March 19, 2009

Charles Dickens

In high school, the only book of the required reading that resonated with me was Great Expectations. I love the character, Pip. He's one of the most sympathetic characters I've ever come across. I love the story so much, I even forced myself to sit through a Gwyneth Paltrow performance in the film adaptation. The Glass Menagerie, The Crucible, Joan of Arc, Fifth Business, and a slew of other stories all passed my disinterested eyes during my teen years, but none stuck to my hide like Dickens.

Oddly enough, however, Great Expectations is the only Dickens novel I've ever read. I'd love to count A Christmas Carol, but I don't think watching Michael Caine ham it up with the Muppets qualifies. Mind you, I am fond of the old 1930's film in black and white. So, when I browsed the used book store yesterday I decided I needed to find another Dickens novel to add to my "must read" list. After trading in Ronald Kelly's Fear and throwing in another eighty cents, I gots me a copy of the unabridged David Copperfield. I figured if the story is good enough to be Dickens' personal favorite of all his novels, it's good enough for me.

Now, all I need to do is get around to reading it. After I slough my way through those two anthologies, I'm fixing to read American Gods by Neil Gaiman―another brilliant Brit author.

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