Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

This won't be easy to say.  This won't good to say, either.   Any reputation that I have here - it will be gone by the time I say the line that I have to say, regarding this book.

 

The professor that instructed me in reading this book assured us, his class, that we must read the book in as much of a single shot as possible.  I could not make it through the first third of book in three sittings, with each chapter that came upon me a relief and a break for me to quit reading it for a while.

 

I really do not like Dickens.

 

What else are you supposed to think, when you read what is supposed to be the masterwork of an author, than you either just don't get it, or it has to be crap?  I suppose from my point of view, if I couldn't bother to get through it, at the snail's pace that I felt as though the story was crawling for, then it really IS crap.   But, I mean, literally everyone else that I've heard speak of Great Expectations cannot say anything about it without putting some version of the word, "masterpiece" in the same sentence as it.

 

But, oh, it's so fucking SLOW!   I hear that the second half, with people being attacked by dangerous men and women burning themselves alive is supposed to be where it gets "good", but I believe that a story does not need to "get good" at some point further into the narrative.  Perhaps in Dickens' day people could spare the time to wait for a story to really reach a point where it is actually more entertaining than watching paint dry, but I have more books than I know what to do with and a busy day that already makes me want to claw my own face off, without the unneeded addition of boredom to add to the mix.

 

Either I'm defective, or the rest of you are.  Ah well, a least I have cookies. And fried chicken.