A Tale of Two Cities: Second Worst Book I read in 2022

Hey Charlies,

I must commend you for your bravery in coming to this post. If I were you, I would shield my eyes from such provocations towards this literary genius (and, I am sure, a father for many of those fiction-writers). Understand this, you are being tested. To quote Dickens, you may be "bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape." It is possible that you come out of this as a better, more seasoned Charles Dickens fan (or not - I would hope for the worst).

As stated in a related post, A Tale of Two Cities is a difficult product to swallow. Though the same prose and effervescence of Dickens' style are present, the final work is sour. Honestly, there is nothing wrong with structure or storytelling, A Tale of Two Cities is a well-written work. It contains all the proper ingredients to be a remarkable work of historical fiction, but the mixture sours in the final product. Reflecting upon this, the sour taste stems from a disagreement with the themes and perspective Dickens chose to pursue. First, it advances an overall approach to the French Revolution that is too ambiguous to the detriment of its characters, and, second, it employs the resurrection and sacrifice theme in a way that feels divorced from the larger context of the French Revolution.

Approach to the French Revolution

In reference to Dickens' approach to the French Revolution, context is key. Readers will appreciate that Dickens looks through a Victorian lens when examining the French Revolution, providing a unique perspective on this astonishing insurgency. Some find this perspective to be valuable in providing “an outsider” view towards the themes pervading revolutions in the same way someone enjoys monsieur Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America. The problem, however, is that the Victorian perspective is too simplistic and offers too little to comprise a book. It was predictably ambiguous in taking sides, trying to find the humanity on both sides while giving little ideological stalwartness. The book was anti-political, eschewing the worst of both sides whilst hoping for the best outcome.

What follows is a simplistic distinction between evil members on “both sides” following a dismissal of the bad and an exoneration of the good. Aristocrats are either running over people with their chariots (literally – Darnay’s evil aristocrat uncle, Marquis does this) or are handsome, dashing men who are sympathetic to the “plebians” – falling in love with them as Charles Darnay did. It is too obvious and lacks the complexity vested within the aristocracy. Sure, some aristocrats were bad but why were some aristocrats good? Tradition, of course, is the answer, but why ought we keep tradition? Marquis de Evremonde is the worst argument for keeping any sort of tradition. But so is Charles Darnay. But do either even embody tradition responsibly? In the tale, tradition seems to collapse against the inevitable force of a revolution and, even those who survive, find no value in tradition and get lost in plebian sauce (for Darnay literally). Is tearing down the French aristocracy good? Dickens seems to say “well… yes… eventually” in his depiction of Sidney Carton’s idyllic view of France at the guillotine. This goes back to the ambiguous approach to revolutionary ideas: Dismiss the worst on both sides and hope for the best.

Sorry, this is too simple. The reality is that both sides were morally confused – by golly, revolutions are morally confusing! When playing around with revolutionary ideas, the rottenness spreads to many. Revolutions are, figuratively speaking, humanity’s collective vomiting as they churn out sour ideas that do not work. They are not glorious at the time. During such insurgencies, all ideas are suspended in the air as people try to root out the evils. Everyone is scrambling, scrappy, and hungry for an ideological resolution to the revolutionary angst. When I started the book, I thought Dickens understood this when he said,

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

But then Dickens downplays this historical reality as the book goes on to his detriment. He makes his main characters so archetypal against the background environment that they begin to lack humanity. Dickens digs his own grave with his character development since, in an attempt to humanize the “good” on both sides, he makes them angels devoid of any humanity at all – especially considering the morally tumultuous conditions of the revolution. If he had just stuck to that first line of the book, he could have set up a perfect environment for character development.

But as is natural from neglecting the tumultuous environment, there is no deep-seated inner conflict as characters reconcile the true, ideological battles of the revolution. As Darnay gets close to the guillotine, I was astonished that the many contradictions of the revolution were not mused upon or that Darnay, formerly sympathetic to the cause, would begin to “miss” the order of the old aristocracy. Nope. With superficial reflection, he mourns not seeing Lucie. Along with a host of critics, I would press that Dickens’ characters are “flat” due to the poor utilization of one of the most famous revolutionary insurgencies. Keeping it simple with revolutions does not always work in the development of characters.

Ultimately, he does not discuss the revolution in too much depth. We know it is happening and that it is impacting the characters, but we do not grasp the inner struggle beyond the inconvenience of political upheaval. He could have chosen any revolution, but why this one? The question is not answered. If anything, the French revolution functions as an obnoxious problem child doing somersaults in the background of a more pressing display, baiting the audience to guess when this child will inevitably crash onto the scene and almost ruin everything (as happened with Darnay being captured by revolutionaries). The anti-political ambiguity dampens the impact of history on the fiction story.

