(1812–70). No English author of the 19th century was more popular than the novelist Charles Dickens. With a reporter’s eye for the details of daily life, a fine ear for the subtleties of common speech, and unmatched powers of character creation, Dickens created a body of work that brought him worldwide fame. He was a remarkably entertaining comic writer, but he was also much more. His perceptive and compassionate depiction of society and its shortcomings made him an influential advocate for social reform.
Dickens was praised in his lifetime, and his critical reputation has only grown since his death. He is generally considered the greatest writer of the Victorian era, and some critics place him second only to William Shakespeare in all of English literature.
Charles John Huffam Dickens was born on Feb. 7, 1812, in Portsmouth, England. He was the second of eight children. His father, John Dickens, was a clerk in a navy office, a job that required him to move his family frequently. In 1817 the family settled in the town of Chatham, southeast of London, where Charles attended school and developed an interest in English novels of the 18th century. These years in Chatham, which lasted until the family moved to London in 1822, were the happiest of Dickens’ childhood. The area would appear often in his novels.
John Dickens earned enough to provide a middle-class lifestyle for his family, but he was a habitually poor manager of money. In 1824 he was sent with his family to the Marshalsea Prison for debt. Charles, the eldest son, did not go to prison, but he was pulled from school and put to work in a factory. Feeling lonely and abandoned, he lived alone in a garret and visited his family in prison on Sundays. Then a timely inheritance restored the family to something like comfortable means, and Charles had a few quiet years at a private school in London.
This period had a lasting impact on Dickens’ character and his art. His family’s financial troubles and his unpleasant experience with factory life gave Charles a sympathetic knowledge of the lives and trials of the working class that would inform his writings. Images of prisons and of lost, oppressed children also would recur in his novels. Dickens dramatized some of the liveliness and failings of his father, for whom he always had a great love, as the character Mr. Micawber in the partly autobiographical novel David Copperfield. Dickens’ mother, unsympathetic and unconscious of his potential, meant less to him; she begrudged his leaving work to return to school. She would become the model for the character Mrs. Nickleby in Nicholas Nickleby.
Dickens finished his schooling at age 15 and went to work. He became a clerk in a law office and then, after learning shorthand, a reporter in the law courts and in the House of Commons. In 1834 he joined the staff of the Morning Chronicle, for which he traveled to other cities and towns to report election speeches. These jobs gave Dickens a lasting affection for journalism and also an enduring dislike of both law and politics that would be reflected in his novels.
Another influential event of this period was his rejection as suitor to Maria Beadnell, a banker’s daughter, because his family and prospects were unsatisfactory. The pain he felt upon losing her sharpened his determination to succeed.
Start of a Literary Career
Dickens’ first attempt at creative writing grew out of his experience as a journalist. In 1833 he began contributing stories and descriptive essays to magazines and newspapers under the name of Boz, the family nickname of a younger brother. These were collected and in February 1836 reprinted as Sketches by “Boz”, which was well received.
That same month the publishers Chapman and Hall asked Dickens to write stories to accompany a monthly series of comic illustrations by a noted artist. Originally the stories and illustrations were to deal with a group of Londoners in a hunting and fishing club, but Dickens, knowing little of the subject, suggested changing the focus to travel. The publishers agreed, and Dickens went on to create Mr. Pickwick, one of the greatest characters in humorous literature. Within a few months the Pickwick Papers had made Dickens the most popular author of the day.
The success of Pickwick led to new projects that kept Dickens occupied for the next several years. In 1836 he resigned from his newspaper job and became editor of a new monthly magazine, Bentley’s Miscellany, in which he serialized the novel Oliver Twist (1837–39). His other serialized novels of this period were Nicholas Nickleby (1838–39), The Old Curiosity Shop (1840–41), and Barnaby Rudge (1841). Apart from writing, his growing family was another commitment. In April 1836, in the week that the first installment of the Pickwick Papers appeared, Dickens had married Catherine Hogarth, the daughter of a newspaper associate. The first of their 10 children was born in 1837.
