Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.72 AVERAGE
3.72 AVERAGE
adventurous
dark
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
I do not consider myself a stupid person, but Dickens (damn him) really did make me feel like I was in the majority of the reading of this book, in large part because his syntax was so obtuse that I had to read whole paragraphs quite a number of times to catch any meaning at all. Other (lazier) times I just admited defeat.
I have been assured that opaqueness (or at least opaqueness at this level) is not a usual Dickens quality
And forgive me for blubbering on this platform but; Sydney Carton (*cries inconsolably)
It was Stryver’s grand peculiarity that he always seemed to big for any place, or space. He was so much too big for Tellson’s that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed them against the wall.
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be a profound secret and mystery to every other;… that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
He had eyes that assorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with no depth in the colour or form, and much too near together—as if they were afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too far apart.
Mr Lorry. Flattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which was most unnecessary, for nothing could be flatter than its shining surface was before)
…and flinging her arms about her head like all the forty Furies at once
The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone forever, ten gone forever, eleven gone forever, twelve coming on to pass away.
« No, you wicked foreign woman; I am your match »
The figure of the sharp female called la Guillotine.
It was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for headache, it infallibly prevented head from turning grey, it imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion, it was the National Razor which saved close: who kissed La Guillotine, looked through the little window and sneezed into the sack. It was the sign of the regeneration of the human race. It superseded the Cross. Models of it were worn on breasts from which the Cross was denied
It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most polluted, were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a toy puzzle for a young Devil, and was put together again where the occasion wanted it. It hushed the eloquent, struck the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. Twenty1two friends of Hugh public mark, twenty-one living and one dead, it had looped the heads off, in one morning, in as many minutes. The name of the strong man of Old Scripture had descended to the chief functionary who worked it; but, so armed, he was stronger than his namesake, and blinder, and tore away the gates of God’s own Temple every day.
« If I may ride with you, Citizen Evrémonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage. »
As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn fingers, and touched his lips.
‘Are you dying for him?’ she whispered.
‘And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.’
´oh you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?’
‘Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last
I have been assured that opaqueness (or at least opaqueness at this level) is not a usual Dickens quality
And forgive me for blubbering on this platform but; Sydney Carton (*cries inconsolably)
It was Stryver’s grand peculiarity that he always seemed to big for any place, or space. He was so much too big for Tellson’s that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed them against the wall.
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be a profound secret and mystery to every other;… that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
He had eyes that assorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with no depth in the colour or form, and much too near together—as if they were afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too far apart.
Mr Lorry. Flattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which was most unnecessary, for nothing could be flatter than its shining surface was before)
…and flinging her arms about her head like all the forty Furies at once
The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone forever, ten gone forever, eleven gone forever, twelve coming on to pass away.
« No, you wicked foreign woman; I am your match »
The figure of the sharp female called la Guillotine.
It was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for headache, it infallibly prevented head from turning grey, it imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion, it was the National Razor which saved close: who kissed La Guillotine, looked through the little window and sneezed into the sack. It was the sign of the regeneration of the human race. It superseded the Cross. Models of it were worn on breasts from which the Cross was denied
It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most polluted, were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a toy puzzle for a young Devil, and was put together again where the occasion wanted it. It hushed the eloquent, struck the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. Twenty1two friends of Hugh public mark, twenty-one living and one dead, it had looped the heads off, in one morning, in as many minutes. The name of the strong man of Old Scripture had descended to the chief functionary who worked it; but, so armed, he was stronger than his namesake, and blinder, and tore away the gates of God’s own Temple every day.
« If I may ride with you, Citizen Evrémonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage. »
As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn fingers, and touched his lips.
‘Are you dying for him?’ she whispered.
‘And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.’
´oh you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?’
‘Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
adventurous
challenging
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
sad
slow-paced
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
adventurous
dark
emotional
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
Of all the classic books I’ve read so far, this is in my top three for certain. I also really enjoyed The Count of Monte Cristo and Don Quixote. This story is very engaging: the characters are life-like and well written, the plot keep ahold of you, and there is depth in the content that can be unpacked for sure. I thoroughly enjoyed this book. There are a few things I want to look into that I will maybe update this with when I learn: like what’s the deal with the numbered Jacques?
2nd read-through: discovered the reason of the Jacques - it was just a common used term when addressing someone, like ‘sir’ or ‘bud’. The first six chapters are so well written that I almost tear up when the Monet’a are reunited and that glimmer of hope is shown in Dr Monet that he might yet remember. Such good writing and story telling. Also all of the interesting allusions and foreshadowings with the wine cask and the lamplighters.
