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Great Expectations
Orphan Pip grows from boy to man.
Seemingly in real time. I felt like I spent a third of a lifetime reading this.
What is it about Dickens’ tone, in Great Expectations especially, that makes him so smug and self satisfied and sentimental? He’s like a midwit spinster aunt pressing petty morality stories and a delusional worldview on captive nephews.
And I’m not just talking about the impossible moral perfection of Joe, or Pip’s shame as he grows. There’s this insidious statement between the lines that Dickens has it all figured out, and that the oppressed are inherently just, and that anyone who doesn’t see the world through Dickens’ lens is a heartless fool.
Some of the writing is good in a longwinded way, but I found it difficult to enjoy any of the narrative because I couldn’t stop thinking about how awesome it would be to go back in time, rip the pen out of Dickens’ hand, and punch him in his sanctimonious face.
Highly recommended for socialists, people who move their lips when they read, and adults who wear mouse ears at Disney World.
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