Tag Archives: Literature

Book Review: Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line, a Novel, by Deepa Anappara

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Published in 2020, Random House

Why did I read this book?

A friend of mine suggested I might like to read Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line. Not only did she love the story, she liked how Deepa Anappara structured the novel. And my friend enjoyed how many of the chapter titles were also the beginning of the first sentence in a chapter. For example:

THREE WEEKS AGO I WAS ONLY A SCHOOLKID BUT–

–now I’m a detective and also a tea-shop boy.

(And what a great sentence it is.)

What is this book about?

Nine-year-old Jai lives in India in a poor, crowded neighborhood referred to as a basti. Bordered by a smoldering rubbish dump and enveloped by an unrelenting gray smog, Jai’s life in the basti is hemmed in by poverty, garbage, pollution, and classism. The wealthy lifestyle of the hi-fi residents who live in luxurious skyscrapers separated by a high wall from his basti is beyond his reach. He lives with his older sister Runi-Didi and his Ma and Papa. His best friends are Faiz and Pari, who are also classmates.

The story opens with the disappearance of Bahadur, a quiet and unassuming boy who others rarely notice. When Bahadur doesn’t turn up, his parents and other concerned adults from the basti beg the local police to investigate. But the police refuse to take Bahadur’s disappearance seriously, and instead they threaten to have the basti bulldozed if its residents insist on causing trouble over Bahadur’s disappearance.

In answer to the indifference of the police, Jai, Faiz, and Pari declare themselves detectives. Jai, who loves to watch detective and crime shows on TV, fancies himself as the head detective. The three friends wander through their basti and the Bhoot Bazaar, asking people if they’ve seen Bahadur. They even take the Purple Line train to a neighboring city on a hunch that Bahadur may have run away or been kidnapped and taken to that city.

Soon other basti children go missing, and fear, like the pervasive smog, engulfs the basti residents. Jai, Faiz, and Pari are forbidden to leave home without an adult. But they defy their parents, and while continuing to look for Bahadur, they make inquiries about the other children who have gone missing.

What makes this book so good?

Deepa Anappara was born in India and worked as a journalist in her home country from 1997 to 2008, where she wrote about education. There is no doubt that Anappara’s personal and professional connections to India enabled her to create the realistic world in which her impoverished and marginalized characters live. Although her characters are fictional, Anappara’s portrayal of their joys, fears, hopes, and disappointments are heartbreakingly real. And most importantly, Anappara takes care not to sensationalize or diminish her characters’ stories. Instead, she has written a literary novel about the worst kind of crime. Her beautiful writing along with her measured restraint carries readers through the difficult scenes.

During her years as a journalist, Anappara interviewed many disadvantaged children, whom she found to be full of “humor, sarcasm, and energy.” While working as a journalist she learned that children from poor families disappeared at a higher rate than children from families in better circumstances. These abductions rarely made the news unless a kidnapper was caught or the details of a kidnapping were particularly gruesome. It upset Anappara that the stories of the missing children “were nowhere to be found.”

When Anappara first tried to write Djinn Patrol, she labeled her attempt a failure. In 2016, she returned to her novel. This time when she thought about the children she had interviewed in India, she remembered “their determination to survive in a society that often willfully neglected them” and she knew the story must be told from the perspective of the children. She found a way into her story, and after reading her novel, I can’t imagine it being told any other way. The story is told mostly in first person by Jai, who is at turns earnest, careless, unselfish, jealous, kind, and churlish, but who, despite his faults and missteps, captured my heart. Other times the story is told in third person through the point of view of other children.

I have to return the borrowed book to my friend. But I ordered my own copy to keep on my bookshelf. In part because like my friend, I admire Anappara’s amazing use of voice, point of view, and structure. Perhaps, I won’t read the book again, or maybe I’ll only read parts of it. Regardless, I couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from Jai, Faiz, and Pari and their dreams. And that’s the other part.

Book Review: The Family Chao, a Novel, by Lan Samantha Chang

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Published in 2022 by W. W. Norton & Company

Why did I read this book?

I’m a member of the Wisconsin Writers Association (WWA), and I will be attending their 2024 Writers Conference this fall. Because Lan Samantha Chang is one of the keynote speakers, WWA recently hosted a book talk about The Family Chao with Chang. So, I wanted to read the book before attending the book talk, just to avoid any spoilers.

What is this book about?

