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3.69 AVERAGE
3.69 AVERAGE
funny
While some sections of this one were tedious for me, reading it in the here and now, I am sure they were quite entertaining for their time and place. Other sections were very clever still. I’m glad that I read Don Quixote last year, so that I could enjoy the similarities. Dickens is one of my favorite authors, and I’m very glad that these serials were so popular as to give him his start. Pleasant to read, even if not as consistently great as some of his later works.
Three and a half bloated stars.
This took a lot closer to forever to finish than I wish it had. I love Dickens, but this was the third or fourth time really trying to commit to finishing what turned out to be, frankly, an over-long story. Yes, I understand that these sorts of books come from a time when stories were serialized and it was in the author's best interest to stretch it out as long as he/she could, with the requisite cliffhangers. But good lord.
Thankfully, Dickens knows how to spin an often (but not always) compelling yarn. For me, the compulsion was ultimately forcing my way through what sometimes was a slog of a tale. Think of this as Bleak House with a somewhat happier ending.
This took a lot closer to forever to finish than I wish it had. I love Dickens, but this was the third or fourth time really trying to commit to finishing what turned out to be, frankly, an over-long story. Yes, I understand that these sorts of books come from a time when stories were serialized and it was in the author's best interest to stretch it out as long as he/she could, with the requisite cliffhangers. But good lord.
Thankfully, Dickens knows how to spin an often (but not always) compelling yarn. For me, the compulsion was ultimately forcing my way through what sometimes was a slog of a tale. Think of this as Bleak House with a somewhat happier ending.
very episodic with mostly bland characters but you can see sometimes the genius charles dickens would grow up to be in its quick witted narrator and description of the scenery and the daily lives of common people.
adventurous
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
adventurous
challenging
slow-paced
What I loved: the characters and the humor (as with all good Dickens). There are many rich characters, both good and bad, but even the “bad guys” are not so bad as to take this work to very dark places as some Dickens can go. There is still plenty of scathing social commentary, just a slightly lighter hand than in other works like David Copperfield. There are hysterical scenes here that reminded me of classic sitcom confusion and misunderstanding. And, one particular character’s way of making analogies, usually followed by another politely asking him to leave the room, made me laugh out loud regularly. Prebble’s narration added greatly to the enjoyment of the whole work, bringing all these people to vivid life.
What I did not love: the occasional interludes of someone telling a tale (usually around a shared fire at an inn). These were usually dreary breaks from an otherwise lively paced novel.
What I did not love: the occasional interludes of someone telling a tale (usually around a shared fire at an inn). These were usually dreary breaks from an otherwise lively paced novel.
Hilarious and clever, Dickens seems to be well ahead of his time with the sarcastic humor he employs in this book. It is a bit long for a casual reader, but never boring or uninteresting.
I found out yesterday that a librarian I used to work with was murdered in the parking lot of the library where she worked. We were never especially close, but the shock of the realization is like other losses that have come before it, driving me suddenly numb at unexpected moments throughout an otherwise ordinary day.
I chose to read Pickwick because of my intense love for A Christmas Carol. My glancing knowledge of Dicken’s other work told me that I wouldn’t be disappointed in my search for comically human and deeply empathetic fiction. In a season of the year when it’s easy for many of us to be caught off guard by the stinging memory of the hollow places we are left with, Dickens is an ideal balm, one who fully embraces the depths of pain and loss and turns those hurts back toward renewed comraderies and goodwill toward mankind and the socially downtrodden.
Join ol’ Pickwick and his young traveling companions as they ring in the Victorian Era, gentleman of leisure who decide to study mankind by traveling from London to the lesser cities of England. What starts out as a hilarious and pseudo-scientific exploration of the perspectives and folk-lore of the lower classes of society quickly devolves into a comedy of errors, in which Pickwick and each of his companions find themselves the butt of the joke. Mishap follows mishap in a riotous tangled skein of friends-turned-enemies-turned-friends again. Many of the scenes of summertime fun and winter ice skating seem like the ideal story formulations of backstory for Norman Rockwell paintings of a more bygone era.
Reading Pickwick, it becomes glaringly obvious where Wodehouse got his inspiration for Jeeves And Wooster. Pickwick’a servant Sam Weller is the ideal man’s man, quick-witted and always a little more aware of the true circumstances than his noble, quixotic employer. Though Sam is brash and street smart and Pickwick is gullible and proud, they come together on subjects like caring for the down-and-out and the tragedies of the debtors’ prison.
When Pickwick pays the way for his own oppressors to be transported from debtors’ prison into a work program, his lawyer responds thus -
‘A worthy couple!’ said Perker, as the door closed behind them.
‘I hope they may become so,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘What do you think? Is there any chance of their permanent reformation?’
Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr. Pickwick’s anxious and disappointed look, rejoined—
‘Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one. They are unquestionably penitent now; but then, you know, they have the recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them. What they may become, when that fades away, is a problem that neither you nor I can solve. However, my dear Sir,’ added Perker, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick’s shoulder, ‘your object is equally honourable, whatever the result is. Whether that species of benevolence which is so very cautious and long-sighted that it is seldom exercised at all, lest its owner should be imposed upon, and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity or a worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine. But if those two fellows were to commit a burglary to-morrow, my opinion of this action would be equally high.’
