A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A slow perambulating tale set in London and Paris during the time of the French Revolution – there is intrigue, espionage, betrayal a misplaced sense of loyalty, human cruelty and blood-lust and humour.

Cramped in all kinds of dun cupboards and hutches at Tellson’s, the oldest of men carried on the business gravely. When they took a young man into Tellson’s London house, they hid him somewhere till he was old. They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full Tellson flavour and blue-mould upon him. Then only was he was permitted to be seen, spectacularly poring over large books, and casting his breeches and gaiters into the general weight of the establishment.

(Mr Cruncher himself always spoke of the year of our Lord as Anna Dominoes: apparently under the impression that the Christian era dated from the invention of a popular game, by a lady who Ishad bestowed her name upon it.)

That they could never their heads upon their pillows; that, they never could tolerate the idea of their wives laying their heads upon their pillows; that they never could endure the notion of their children laying their heads upon their pillows; in short, that there never could be, for them or theirs, any laying of heads upon pillows at all, unless the prisoner’s head was taken off.

The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays of post-horses, poor fountain, all usual poor appointments. It had its poor people too. All its people were poor, and many of them were sitting at their doors, shredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the fountain, washing leaves and grasses, and any such small yieldings of the earth that could be eaten. Expressive sips of what made them poor, were not wanting; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax for the lord, tax local and tax general, were to be paid here and to be paid there, according to a solemn inscription in the little village, until the wonder was, that there was any village left unswallowed.

…the owl made a noise with very little resemblance in it to the noise conventionally assigned to the owl by men-poets. But it is the obstinate custom of such creatures hardly ever to say what is set down for them.

“Where shall I commence?”
“Commence,” was Monsieur Defarge’s not unreasonable reply, “at the commencement.”

There were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated, sprinkled about. The day was very hot, and heaps of flies, who were extending their inquisitive and adventurous perquisitions into tall the glutinous little glasses near madame, fell dead at the bottom. Their decease made no impression on the other flies promenading, who looked at them in the coolest manner (as if they themselves were elephants, or something as far removed), until they met the same fate. Curious to consider how heedless flies are!

The convoluted and archaic language makes comprehension difficult, at times.

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