Dickens’ novels following the comic Pickwick Papers introduced a more serious element that would remain prominent throughout his fiction—attacks on social evils and inadequate institutions. Though still containing much comedy, Oliver Twist focused more on exposing the evils of the workhouse and the criminal world through the dramatic story of an orphan. Nicholas Nickleby continued in this vein with its criticism of the brutal Yorkshire school system. The Old Curiosity Shop is best known for the death of the saintly but suffering Little Nell, a scene considered overwhelmingly powerful at the time but later scorned for its sentimentality. Barnaby Rudge was a historical novel set in the late 18th century that dealt with the spectacle of large-scale mob violence.
Dickens in the United States
Exhausted by his intense work schedule, Dickens set out for a five-month vacation in the United States in early 1842. The United States had welcomed his books from the start, in part because the lack of international copyright permitted American publishers to print them without paying him. Dickens, at that stage of his life a radical who hated Toryism and aristocracy, wished to study the United States and its democratic ideals firsthand.
Dickens and his wife sailed to Boston in January 1842, leaving their four children at home. Treated as a literary celebrity, he received an enthusiastic welcome from the New England elite. From Boston he went to New York City, Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., and Richmond, Va. Dickens reveled in his adoring audience and wrote home of the freedom of the United States and the comforts of the workers. He traveled westward as far as Missouri before returning to England in June 1842.
Dickens spoke everywhere of the need for an international copyright agreement that would protect the rights of both American and British writers. He felt that it was unfair and unjust that American publishers could print and sell his books without permission from him and without paying him any royalties. Dickens did not speak of himself as the sole victim of this practice. He pointed out that all British authors were equally victimized; he also acknowledged that American authors, such as Edgar Allan Poe, suffered from the pirating of their works in England.
American newspapers attacked these statements and accused Dickens of bad taste and of abusing American hospitality. In time Dickens’ rosy view of the United States faded. He was disgusted by slavery, government corruption, and what he saw as the materialism and vulgarity of American life. His disillusionment with the United States is revealed in his nonfiction book American Notes (1842) and in the novel Martin Chuzzlewit (1843–44).
A shortcoming of Dickens’ early novels, as popular as they were, was a lack of narrative unity. Creating a coherent story while writing in monthly, or even weekly, serial installments was a difficult task. In the preface to Martin Chuzzlewit, Dickens wrote of his intention “to keep a steadier eye upon the general purpose and design.”
Dickens practiced his narrative concentration in a new, shorter type of story that was not serialized—his Christmas books. The first of these, A Christmas Carol, was conceived and written in a few weeks in 1843. It became the most enduring Christmas myth of modern literature. Further Christmas books, essays, and stories followed annually (except in 1847) through 1867, but none equaled the Carol in quality.
Dickens’ first novel to display his new maturity as a writer was Dombey and Son (1846–48). Although serialized, this novel was clearly a product of more thorough planning. It also presented a broader criticism of modern society than had his earlier books, which had focused on particular evils. It explored the corruption of money, finding virtue and human decency most often among the poor and humble.
Social concerns are minimal in Dickens’ next novel, David Copperfield (1849–50), which shows the author at the height of his powers. Written in the first person, it is perhaps most notable for its childhood chapters, which are partly based on Dickens’ own experiences. Largely for these reasons, it has always been among his most popular novels. Dickens himself described it as his “favourite child.”
Journalist and Reformer
Despite his great success as a novelist, Dickens did not wish to limit himself to book writing. His journalism background, his political beliefs, and his desire to secure a steady income independent of his creative writing made him attempt or plan several periodical ventures in the 1840s and 1850s. In 1846 he became editor of the newly founded liberal newspaper the Daily News, but within weeks he decided that he was not suited for the job and resigned. In 1850 he finally achieved journalistic success with Household Words, a weekly journal that he founded and edited. This publication and its successor, All the Year Round, were popular collections of fiction, poetry, and essays on a wide range of topics. Dickens contributed several serials of his own, including novels.
