quite a dickens

A few weeks before we left Boston I had a difficult time reading. This wasn't my usual few day break after a reading binge (although I did just finish The Namesake in about 1.5 sittings). I couldn't focus. I lacked interest and enthusiasm in my choices. Attempting to get involved with a novel felt like pulling teeth.

Looking back, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I had a pile about twenty books deep of stuff that I wanted to read and toss. Stuff that wasn't worth hanging onto, but was, potentially, worth a summer fling. The rest of my books were packed for the move. These books would not have been my proudest reading moments, but they were no Dan Brown. Let's just say that The Namesake was among them (not exactly trash), but the pile also contained several Oprah books, many books about southern women quilting and getting into messy situations, and Confederacy of Dunces, which I've never been able to muster enthusiasm for. There wasn't much to be excited about, really.

However, I think that my resistance also had a lot to do with that fact that I was really nervous about the move. The last thing I needed to focus on was what trouble the Florabama Ladies Auxiliary Sewing Circle were scaring up in some poorly-written make believe southern world. But neither could I focus on non-fiction.

And so, as a desperate last resort, I turned to the pile on its way to Goodwill and a long-time enemy: Charles Dickens. I've never been a fan. I was forced to read A Tale of Two Cities at the zenith of my Anti-Britite phase and so I hated every minute of it and vowed never to read Dickens again. (Interesting side-note: After every completed chapter I would reward myself with one from John Irving's Cider House Rules. It was only much later that I found out how often the two authors are compared, or rather, how often it's said that Irving's main influence is Dickens. This comparison was part of the collapse of my vow.)

Anyway, I needed something old, and long, and boring. I needed to focus on something that probably didn't suck, even though it might be mind-numbingly boring. And it saved me. I enjoyed every minute of it. It gave me something to get mixed up in back in Boston, and continue upon our arrival (and then some). There is comfort in that. He really surprised me. And I've been trying find everyone I've talked to about Dickens and take back all of the bad things I've ever said about him (though the list is really long). World, I am officially a Dickens fan.