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aprilmei 's review for:
A Tale of Two Cities
by Charles Dickens
I don't know if I was just distracted the entire time I was reading this book, but a lot of what was described just went over my head and I had a hard time following the story. I had to put together the pieces of what was happening by inferring what I was reading instead of fully understanding it as I read it--sort of like a puzzle, but maybe that's the way it was meant to be read? I read Les Miserables and that was much more engaging. In this book, I just didn't feel pulled in enough and maybe that's why I kept getting distracted and not able to fully follow.
I didn't understand who everyone thought Charles Darnay looked exactly like on his trial day--was it Sydney Carton? And I didn't understand what was going on with Carton and Barsad, although I remember Barsad's name being brought up earlier in the book, but not what it was regarding. In any case, parts of the book were very poetic and deep and to read about the Terror days and how many people were executed was educational and horrifying. To imagine living through those days with all the blood in the street, all the heads and the bodies--I would vomit to watch an execution, but it seems like people back then were exposed to such injustices and death all the time, if the executions were revenge, then they couldn't get enough. But I still don't understand who was executed for what and under what causes? Though I think the point was that anyone during that time could be executed for any small thing, even if they didn't actually commit a crime--they were just considered aristocracy or even somewhat wealthy or privileged. I just don't understand how that happened, unless anarchy. Which, I guess is what it was.
I feel like I want to read an actual historical account of those days to understand more. I believe this is my first Dickens book. Would like to read more but am hesitant now. I don't deny that it's a great work.
"Rounding his mouth and both his eyes, as he stepped backward from the table, the waiter shifted his napkin from his right arm to his left, dropped into a comfortable attitude, and stood surveying the guest while he ate and drank, as from an observatory or watchtower. According to the immemorial usage of waiters in all ages." pg. 21
"The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not the faintness of physical weakness, though confinement and hard fare no doubt had their part in it. Its deplorable peculiarity was, that it was the faintness of solitude and disuse. It was like the last feeble echo of a sound made long and long ago. So entirely had it lost the life and resonance of the human voice, that it affected the senses like a once beautiful colour, faded away into a poor weak stain. So sunken and suppressed it was, that it was like a voice underground. So expressive it was, of a hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller, wearied out by lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have remembered home and friends in such a tone before lying down to die." pg. 42
"Mr Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by this time to be, beneath the surface of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures--found only among women--who will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives." pg. 100
"At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much. Fluttering hopes and doubts--hopes, of a love as yet unknown to her; doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight--divided her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes and broke like waves." pg. 218
"In the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime and disgrace, the new comer recoiled from this company. But, the crowning unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once rising to receive him, with every refinement of manner known to the time, and with all the engaging graces and courtesies of life. So strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners and gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor and misery through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the ghost of pride, the ghost of frivolity, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all waiting their dismissal from the desolate shore, all turning on him eyes there were changed by the death they had died in coming there." pg. 265
"Responding to [Carton's] softened manner, Mr Lorry answered: 'Twenty years back, yes, at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.'" pg. 323
"The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away. After a hard contest with that eccentric action of thought which had last perplexed him, he had got the better of it. He walked up and down, softly repeating their names to himself. The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them. Twelve gone for ever." pg. 363
Book: Borrowed from Skyline College Library
I didn't understand who everyone thought Charles Darnay looked exactly like on his trial day--was it Sydney Carton? And I didn't understand what was going on with Carton and Barsad, although I remember Barsad's name being brought up earlier in the book, but not what it was regarding. In any case, parts of the book were very poetic and deep and to read about the Terror days and how many people were executed was educational and horrifying. To imagine living through those days with all the blood in the street, all the heads and the bodies--I would vomit to watch an execution, but it seems like people back then were exposed to such injustices and death all the time, if the executions were revenge, then they couldn't get enough. But I still don't understand who was executed for what and under what causes? Though I think the point was that anyone during that time could be executed for any small thing, even if they didn't actually commit a crime--they were just considered aristocracy or even somewhat wealthy or privileged. I just don't understand how that happened, unless anarchy. Which, I guess is what it was.
I feel like I want to read an actual historical account of those days to understand more. I believe this is my first Dickens book. Would like to read more but am hesitant now. I don't deny that it's a great work.
"Rounding his mouth and both his eyes, as he stepped backward from the table, the waiter shifted his napkin from his right arm to his left, dropped into a comfortable attitude, and stood surveying the guest while he ate and drank, as from an observatory or watchtower. According to the immemorial usage of waiters in all ages." pg. 21
"The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not the faintness of physical weakness, though confinement and hard fare no doubt had their part in it. Its deplorable peculiarity was, that it was the faintness of solitude and disuse. It was like the last feeble echo of a sound made long and long ago. So entirely had it lost the life and resonance of the human voice, that it affected the senses like a once beautiful colour, faded away into a poor weak stain. So sunken and suppressed it was, that it was like a voice underground. So expressive it was, of a hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller, wearied out by lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have remembered home and friends in such a tone before lying down to die." pg. 42
"Mr Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by this time to be, beneath the surface of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures--found only among women--who will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives." pg. 100
"At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much. Fluttering hopes and doubts--hopes, of a love as yet unknown to her; doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight--divided her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes and broke like waves." pg. 218
"In the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime and disgrace, the new comer recoiled from this company. But, the crowning unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once rising to receive him, with every refinement of manner known to the time, and with all the engaging graces and courtesies of life. So strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners and gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor and misery through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the ghost of pride, the ghost of frivolity, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all waiting their dismissal from the desolate shore, all turning on him eyes there were changed by the death they had died in coming there." pg. 265
"Responding to [Carton's] softened manner, Mr Lorry answered: 'Twenty years back, yes, at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.'" pg. 323
"The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away. After a hard contest with that eccentric action of thought which had last perplexed him, he had got the better of it. He walked up and down, softly repeating their names to himself. The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them. Twelve gone for ever." pg. 363
Book: Borrowed from Skyline College Library