Dickens’ other activities often reflected the benevolent spirit apparent in his writings. For more than a decade beginning in 1847 he directed a reformatory home for young female delinquents, financed by his wealthy friend Angela Burdett-Coutts. He also gave public speeches on such issues as water pollution and juvenile illiteracy and participated in fund-raising activities.
A Darker Outlook
Dickens’ novels of the 1850s were much darker than their predecessors. Lacking the basic optimism that tempered the social criticism of the earlier works, they present an increasingly somber picture of contemporary society. Bleak House (1852–53) and Little Dorrit (1855–57) attack the injustices of the English legal system, and Hard Times (1854) explores the dehumanizing effects of industrialization on workers and communities. The humor in these novels takes the form of harsh satire. Technically, these novels are more coherent than the earlier fiction, with plots that are more fully related to themes.
The dark tone of these novels reflected a decline in Dickens’ spirits. He had lost all faith in government and its willingness to deal with social problems such as poverty and hunger, but he also had no alternative to suggest. At the same time his marriage began to unravel. In 1858 he separated from his wife and began a long affair with Ellen Ternan, a young actress. Fearing the effect of a scandal on his career, Dickens managed to keep the relationship from the public.
Theatricals and Public Readings
Dickens sought relief from the difficulties of his personal life in his work. In the mid-1850s he acted in a number of amateur theatricals to earn money for charity. This carried on his long attraction to the stage, which had almost led him to become a professional actor in the early 1830s. It was on the set of one of these productions, The Frozen Deep, that Dickens met Ellen Ternan in August 1857.
Around the time of his separation from his wife, Dickens began devoting much of his time to public readings from his novels. His emotional involvement in these readings was intense. He felt a close relationship with the public and greatly valued its affection, which served as a substitute for the love he could not find at home.
Dickens began his reading tour in April 1858. The early readings consisted entirely of Christmas books, but he soon added episodes from the novels and magazine Christmas stories. The performances drew on his talent for acting, his love of theatricals and of seeing and delighting an audience, and the dramatic nature of his fiction. He made a number of successful tours in England, Scotland, and Ireland—from 1858 to 1859, 1861 to 1863, 1866 to 1867, and 1869 to 1870. A triumphant American tour in 1867–68 wiped out the bad memories of his earlier trip to the United States.
Dickens greatly enjoyed his readings until, near the end, he was becoming ill and exhausted. He wrote much less in the 1860s, but he remained inventive. A Tale of Two Cities (1859), set during the French Revolution, was his first historical novel since Barnaby Rudge. It relied less on characterization, dialogue, and humor, but nevertheless it continues to be one of his most popular novels. Great Expectations (1860–61) resembles David Copperfield in being a first-person narration and in drawing on parts of Dickens’ personality and experience. A great critical and popular success, it is perhaps his finest novel. Our Mutual Friend (1864–65) continued his ongoing critique of wealth and class values.
Dickens gave his final public reading in London in March 1870. Thereafter he worked on his last novel, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, at Gad’s Hill, his country house near his boyhood home in Chatham. Dickens died at home on June 9, 1870, leaving the book unfinished. He was buried in Westminster Abbey in London.
A Tale of Two Cities
By Charles Dickens
Do horses run on the rocky crags? Does one plow the sea with oxen? But you have turned justice into poison and the fruit of righteousness into bitterness—
In Chapter Three of Karen Swallow Prior’s On Reading Well, the virtue of justice is described as the equilibrium of self-regard and a love for one’s neighbor. In many ways, that runs counter to the popular perspective of today’s civil and criminal judicial system. It is not a dynamic that occurs naturally in human nature, and its progress forward must be intentional.
A Tale of Two Cities
By Charles Dickens
Do horses run on the rocky crags? Does one plow the sea with oxen? But you have turned justice into poison and the fruit of righteousness into bitterness—
Benjamin Franklin said “Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.” Today we begin Chapter Three of Karen Swallow Prior’s On Reading Well, and we will examine the virtue of justice with examples drawn from Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.