Leo Chao and his wife, Winnie, have run a successful Americanized Chinese restaurant for thirty-five years in Haven, Wisconsin, where they settled as young immigrants in a mostly white community. Their goals were to serve high-quality food and to make sure their three sons became well educated and successful. Winnie has recently left her mean-spirited, philandering husband and the family business and moved into a religious sanctuary. For years Leo Chao has been a bad husband to his wife and a bad father to his three sons, who have come to loathe and fear him, yet still seek his approval.

Dagou, their oldest, left college to help his father run the family restaurant when his mother became ill. After his mother recovered, Dagou, an excellent chef, remained based on a promise from his father that the restaurant would one day be his. Dagou is engaged to one woman but in love with another one, and he needs money to impress the new woman. When Dagou asks his father to honor his promise regarding the restaurant, his father denies the promise exists and threatens to fire Dagou.

Ming, the middle child, is a successful businessman who lives in New York City, but as a first-generation Chinese-American, he struggles with his identity. Bullied when he attended the mostly white Haven public schools and continually embarrassed by his parents, especially his father, Ming avoids his Chinese heritage and rarely returns home to Haven.

Nineteen years old, James, the youngest son, plans to become a doctor. On his way home for the Christmas holidays, he tries to save a man who suffers a medical episode in the train station. The man dies, leaving James shaken and in possession of the man’s bag, which is destined to play a part in the Chao family drama. The three brothers don’t always get along, but they rally in support of their mother and each other when the need arises.

The Chao family appears to have put aside their differences in order to unite for the yearly Christmas dinner. The next day, Leo Chang is found dead. After an investigation, one of the brothers is arrested, but the other two brothers aren’t sure their sibling killed their father, and they keep searching for the truth. As they search, they uncover other truths that have been hidden.

What makes this book so good and important?

Chang’s beautiful writing, strong plot, and richly-drawn characters pulled me into the story. Her novel reads like a Greek tragedy — with the characters’ current sorrows rooted in past transgressions committed by themselves or others. As the story unfurls, readers watch characters struggle to escape their destinies, which are perhaps not of their own choosing or their own making. On one level, Chang’s novel explores dysfunctional families and guilt and regret. But on a deeper level, she delves into how community prejudice adds to the troubles of the Chao family and to the other Asian American families in Haven, Wisconsin.

In a world of thirty-second sound bites about immigration and stereotypes, Chang’s novel provides a deep, long look at the consequences of prejudices and misunderstandings between cultures. It’s the best kind of novel — one written to make readers think and to expand their understanding of the world, all while serving up a superbly written story.

I showed up early to appointments just so I could sit and read Chang’s book without being distracted by interruptions at home.

Book Review: The Curse of Pietro Houdini, a Novel, by Derek B. Miller

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Why did I read this book?

The cover’s obscured artwork hints at ancient mythology, which is filled with tales of love, courage, tragedy, jealousy, joy, betrayal, and vengeance. Stories that are repeated by mortals again and again. Stories that repeat themselves in Italy in 1943-44 during WWII.

I bought this book on Indie Bookstore Day at the last bookstore I visited. I’d already purchased books from the other stores, but it was Indie Bookstore Day, so that meant I needed to buy at least two books from each store. (It’s an etiquette thing, like not refusing a second slice of pie when you visit your dear grandmother after she so nicely baked a strawberry-rhubarb pie for you.)

First, the book jacket caught my eye. The cover art is stunning. Next, the name Houdini stood out. When I was a child, I loved the Tony Curtis movie Houdini, loosely based on real-life magician and escape artist Harry Houdini. Then, the synopsis on the flap intrigued me: WWII, Nazis, Italy, an ancient abbey high on a hill. A young teenage orphan; a charismatic but secretive middle-aged man on a mission to save three priceless paintings; a pair of young lovers; a mysterious Italian nurse; a kind-hearted German soldier; an unusual monk; a war-broken woman; and Ferrari, a faithful mule. Finally, I read the first paragraph of the book. And this sentence sealed the deal: “I stole three paintings from the Nazis who were stealing them from the monks.” This one sentence contained intrigue, danger, irony, — and humor, a quiet, but incisive humor that works well in a story filled with sadness, destruction, and loss. I bought the book.

What is this book about?

