Mark called to tell me his youngest uncle, the one who is not much older than me, is dead. So I'm at Elinor's, a place I've never been before, listening to him playing Susanna I'm crazy loving you. Nursing a margarita after a Baileys.
It's a dark place illuminated by Christmas decorations. People sit around drinking. They're in a convivial mood. Or at least that's how it seems. Maybe they drink to forget. Maybe they nurse their own dark secrets.
Which has all or nothing to do with Hard Times. Which I got through over a week ago. I've just put off writing this because I've been busy trying to decide what I should do.
I loved it. When Dickens relaxes into a story and it becomes about people rather than politics, he's a joy. Young Tom Gradgrind ended badly as supremely selfish people do. The bounder was exposed in all his fat pseudo humility that was another form of arrogance. Look how I struggled to come up. Look where I am now. Look who I'm married to. Ugh. . The thought of Louisa and Bounderby in bed together is beyond repulsive.
Typically there was only one happy ending. Sissy Jupe. The natural girl who thought with her heart rather than her head. The one who withstood the assault of facts no matter how many times they assailed her with them.
They all started out as caricatures and softened into human beings somewhere in the middle.
Stephen Blackpool's story was tragic. No joy in life and the ending such as it was. With death came rest.
Hard times indeed.
And now in keeping with the season I move on to his Christmas books.
No comments:
Post a Comment