  

How was that introduction made? Through reading. Keeping in mind that Shakespeare wrote plays and poems in the styles of plays and poems. To make things more uncomfortable we were subjected to that form of torture peculiar to traditional English teachers – divvying up the script among students who then read their parts cold. Not only are the students reading their parts unrehearsed, they are reading them in what amounts to a foreign language with which they have little familiarity.

(If you could see me now, you’d see my hands thrown into the air – whether in exasperation or supplication even I can’t tell.)

And Shakespeare’s characters and settings and, best of all, his stories are lost to his style.

Okay, so sometimes you have to do reading differently. Shakespeare, we should watch performed by qualified actors under the tutelage of good directors. There are numerous DVDs available from professionals and wonderful productions by college and high school drama departments throughout the English speaking world.

Charles Dickens is another writer we’re introduced to in school. And seldom, if ever, read again. I very early on discovered that I could follow Charles Dickens if I read him out loud or at least heard him as I read silently. But he wrote for pre-television readers. His wonderful stories were produced chapters at a time in periodicals. People would get the newest installment and gather together in their living room and listen to someone read aloud to them. So, in a way, these are performance pieces, too. Dickens, language sounds like the story he’s telling. He paints pictures with his descriptions and dialogue and even the names he chooses for his characters. We are transported into his stories. If we do not read them in our modern way of reading which is somehow fast – more like we’re watching a movie.

I couldn’t read James Joyce. And I can’t stand being left out. I had to find a way into his stories. Then I discovered his work on audio-books. By a reader who has a slight Irish accent. Of course! Joyce’s stories are all inside his head and he’s Irish. So I experience his stories inside my head. With a slight Irish accent.

 Generally speaking, my husband (and he is not alone in this) is of the opinion that a writer whose style makes the story difficult to read is ostentatious, arrogant, and a waste of the reader’s time. There are too many good stories out there and too little time to read them. Why waste that valuable time reading a writer who is more focused on his style than his story?

     My opinion? I’m still working on Faulkner.

“If you don't have time to read,

you don't have the time

(or the tools)

to write.

Simple as that.” 
― Stephen King

What are you reading now? What have you read recently?

Do you get as excited about your favorite author’s new book as you do about a new movie?

When was the last time you shared a book with a friend?

If these questions bring pleasant or passionate thoughts to mind, you may have the tools to write.

We need as many of our fellows’ thoughts and words as we can gather in and reshape into our own stories. King’s plots and Dickens’ characters. Austin’s romance and Asimov’s visions. We need Hawking’s history of the universe and Gould’s history of life.

What am I reading? Last night I finished Philip Margolin’s Gone But Not Forgotten. I’m in the middle of Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities. And I just got Carl Sagan’s The Demon-haunted World  and Pale Blue Dot. Which to begin first? It’s marvelous to live in the midst of plenty.

Look beside your bed, beside your favorite chair. Check your e-reader. Are you surrounded by humanity’s discoveries and dreams? If not, then you must visit your library, my friend. Or your favorite bookstore. It matters not whether brick and mortar or virtual. Just do it. READ.