It’s late summer, August 1943. The Allies are pushing into Italy to liberate it from the Germans. Massimo, a young teenager, has been orphaned during a recent American bombing of Rome and is heading toward Naples. Pietro Houdini, who is in his fifties, finds Massimo in a ditch. He convinces Massimo to accompany him to Montecassino Abbey, where he intends to catalogue and restore art. Massimo is smart, and as an only child, used to conversing with adults. Pietro is in his fifties and well educated. He is a cynical man who is capable of duplicity and murder to achieve his goals, yet hope, kindness, and loyalty linger inside him.

Pietro knows the Germans will come for the artwork at Montecassino. With the help of Massimo, he plans to steal three priceless paintings and a bag of ancient Greek gold. Soon it becomes evident to Pietro that the Americans will bomb Montecassino because they believe the Germans are using the abbey as part of their war strategy to thwart an Allied invasion of Italy. Time is running out to save the paintings, so Pietro revises his plans to include other people who have been living at the abbey and to use a different route of escape.

What makes this book good?

I’d never heard of Derek B. Miller, and my reasons for buying his book were impulsive (and perhaps frivolous) but I soon discovered Miller’s book has it all — richly drawn characters, a captivating plot, beautiful language, dry humor, and important themes.

The center of the story is the relationship between Pietro and Massimo. Massimo, recently orphaned, is walking to Naples, when a group of boys attack. Pietro, who is walking to Montecassino Abbey, interrupts the beating, pulls Massimo from the ditch, and convinces Massimo to go with him to Montecassino. It’s Pietro and Massimo’s growing friendship and singleness of purpose which draws readers into the story. Miller’s secondary characters, even the ones who appear briefly, will also live in readers’ imaginations, stirring emotions and raising questions about the horrors of war, which can never be answered. During a war, one thinks more about the randomness of life, the unlikely friendships people form, and the bonds that transcend both terror and time. Miller weaves the stories of his characters together, into an intricate tapestry, surprising his readers as the threads become a richly textured image.

Miller’s language and imagery create a reflective solemnity, revealing Montecassino’s mystical character. The abbey is more than ancient stone. It lives and breathes. It tells its stories to those who listen. When characters leave the abbey and enter the world of fascism and Nazis, Miller’s words paint scenes of dread and tragedy. But his descriptions of war and its brutality are sparsely, succinctly, and briefly told; so, it’s the stories of the civilians swept up in war that command center stage.

Miller uses humor throughout his novel, but The Curse of Pietro Houdini is not a comedy, and Miller’s humor is not slapstick or wordplay. It’s steeped in irony. Early in the novel, a line spoken by Pietro to Brother Tobias, regarding the treasure trove of art in the abbey, took my breath away. I read the sentence several times before moving on. I thought about quoting the sentence here, but I would rather other readers have the joy of discovering it. (If you read the book, the sentence is on page 44, almost halfway down the page. Don’t peek before you get there.)

Miller’s WWII novel explores the themes of war through the eyes of ordinary civilians whose lives have been forever altered or destroyed. While the Allied and Axis powers wage war on the battlefield, the characters face their own horrors away from the frontlines. There is much destruction in a war: felled buildings, mindless cruelty, the dead and the broken. Miller’s book tells these tales of war, but it also tells the stories of love, kindness, loyalty, bravery, and survival because these are also the stories of war.

A connection to the present . . .

After reading Miller’s book, I took a road trip. I drove east across Upper Michigan, and over a couple of hours, I met three different convoys of military vehicles heading west. The long lines of gigantic trucks in the military colors of desert tan, army green, and dark blue rumbled like beasts over the scenic tree-lined highway. I’ve passed convoys before, never feeling uneasy, never thinking of them as beasts. But I’d just finished reading Miller’s book, and because it’s set in WWII with fascists and Hitler and Mussolini, a chill cut through me each time another line of military vehicles passed by. I tried to imagine what the Italians felt during WWII as German, American, and Allied war machinery lumbered over their roads and into their cities. I thought about Hitler’s tanks and artillery guns and goose-stepping soldiers marching down streets, a show of military power meant to strike fear in his European neighbors and his own people.

Miller’s book is set in 1943-1944, but sadly dictators, invading armies, and war are timeless.

[Published by Avid Reader Press, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 2024]

Between the Covers, a Bookstore in Harbor Springs, Michigan

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Between the Covers, Harbor Springs, Michigan

Between the Covers is a charming bookstore in Harbor Springs, Michigan. A quaint summer resort town, it harkens back to the days when wealthy and moderately wealthy men put their families on trains and sent them to Petoskey, Harbor Springs, Charlevoix, and surrounding towns in order to escape the scorching heat and noxious smells found in urban areas such as Detroit and Chicago, keeping them safe from the dank, rancid city air. The men joined their families during vacations or for long weekends.

