Fops, orphans, and a mannish lady lawyer, Part I Monday, Sep 29 2008 

 

I checked this book out from the library because the back of the book promised a “mannish lady lawyer” named Sally Brass.  Awesome, right? I feel like Dickens exercised a lot of self-restraint in not naming her “Sally Brass Balls” or something.  And since she is kind of a literary mentor for me, obviously, it’s good to know that a lady’s practice of law leads to messy hair (check), spinsterdom and all manner of unfeminine behavior.  Good to know.  

The back of the book also refers, somewhat apologetically, to the “sentimentality” and “pathos” in its portrayal of the usual angelic orphans, which is semi-ludicrous…I think sentimentality and pathos, along with angelic orphans, mannish lady lawyers, gambling addicts, etc etc, are really what you want from a Dickens novel. What did the back of the book expect, Hemingway? 

This book is also notable for the character of Quilp, a malevolent, wife-beating (or just verbal abuser? it’s unclear), evil mastermind of a moneylender who also happens to be a dwarf (stay klassy, Dickens!) and likes to perch on the backs of chairs, rubbing his hands together and laughing evilly over other peoples’ financial ruin.

So, yeah, I like this book so far, but am only halfway through.  To be continued.

Mysterious strangers and flesh-eating evangelicals Sunday, Sep 7 2008 

There is a new(ish) Tales of the City book, & I’m trying to get caught up before I read it.  I got a few pages into this one and realized that I’d already read it but no matter; it’s always a pleasure to spend a few bus rides with Mr. Armistead Maupin.  

Now, all of the Tales books are a little on the soap opera-ish side and I do treasure that about them, but this was even a little more campy than most, what with Michael developing some kind of paralysis that reminded me of the unpronouncable fake illness that plagued Pamela on Dallas, amnesia, mysteriously appearing and disappearing relatives, and so on.  

 

Actually, now that I think of it, that is all par for the course with these books (I just remembered the one where Jim Jones turns out to be alive and living in Golden Gate Park, and then gets murdered and buried in someone’s backyard), and I love it.  

Another thing this book has going for it: the appearance of punk rock kids! Including some sort of punk rock hired assassin 14-year-old named Douchebag, who likes to stick bubble gum up her nose.  Ah, the gritty realism.

These books rule. Now, in the spirit of maudlin twists of fate and paeans to a city from long ago, I am reading some Dickens.