York Notes

It’s been days now since I finished Tale of Two Cities, but still having a hard time shaking it. The opening of the book – “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times …” foreshadows up the conundrum to come – how can a story of so much horror also be a story of so much love, nobility, and self-sacrifice?

I postponed reading the book much longer than I should have because, frankly, I worried for my emotional well-being. Having barely survived the death of Little Nell, I show more wasn’t sure I had the intestinal fortitude to handle a Dickens novel set during the horrors of the French Revolution. The inescapable irony, of course, is that great love/nobility/sacrifice can only exist in the midst of horror. And so it is in this riveting, heartwarming/heartbreaking tale of (with apologies to The Princess Bride) “true love” in all its forms – selfish, platonic, filial, romantic, unrequited.

As I expect most folks already know, the tale centers around a triumvirate of characters – the beautiful, virtuous Lucie Manett, her psychologically fragile old father Doctor Manette, and Charles Darney, an honorable young French nobleman who has moved to England in order to renounce any association with the atrocities of the Revolution. And since this is Dickens, they are kept company by a bakers dozen other brilliantly imagined and realized characters, from the coarse but faithful Crusher to the stolid-businessman-with-a-heart-of-gold Lorry, from the ambitious French revolutionary DeFarge to his ghastly wife Madame DeFarge, from self-aggrandizing lawyer Stryver to perhaps one of Dickens’ most tragic characters, the self-destructive university student Sidney Carton.

Inevitably, our young lovers Charles and Lucie end up in the hands of the Revolution, whereupon I headed for the tissue box, foreseeing the tragic end. But because this is Dickens (again), I should have anticipated that the tragedy would be a complex thing: that heroes would turn out to be flawed, that villains would turn out to be less heartlessly villainous as they may at first have appeared, and that otherwise ordinary people would turn out to be capable of extraordinary acts of courage and sacrifice. As in many other Dickens novels, the author doesn’t shy away from realistically portraying the cruelty and brutality of which human society is capable. Some of the people and scenes depicted in this tale are simply appalling. And yet, somehow, Dickens always manages to pilot us through the morass to a place where human decency ends up triumphing over all the obstacles set against it.

Am not sure why Sidney Carton doesn’t get the press that other literary greats – Gatsby, Ahab, Heathcliff, Atticus Finch, etc. – have garnered, because I feel like he more than deserves a spot in the pantheon. Be that as it may, he’s definitely earned a spot in my list of great characters in literature, and whether or not he’s enjoying the far, far better rest he wholeheartedly deserves, I know I’m a far better and richer person for having met him and for allowing Dickens, once again, to whisk me away on an unforgettable journey. show less

It is nearly twenty years since I previously read this novel of the French Revolution and I had forgotten how wonderful it is. It is more accessible for the general reader than many other Dickens novels, with a dramatic narrative full of colour and incident, no significant sub-plots and a much less extensive cast of minor characters than probably any other full length Dickens novel. The author's voice rings out strongly against all forms of oppression and tyranny, whether of the ancien show more regime, whose representatives such as the Marquis St Evremonde treat the peasantry with less consideration than they do their dogs and horses; or of the revolutionary authorities and their local representatives such as Mme Therese Defarge, with their implacable thirst for vengeance and retribution against all members of aristocratic families, regardless of those members' individual guilt and innocence for acts of oppression. It is a warning against endless cycles of bloodfeuds and vengeance, and the tendency of many political and social movements in extremis to view and judge people en masse, and not as living, breathing individuals. As powerful today as it was when first published in 1859. Wonderful stuff. show less

I believe this book has stirred my soul almost more than any other I have read. The tale of how much a man will sacrifice for pure love is moving indeed. This book takes us through the turmoil of the French Revolution and looks at it from several viewpoints, both horrifying and inspiring. Lucy Manet, her grandfather and husband are caught up in something which they cannot control and cannot escape, but this is not just their story, it is the story of the peasants of France, of the others who show more were enmeshed in the turmoil of that time. Dickens paints each character with humanity and fleshes them out so that they are in the room with us. Ultimately, it is the story of selflessness and love triumphing in times of great darkness. show less

Even though I have never been a fan of Charles Dickens, I was a firm believer in all the hype - until now. A Tale of Two Cities is surely not 'the greatest of his historical novels', and can only be called 'one of the most beloved of Dicken's stories' because it's also one of his shortest. Over five, agonising days, I struggled with this choppy, weakly cast 'classic', falling asleep on the bus and being easily distracted from my task, because Two Cities is supposed to be the best F-Rev novel show more ever written, but I can now officially disagree. Read The Scarlet Pimpernel instead - Orczy might not be a 'literary' author, and she favoured the aristos over the peasants, but at least she could pace a story to keep the reader interested. I think Dickens cribbed the major historical events straight from Carlyle, and then kept skipping merrily through the lives of his characters in a paragraph, to the point where I thought I was reading the abridged version (some hope).

The only character I cared for in the whole novel is Sydney Carton, who then disappears for most of the story. He is a wonderfully flawed romantic anti-hero who can carry off sentimental dialogue like: 'I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.' Unfortunately, the woman he falls in love with is the pathetic, golden-haired, Victorian fantasy child-bride, Lucie Manette, who is already married to a guy who looks just like Sydney, but lacks his personality. Lacks any personality. Charles Darnay and Lucie deserve each other, quite frankly - she is so good and pure and sweet, to the point where she spends most of the novel on the floor in a dead faint, and he is a nincompoop nobleman. I found myself siding with Madame Defarge, the psychotic tricoteuse baying for Darnay's blood. The only other character who didn't annoy me is Miss Pross, Lucie's companion - the battle royale between her and Madame Defarge is one of the best parts of the novel!

Needless to say, I probably stand alone in being unable to recommend this 'classic' novel of the French Revolution - Two Cities is basically the same old wordy and repetitive narrative ('weep for it! weep for it!'), interrelated characters and uninspiring heroines that Dickens is famous for. Only the opening paragraph - you know the one, 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times' - and the last line from Sydney Carton - 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, that I have ever done' - make this a memorable work. show less