The trains that shuttled families back and forth have disappeared. And the numerous resorts which once existed have dwindled, replaced by individual homes and cabins. But families still flock to the towns in the northern part of Lower Michigan, which nestle along Lake Michigan, Lake Walloon, Lake Charlevoix, and many other sparkling lakes and rivers. My mother lives in Petoskey, and I love to visit her. When I do, I trek through my favorite towns, always visiting my favorite bookstores, one of which is Between the Covers.

There’s a lot to like about Between the Covers. It’s clever name. The elegant off-white brick building. The large storefront windows. The knowledgeable and friendly staff.

And their colorful edges
The journals I bought

Inside the store exposed rosy-brown brick walls give the interior a warm glow. Colorful books, like tasty pieces of bright candy, wait to be purchased and savored. There are beautiful selections of cards and stationery. A large selection of lovely journals invites writers to take one home and fill its pages with musings. As a writer, journals, like books, call to me, and just as I have books I will probably never read, I have journals I will probably never use. On my recent visit to Between the Covers, I bought three journals (but one is for a friend), a box of owl-themed stationery, and two books.

I bought a mystery for my mother and James by Percival Everett for me. I finished reading James yesterday. I loved the book. Before I read it, I listened to Huckleberry Finn. I’d already read it five times, the first when I was in middle school, the last time when I was in my forties. I wondered if my opinion of Mark Twain’s novel would be diminished by the years gone by, but it was not. I was struck once again by the biting satire Twain dishes up, mocking the ignorance and arrogance of whites and their participation in slavery and the institutionalized racism which perpetuated slavery and which continues to perpetuate discrimination.

I like to buy books from wonderful independent bookstores when I’m on vacation. The books become tangible memories of place, people, and good times, especially when I love the stories that live between their covers.

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Short Story Club Idea for Writers or Nonwriters Who Love Literature

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Delicious coffee cake paired with a cherry blossom latte from our favorite coffee shop. Note the wonderful cherry in the cup.

During COVID, I joined a book club at the library. We met in the evening once a month on Zoom instead of the library. It was the first and only book club I’ve ever belonged to, and it was perfect for the times. Because lockdowns meant I couldn’t work, I had extra time on my hands. I tried to write, but I was too anxious to produce much of anything. But I could read, so I looked forward to each Zoom gathering and the chance to meet with fellow readers who also loved to discuss books. At the end of each discussion, it was nice to “leave the meeting” and not have to get in my car and drive home. Best of all, I felt that reading and discussing books would help me grow as a writer, even if I couldn’t write. Later, I would hear other writers talk about their struggles to write during COVID. But when the lockdowns ended and the book club returned to meeting at the library, I dropped out.

I missed talking about books with fellow readers, but I also wanted something that was more focused, tailored to me as a short story writer. Then, I read an article by an essayist who said she and a couple of her fellow essayists liked to read the same essays written by well-known writers and discuss them. They looked at tense, point of view, structure, pacing, use of literary devices, and anything else they wanted to discuss. I attended writing webinars where instructors used mentor texts to model whatever writing technique they were teaching. I came up with an idea: Why not a short story club? One that would focus on the writer’s use of all the literary techniques in a writer’s toolbox.

So, I talked to a friend of mine who used to teach AP English. Because I knew he loved to discuss literature and because he was a busy guy, I figured he’d love the idea of a short story club. He did.

We take turns choosing a short story and meet up every five to six weeks at a local coffeehouse. We discuss anything and everything about the writer’s techniques. I learn a lot and my hope is that I will become a better short story writer. (Maybe I should call this my Coffeehouse MFA.) I know that much of what we discuss will end up in my writer’s toolbox, perhaps to be incorporated in some manner in one of my future stories. My friend hopes to write when he retires, so he is adding to his toolbox too.