I learned a few things about Dickens through this read. First, he was insanely talented to be able to write this book at the age of 24. Second, he was obsessed with ghost stories. They pop up everywhere. Third, Dickens always had death in mind. His comedy grows out of a distant realization of human futility. Fourth, and most important, was his incredibly consistent ability to search the hearts of men, to find the ludicrously laughable and unspeakably tender aspects of the species that are, in fact, universal. More than anything else, he was a great leveler of men, a softener of hard ones, rescuer of bent ones, applauder of small ones, and reveler with stout ones.
In a season where I am constantly reminded of the ones I still can’t believe are gone and the people I love so deeply who feel the hollow far more greatly than I can, Dickens does me great good. Across the board, Dickens writes with deep conviction, assuming that what may seem romantic about the hearts of men is not only true, but endlessly to be played upon and expanded.
I leave you with an ending from Dickens himself-
“Everything was so beautiful, so compact, so neat, and in such exquisite taste, said everybody, that there really was no deciding what to admire most.
And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, his countenance lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man, woman, or child, could resist: himself the happiest of the group: shaking hands, over and over again, with the same people, and when his own hands were not so employed, rubbing them with pleasure: turning round in a different direction at every fresh expression of gratification or curiosity, and inspiring everybody with his looks of gladness and delight.”
I chose to read Pickwick because of my intense love for A Christmas Carol. My glancing knowledge of Dicken’s other work told me that I wouldn’t be disappointed in my search for comically human and deeply empathetic fiction. In a season of the year when it’s easy for many of us to be caught off guard by the stinging memory of the hollow places we are left with, Dickens is an ideal balm, one who fully embraces the depths of pain and loss and turns those hurts back toward renewed comraderies and goodwill toward mankind and the socially downtrodden.
Join ol’ Pickwick and his young traveling companions as they ring in the Victorian Era, gentleman of leisure who decide to study mankind by traveling from London to the lesser cities of England. What starts out as a hilarious and pseudo-scientific exploration of the perspectives and folk-lore of the lower classes of society quickly devolves into a comedy of errors, in which Pickwick and each of his companions find themselves the butt of the joke. Mishap follows mishap in a riotous tangled skein of friends-turned-enemies-turned-friends again. Many of the scenes of summertime fun and winter ice skating seem like the ideal story formulations of backstory for Norman Rockwell paintings of a more bygone era.
Reading Pickwick, it becomes glaringly obvious where Wodehouse got his inspiration for Jeeves And Wooster. Pickwick’a servant Sam Weller is the ideal man’s man, quick-witted and always a little more aware of the true circumstances than his noble, quixotic employer. Though Sam is brash and street smart and Pickwick is gullible and proud, they come together on subjects like caring for the down-and-out and the tragedies of the debtors’ prison.
When Pickwick pays the way for his own oppressors to be transported from debtors’ prison into a work program, his lawyer responds thus -
‘A worthy couple!’ said Perker, as the door closed behind them.
‘I hope they may become so,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘What do you think? Is there any chance of their permanent reformation?’
Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr. Pickwick’s anxious and disappointed look, rejoined—
‘Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one. They are unquestionably penitent now; but then, you know, they have the recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them. What they may become, when that fades away, is a problem that neither you nor I can solve. However, my dear Sir,’ added Perker, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick’s shoulder, ‘your object is equally honourable, whatever the result is. Whether that species of benevolence which is so very cautious and long-sighted that it is seldom exercised at all, lest its owner should be imposed upon, and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity or a worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine. But if those two fellows were to commit a burglary to-morrow, my opinion of this action would be equally high.’
I learned a few things about Dickens through this read. First, he was insanely talented to be able to write this book at the age of 24. Second, he was obsessed with ghost stories. They pop up everywhere. Third, Dickens always had death in mind. His comedy grows out of a distant realization of human futility. Fourth, and most important, was his incredibly consistent ability to search the hearts of men, to find the ludicrously laughable and unspeakably tender aspects of the species that are, in fact, universal. More than anything else, he was a great leveler of men, a softener of hard ones, rescuer of bent ones, applauder of small ones, and reveler with stout ones.
In a season where I am constantly reminded of the ones I still can’t believe are gone and the people I love so deeply who feel the hollow far more greatly than I can, Dickens does me great good. Across the board, Dickens writes with deep conviction, assuming that what may seem romantic about the hearts of men is not only true, but endlessly to be played upon and expanded.
I leave you with an ending from Dickens himself-
“Everything was so beautiful, so compact, so neat, and in such exquisite taste, said everybody, that there really was no deciding what to admire most.
And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, his countenance lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man, woman, or child, could resist: himself the happiest of the group: shaking hands, over and over again, with the same people, and when his own hands were not so employed, rubbing them with pleasure: turning round in a different direction at every fresh expression of gratification or curiosity, and inspiring everybody with his looks of gladness and delight.”