There is no dearth of material about the life and times of
Charles Dickens, one of the most popular novelists of all times, one of my top
favorites for a long long time. He was a
master storyteller and so dearly beloved that when my MA Lit. lecturer announced
in a class that he had many flaws as a novelist, the whole class let out
several exclamation of dissent. Dickens wrote
many iconic novels and has enjoyed a readership that even J.K. Rowling can envy.
To honor this unparallelled master Google depicted this
picture on its site:
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I have commenced reading The Pickwick Papers today after many years. Here is a paragraph out of this highly amusing book.
“On his right hand, sat Mr. Tracy Tupman; the too
susceptible Tupman, who to the wisdom and experience of maturer years
superadded the enthusiasm and ardor of a boy, in the most interesting and
pardonable of human weaknesses – love.
Time and feeding had expanded that once romantic form; the black silk
waistcoat had become more and more developed; inch by inch had the gold watch
chain beneath it disappeared from within the range of Tupman's vision; and
gradually had the capacious chin encroached upon the borders of the white
cravat, but the soul of Tupman had known no change – admiration of the fair
sex was still its ruling passion.”
In a few skillful lines, he sketches the form and character
of Mr. Tracy Tupman. This was his most
endearing quality. It made his novels
feel like a visual feast, it made imagining the characters easy, it made them
vivid and it made them live in our memory forever. Happy Birthday Charles Dickens, I am sure your novels will live forever.