It’s late at night and I’m reading in bed—Charles Dickens’s The Uncommercial Traveller, which is so good that I’ve been staving off sleep much longer than I should have. I come to a particular passage—nothing wonderful or magnificent, just a couple of sentences in a silly little story he’s telling about sailing from England to France. But it’s so funny, in that nonchalantly over-the-top Dickens way, that I laugh out loud.
And the thought strikes me, out of nowhere, that I can’t imagine being any happier than I am right this minute.
It’s a rogue thought. Even a rebellious thought. According to many Christians I know, you see, my life as a single person is far from complete. I’m not supposed to be able to imagine perfect happiness in my present state, let alone experience it.
Except I do.
My life is full of moments like these: little moments that give me unspeakable joy and satisfaction. It’s also full of hard moments—days when baby after baby after adorable baby scrolls by in my Facebook feed; nights when I ask God why my prayers for marriage were never answered.
But it doesn’t do, I’ve found, to dwell too long on how much greener the grass looks in that yard over there. When married acquaintances envy me my freedom or my opportunities, I’m tempted to remind them of all they have that I have good reason to envy. We could go on playing that game for hours (my freedom can be accompanied by loneliness, their joy in their family can be tempered by exhaustion, and on and on and on). I have to find ways to circumvent it. And if I try, they’re easier to find than I would have expected.
I didn’t choose the life I now lead. And yet, I still find so many joys in it. One of the biggest surprises has been how many little things bring me true joy—and how often those little joys help make up for the lack of bigger things. I can’t explain that. It doesn’t make sense if I think too hard about it. All I know is, God’s economy is not like ours.
There are, of course, any number of people who think that it should be. I run into them all the time. For example, I know Christians who rail against single people having pets because pets, they say, should not take the place of families. What these single people are supposed to do if all their efforts at having a family have failed, these Christians never say. Sit home alone and lambast themselves endlessly for their failure, I suppose.
It’s troubling, this idea that one should be cut off from joys of all kinds if one hasn’t achieved the joy of having a family. It suggests both a lack of trust in God to have every person’s best interests at heart, and a lack of the imagination to comprehend all the different kinds of joys God offers us.
I think of Dorothy L. Sayers, another favorite writer of mine, who found her joy not in her difficult family life, but in the life of the intellect. When she discovered Dante in middle age, her whole life was transformed. Her letters spill over with the sheer joy of reading him, translating him, thinking about his work night and day.
Sayers’s friend and biographer Barbara Reynolds used the Dantean phrase “the mind in love” to describe the way Sayers responded to the world around her and the God who made that world. It was an apt description. The mind can indeed be in love, just as the heart can, and can bring unspeakable joy.
The problem is, the church’s vocabulary has become impoverished. It doesn’t have the words to describe the stab of joy that comes when reading a perfect passage of Dickens; when jumping to one’s feet at the end of an inspiring play; when luxuriating in a favorite old movie that’s become as comfortable as a warm blanket and bedroom slippers; when Beethoven’s Ninth suddenly starts playing on the radio in the middle of an ordinary morning, like a king arriving on the doorstep as you’re finishing the breakfast dishes. Because it has, by and large, lost the understanding that these things are important.
Yet if they are real, and good, and come from the Father who gives every good and perfect gift, then how could they not be important?
How much easier it would be for God’s people to reach others if we would understand this. If we reached out not just with truth, but with imagination, creativity, delight in the music and art and books that mean so much to the people around us. These things cannot carry the weight of a whole life, but there are moments, now and then, when they make life worth living. They reveal something about God’s character that is more appealing and attractive than we tend to realize.
The fact that He generously gives such things to so many demonstrates that He is near to the lonely, the broken—just as near as He is to the people who seem to have it all together. If we were willing to focus on this part of God, to talk about how He sends joy in all shapes and sizes and gloriously unexpected ways, to all kinds of people—how much better equipped we would be to help those lonely and broken ones.
Glory be to God for little things. It’s not quite Gerard Manley Hopkins, but nevertheless, it rings true for me. The small comforts and consolations that might mean nothing to the person next to us, but that pierce us to the heart with joy—thank God for them. In the beautiful and loving mind that conceived and created them and gave them to us, there is nothing little about them at all.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.