If you want to form your own short story club, here are some ideas to get you started:

  • Take turns picking the short story. Be adventurous. Cover different time periods and genres and cultures. If someone ends up not liking a story, at least it’s not a whole book.
  • Read the story at least twice. I read a story a few weeks before we meet up, then again a day or two before our meeting.
  • Make a paper copy of the story so you can annotate, highlight, and underline. (My colored erasable ink pens get a workout!)
  • Meet up at a local coffeehouse, so no one has to worry about hosting (or cleaning his or her house or baking the treats).
  • Make time to visit before and after you discuss the short story. It’s fun to catch up with friends.
  • Depending on the size of your group, allow an hour to an hour and a half.
  • My short story club consists of two people, but you can go bigger.

Short stories we’ve read so far:

“Sonny’s Blues” by James Baldwin, “Virgin Violeta” by Katherine Anne Porter, “The Third Thing That Killed My Father Off” by Raymond Carver, “The Wilderness” by Ray Bradbury, “Tomorrow in Shanghai” by May-Lee Chai, “A Trifle from Life” by Anton Chekhov, and “Warpath” by Jeffrey Masuda.

***

My two favorite books from my book club days:

A five-star book

Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson. Shortened synopsis from Amazon: As the book opens in 2001, it is the evening of sixteen-year-old Melody’s coming of age ceremony in her grandparents’ Brooklyn brownstone. . . . But the event is not without poignancy. Sixteen years earlier, that very dress [now worn by Melody] was measured and sewn for a different wearer: Melody’s mother, for her own ceremony — a celebration that ultimately never took place. Unfurling the history of Melody’s family – reaching back to the Tulsa race massacre in 1921 — to show how they all arrived at this moment, Woodson considers not just their ambitions and successes but also the costs, the tolls they’ve paid for striving to overcome expectations and escape the pull of history.

For an informative podcast (and to wonder, Why isn’t this taught in school?) listen to Blindspot’s Tulsa Burning. Listen to the podcast first. If you understand the horror of what happened in Tulsa, you will have a greater appreciation for Woodson’s powerful novel.

Also, a five-star book

It Takes One to Know One by Isla Dewar. My reading of this book was a happy, very happy accident. The book I was supposed to read was It Takes One to Know One by Susan Isaacs, which is a crime thriller. I didn’t make note of the author’s name, so when I ordered the book, I bought the wrong one — a wonderful mistake.

I loved Dewar’s take on the title. Her book is downright funny, even though the humor sometimes comes from a place of sadness and longing. The book is not a crime novel, but there are some small mysteries that need unraveling. Dewar is a Scottish novelist, and authors from the British Isles do the type of humor I like so well. Perhaps living on small islands in very changeable weather, and being surrounded by eerie and unearthly beautiful landscapes, and being subjected to numerous invasions and attempted invasions since the Roman Empire, makes one cultivate a sly, irreverent sense of humor in order to appear unflappable.

My son, who rarely reads fiction, read this book and laughed out loud. My daughter-in-law also loved it.

Listening to Oliver Twist While Driving across the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and Other Thoughts about Charles Dickens

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I listened to this recording. Flo Gibson did an excellent job.

I recently drove to Petoskey, Michigan, to see my mother, then five days later drove back again. I always listen to books on CD when I drive to my mother’s. I visit my local library and check out more books on CD than I will need for the round-trip ride because on rare occasions, I start listening to a book and either I don’t like it or I don’t like the reader’s voice. Because I specifically wanted to listen to Oliver Twist, I played that first. I liked the reader’s voice, which was a perfect pairing for such a tale as Oliver’s story. And, I liked the Dickens novel well enough, so I kept listening.

During my twenties I read mostly British literature written before 1900 — Dickens, Daniel Defoe, George Elliot, Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen, William Makepeace Thackeray, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the Bronte sisters, among others. I like to refer to that as my “early Brit-lit phase.”

Oliver Twist has many of the elements found in the Dickens novels that I so enjoyed when I read them in my twenties. The secondary characters are interesting, quirky, and sometimes so delightfully nasty that I truly enjoy their downfall. The plot threads are complex and engaging — twisting, turning, separating then rejoining, surprising me, yet making me sigh, “But of course!” There are the Dickensian themes of poverty, cruelty, and snobbery. The heroes have to rise above their circumstances, like poverty or the sins of others, which they are blamed for and held in contempt for, even though they’ve had no part in the events that have befallen them. And, of course, there are the good-natured, kindly characters who help along the way. But in Oliver Twist, the good, especially the women, are portrayed as sainted angels upon the earth — too good to walk upon the lowly soil. But thankfully, for the long-suffering Oliver, it’s beneficial they do because they are able to discern in Oliver all that is noble and good and become his staunch allies. (I guess one sainted person can always recognize another.)

