When reading this book, I was still in my apartment in Spain, finding old classics on Google Books and watching this sunset from my window:
I’m sorry… am I allowed to not like Dickens? There, I’ve said it: I don’t like Dickens. I know he was a pioneer, and his genius has been copied so many times that he only seems cliché, although the original of an over-repeated formula cannot be, by definition, cliché… but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I like believable characters, no matter what’s going on in the plot—sure, two men who look identical but are not related at all (mystery? never solved) and who really have no character traits in common end up switching places so that *spoiler* the good man with the beautiful, kind wife goes free and the scrummy, bitter man ends up sacrificing himself gallantly on the guillotine—that’s fine by me. My problem is with the fact that the good man is always good, and the beautiful, kind wife is always beautiful and kind, and the scrummy, bitter man is always rancorous except when he’s being secretly gallant (and thatwas the only character twist in the entire book). Give me some dimension! 5 out of 10.