To be more specific, consider Charles Darnay’s development. At the outset, Darnay, in the horror of the aristocratic injustices, is running away from his uncle's aristocratic morality (even changing his name from Evremonde – oh my!). Some might argue that this is virtuous in the revolutionary struggle. But is it? Is it virtuous to run away from one’s identity, attempt to amend family’s wrongdoing by simply apologizing, and then opt for a “romantic” escape with one’s lover after having someone sacrifice their life for you? Escapism is no virtue and is not worthy of heroism. When Darnay is captured and sentenced to get his head chopped off, I was excited to watch his character develop and deepen. Alas, I thought, Dickens will deepen this Darnay! But then Darnay escapes while Sidney Carton takes his place, thwarting an opportunity for Darnay to ripen as an individual. Disappointed, I craved the tempest of inner conflict where Darnay comes to terms with his aristocratic identity and rises above the childish love for Lucie, emerging as a new man. A man like Alexey who, in The Brothers Karamazov, transcends both the loving Father Zossima and the negative Karamazov surname (brought upon by his scoundrel father and brother) to become a renewed man for which we enrapture "Hurrah Karamazov!" I did not cheer for Darnay’s salvation, but not because he did not deserve it. I did not cheer because not much came from it. There were no works that came from Carton's sacrifice. Darnay abdicated his duty to explore his identity and fit such identity in the course of this revolution. Sleeping with his lover and naming his child after Sydney is not enough. Darnay's character lacked a depth reflective of this historical context.

Darnay’s lover is another example of a flat character deadened against the revolutionary background. The revolution was a chance for women to voice their concerns in history, finding a political voice in a system designed for men. Once again, the background of the revolution is richly suited to produce memorable characters. Yet Dickens uses cookie-cutter archetypes, making Lucie Manette the simple, faithful lover that is constantly gentle and perfect, even to rude men seeking her hand. Is this even believable?

In the real world, women, like men, must also struggle to achieve the standards of virtue. They must pave their way and wrangle with the consequence of their failures. They have individual agency to pursue such a moral journey. But notice, all of Lucie’s character developments were fueled by grievances caused by other men. She is always attached to or ameliorating struggles that are from men. There is no personal vice she wrestles with (unless you count being obnoxiously supportive of those you love a vice) or problem she causes out of her own failed use of her free will. She is a cog supporting the wheel of the male characters. By making Lucie this way, Dickens effectively removes any personal struggle from her agency. Once again, is this even believable?

But much more, is this desirable for storytelling? Compare Lucie to characters like Grushenka in The Brothers Karamazov (I reference this book a lot). Grushenka had a personal hand to play in her misfortune, having troubles caused by her vices, not by other men. There is an agency ascribed to Grushenka and she has a chance to earn our respect as with any other male character. Thus, when Grushenka starts to find a love in Dimitri that is soon interrupted, I mourn with her! And when she begins to find peace from her troubles from her vices, I can empathize. When Lucie Manette faces trouble, I feel a detached pity that does not truly grab at my emotions.

As far as I am concerned, Sydney Carton comes closest to expressing the complex humanity I find lacking in Dickens' book. But the themes Sydney embodies lead me to the final trouble I have with the book…

Dickens Utilization of Sacrifice/Redemption Themes

As mentioned above, it is certainly possible that Dickens was employing Sydney Carton as a Christ archetype who sacrifices his life for Darnay to plant the seeds of idyllic morality in the new French Republic. There are other complex angles we can take. One might see a parallel to Christ as the French revolutionaries kill one of their own (Carton) and his blood goes onto their children for the future of an idyllic France. Yes, Dickens is quite Biblical at times (me-thinks he was writing with an eye to the radical Christians across the Atlantic who celebrated him vehemently).

Yet Sidney Carton's motive for sacrifice seemed more directed towards clearing his name than enabling justice to be served. When Christ died, certain powers holding the goyim (pagan nations) were broken. There was a universal explosion as the powers of darkness were defeated at the cross. The kingdom not seen with eyes was established in the hearts of those who would believe. Yet intertwined with this breaking of the powers that held back Gentiles from coming to God, there was the forgiveness of sins – for Jews and Gentiles in Christ! Remarkable! Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection brought reconciliation, new life, and power (Holy Spirit). Does this bear similarity to Sydney Carton’s sacrifice?

It is hard to say – at some points it is comparable such as when Carton idyllically muses,

“…the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.”

There seems to be a redemptive aspect. Yet, this can all be interpreted as Carton’s attempt to clear his name. Furthermore, Christ knew his purpose that he must suffer. Sydney Carton just figured it out at the last minute, hustling in an almost adrenalin-fueled rescue mission to reclaim a personal honor. On the contrary, once again, Christ was not motivated for personal gain, but as St. Paul expresses,

“Though he was equal with God, he did not count equality with God as something to be grasped but humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, yes, even death on a cross”

One might also note that the guillotines symbolize a divorce from a national tradition where no attempt is made to bring anything together juxtaposed to the cross where God desires to save the world because He loves the world and wants to rescue them (John 3). The idyllic France Carton views play off none of these themes sincerely. This is why Carton’s sacrifice does not sit well and, while undoubtedly heroic, only links to the French Revolution in the future he envisions. I suppose my conclusion is that if Dickens was using this theme of sacrifice/redemption (which I am becoming more convinced that he was not), then it was poorly employed. And if he was not, then the event of Carton’s death stands aloof from the deeper struggles of the French revolution. It does not satisfy the “historical” side of the fiction.

Once again, my “Charlies,” I think Dickens will go down as one of the greatest writers. Though it was the worst book I read this year – it still is a decent book. It pains me that Dickens landed at the bottom since I have much respect for his work. Candace Owens' book is 100 steps beneath A Tale of Two Cities.

It was a book among the worst because it was a book among the best to my taste. It was a tale that yielded great wisdom, but one in which I despaired at the development of its characters and themes in the background of such tumultuous event in history. So keep your head up "Charlies," Dickens had better days.