Day 51: A Tale of Two Cities

I started reading 'A Tale of Two Cities' forever ago and I think this one is just beyond me. I honestly don't have a clue what's going on most of the time in this book, probably because I'm essentially illiterate compared to Charles Dickens. This guy writes like he's living in a fever dream, turning even the most basic description of a setting or someone's feelings into a baffling series of metaphorical phrasings, callbacks, and religious imagery. Most intimidating of all are the early 1800s Paris and/or London specific references that feel like reading a meme you just weren't in on. For example, this is how Dickens shows that the perspective character caught a faint glimpse of recognition in one of the main characters, Miss Manette, upon first meeting her. This is from the first chapter.

'a sudden vivid likeness passed before him, of a child whom he had held in his arms on the passage across that very Channel, one cold time, when the hail drifted heavily and the sea ran high.'

Pretty straight forward, or so it seems, yes? But then he hits you with this:

'The likeness passed away, like a breath along the surface of the gaunt pier-glass behind her, on the frame of which, a hospital procession of negro cupids, several headless and all cripples, were offering black baskets of Dead Sea fruit to black divinities of the feminine gender--and he made his formal bow to Miss Manette.'

Is this a true description of the frame of the glass behind her? Is it a metaphor for how he feels about seeing her? Both? How on earth does a frame for glass include the above in a way that makes any sense? Why are they cripples?? And what the heck is Dead Sea fruit???

On the one hand, I find it really satisfying to work out what he means, but on the other, I just want to know what the hell is going on. I'm going to keep reading it when the urge strikes me, but at this point it is completely academic interest driving me. I think I will have to declare it a DNF for the sake of the blog since I want to continue my reviews. The story itself is powerful (when I know what's going on) and I love that Dickens often includes his very dry and dark humor to criticize the practices of the times, but I'm constantly thrown by his writing style and forced to read at a snail's pace. For comparison, I picked up 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' by Ernest Hemingway on Friday and I'm already further along than I was in ATTC. I also just now realized I have been spelling Ernest as Earnest prior to this post and now I think I can go ahead and give up writing.

Thank you for reading,

Benjamin Hawley