2nd read-through: discovered the reason of the Jacques - it was just a common used term when addressing someone, like ‘sir’ or ‘bud’. The first six chapters are so well written that I almost tear up when the Monet’a are reunited and that glimmer of hope is shown in Dr Monet that he might yet remember. Such good writing and story telling. Also all of the interesting allusions and foreshadowings with the wine cask and the lamplighters.
dark
emotional
slow-paced
despite this being my first time approaching dickens' work (millions of christmas carol adaptations aside), i fear i was deeply familiar with the entire plot of a tale of two cities since i was 13 years old and i devoured cassandra clare's the infernal devices trilogy like an insane person. yes, really. but still, i was ready to get wrapped up in dickens' epic melodrama about the french revolution and particularly the reign of terror, which happen to make up for the most interesting parts of the story. whenever the narrative jumped to a paris chapter i became fully invested, but my excitement for those chapters also speaks for the fact that ... my god, were the london chapters boring! i definitely didn't want to be the person that only became interested in the story when sydney carton was on page, but dickens sure made it hard not to be. and, unfortunately, carton's absence during most of the second book is an unavoidable, awkward, alcoholic-lawyer-shaped hole right in the middle of the plot, even more noticeable in the one or two chapters centered around carton that are just so good and engaging you just keep waiting for him to show up again, but, in a terrible loop, are constantly disappointed to discover he's actuallly doing some other stuff, over to the left, outside of the manette home.
narrative aside, i also had some issues with the depictions of both lucie and (sad to report) madame defarge. the latter one was particularly disappointing during the final five or so chapters because she'd been such an interesting, alluring character throughout the slow-building plot to the revolution. in the end, lucie and defarge, linked as obvious foils to each other, end up falling to the same fate of flattened female characters; lucie i think is self-explanatory as the perfect victorian girl-woman who is goodness personified and everybody is obsessed with, while defarge is simplified to "senseless extremist" the more the stakes escalate. i sigh imagining a version of this story where lucie and madame are allowed to have rightfully complex feelings about the events around them as well as their feelings on both darnay & each other, brought together and yet separted by similar pains surrounding their families. i understand in theory that both of these characters are presented in this way because they're supposed to represent Things And Concepts, but i do wish they could just represent women, actually, with the grays that come with personhood. maybe that's my fault for having expectations, though.
i don't want to be wholly negative about it, though, because i did enjoy myself. thankfully the story gets a good rhythm going for the third & final book, transcurring exclusively in france, when everything comes together exquisitely for a grand, dramatic final chapter that, frankly, left me choked up, a fact i can't deny no matter how bitter i get when thinking about the treatment of the female characters. dickens' miracle in this book is managing to create such vivid, epic images within this important context but never straying from the fact that this is a story about historically inconsequential people, and somehow, through his writing, these characters' internal worlds and personal dramas manage to measure up to their grandiose backdrop without being swallowed up by it. i won't remember this book because sydney carton claimes he can see paris rising from the ashes after the dark times of the revolution, but i'll remember how i could feel himself accepting his own redemption through his personal sacrifice out of love and honor, the far, far better thing that he does, than he has ever done.
narrative aside, i also had some issues with the depictions of both lucie and (sad to report) madame defarge. the latter one was particularly disappointing during the final five or so chapters because she'd been such an interesting, alluring character throughout the slow-building plot to the revolution. in the end, lucie and defarge, linked as obvious foils to each other, end up falling to the same fate of flattened female characters; lucie i think is self-explanatory as the perfect victorian girl-woman who is goodness personified and everybody is obsessed with, while defarge is simplified to "senseless extremist" the more the stakes escalate. i sigh imagining a version of this story where lucie and madame are allowed to have rightfully complex feelings about the events around them as well as their feelings on both darnay & each other, brought together and yet separted by similar pains surrounding their families. i understand in theory that both of these characters are presented in this way because they're supposed to represent Things And Concepts, but i do wish they could just represent women, actually, with the grays that come with personhood. maybe that's my fault for having expectations, though.
i don't want to be wholly negative about it, though, because i did enjoy myself. thankfully the story gets a good rhythm going for the third & final book, transcurring exclusively in france, when everything comes together exquisitely for a grand, dramatic final chapter that, frankly, left me choked up, a fact i can't deny no matter how bitter i get when thinking about the treatment of the female characters. dickens' miracle in this book is managing to create such vivid, epic images within this important context but never straying from the fact that this is a story about historically inconsequential people, and somehow, through his writing, these characters' internal worlds and personal dramas manage to measure up to their grandiose backdrop without being swallowed up by it. i won't remember this book because sydney carton claimes he can see paris rising from the ashes after the dark times of the revolution, but i'll remember how i could feel himself accepting his own redemption through his personal sacrifice out of love and honor, the far, far better thing that he does, than he has ever done.