I didn’t, however, like Dickens’ portrayal of Fagin, the criminal ringleader. Fagin is Jewish, and Dickens hammers that point over and over again, continually referring to Fagin as the Jew, rarely using his name Fagin. It wasn’t necessary to describe the character as Jewish because Fagin’s religious or ethnic background has no bearing on the story. It’s a racist stereotype.

On the other hand, Dickens’ novels often exposed the wretched conditions faced by the poor. I was struck by the theme of poverty in Oliver Twist and how relevant it is today. Characters could be arrested for sleeping in doorways. Adults and children in the workhouses and poorhouses were overworked, underfed, and mistreated by the people who ran those “charitable” institutions. The poor were labeled lazy and stupid, and believed to be one step away from a life of crime. By creating one narrative — that all poor people were undeserving — society could dismiss the poor with one wave of its hand and justify their mistreatment. With his fiction, Dickens spoke on behalf of the poor and forced Victorian society to face a harsh truth. But sadly, we haven’t come far. As I listened to Oliver Twist, it struck me that those same prejudices and stereotypes are still being repeated — this time about the poor and homeless in our current society.

I’ve read eight of Charles Dickens’ novels, and the one I rank as his best is Great Expectations, which was serialized from 1860 to 1861 in a weekly publication. The story of Pip and his rise and fall lacks the full-on sentimental mush found in Oliver Twist (although a bit of sentimentality can be found). Pip is a much more complex character, whose desires and dreams get in the way of his own happiness and cause heartache to those he loves. Pip’s growth as a person and his final realization and acceptance of his faults is a much more nuanced and mature story than Oliver Twist, which was written and serialized from 1837 to 1839. I’ve read Great Expectations twice, and I’ve listened to it three times. Each time I revisit the novel, my appreciation for the genius of Great Expectations grows. I think Dickens was truly at the height of his story-telling prowess when he penned Pip’s story. I plan to read more of Dickens’ novels, so if I change my mind, I’ll blog about it.

Others choose A Tale of Two Cities as Dickens’ best, but not me. I tried reading that novel twice in my twenties and didn’t finish it either time. A few years ago, I started listening to it on tape. I thought I might appreciate it more as an older adult. Nope. I was ready to stop less than halfway through because my aging hadn’t improved the novel. But my son called one night when I was out walking my dogs, listening to A Tale of Two Cities. Turns out he didn’t like the novel either, but he read the whole book anyway. “Well,” I told him, “if you can take it, I can take it too.” And I finished listening to it. But I didn’t grow to like it. A couple of years ago I started reading The Old Curiosity Shop, but I couldn’t finish it. Partly because the character Daniel Quilp is the most evil and vile character I’ve ever come across in a book. (Granted I don’t read horror books or stories with serial killers.) And partly because I couldn’t stand the unrelenting suffering Little Nell faces.

But Dickens is one of my favorite authors. He is a master of dialogue, irony, humor, satire, social commentary, melodrama, metaphor, and characterization. His memorable characters spring to life from the pages of his books. This, along with his delectable plots and vibrant dialogue, makes his stories perfect for dramatization as miniseries and movies.

I also like The Pickwick Papers, David Copperfield, Hard Times, and A Christmas Carol, which I read or watch every Christmas. In a month or so, I want to listen to David Copperfield, which I read about forty years ago, because I have a copy of Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver on my to-be-read pile. I loved David Copperfield when I first read it. But I wonder — after reading it again — if I will I rank it with Oliver Twist or Great Expectations or somewhere in between.

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If you’re a writer . . . you might want to read some Dickens to appreciate his characterization and dialogue. When it comes to creating characters, especially secondary ones, Dickens’ motto could be “Go bold or go home!” Characters like Uriah Heep (a bad guy) and John Wemmick (a good guy) capture the imaginations of readers. Reading Uriah Heep’s dialogue makes my skin crawl.

Dickens’ dialogue can be satirical, duplicitous, menacing, sentimental, comical, and heartfelt. Every time I read Great Expectations, I marvel at how Dickens distinguishes between Wemmick’s office and home personas. Wemmick’s transformation by degrees as he leaves his employer’s office and walks home is mesmerizing. Wemmick’s mannerisms, opinions, and especially his way of speaking undergo a radical change. Wemmick knows he must be one man at work, but that he can be another man at home.