If I asked you to name a classic work of literature, I’m sure one of the first to come to your mind would be A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. Everyone knows about this book, and chances are everyone—or almost everyone—has read at least an excerpt of it somewhere along their lifetime.

Unfortunately, classic works of literature can also have a bad rap, and A Tale of Two Cities has one of the worst. If you’ve heard this novel of the French Revolution described—or had to describe it yourself—you might hear it called boring. Wordy. Melodramatic. Dry.

My job in this review is to un-convince you of these adjectives and instead convince you why Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities is not just a classic but also a GOOD classic, and a classic that you should try reading (again). 

I first read an abridged version of this novel in high school, and I loved it: the story, the characters, and yes, even the writing. For the next 10+ years I wanted to read the whole novel both to say I did and to get the full story.

This year, research for Book 3 said it was time. I started the audiobook but honestly couldn’t stay engaged (that was during spring semester when my brain was fried). So I picked up my little old paperback and tried actually reading instead.

Guys.

This story. Sure, it’s not Mission Impossible with adrenaline-pumping scenes and crazy villains and the world in peril—but there IS a plot, with enough tension, whether subtle or straightforward, that kept me reading. The story is full of characters I could relate to, root for, boo at, and feel with. Each chapter contains scenes that read like they came straight off a movie screen. And every page from start to finish contributes to themes and emotions that yanked out my heartstrings, snapped half of them, and put the other half back in a completely different key.

“. . . he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head between his face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lips might come together unseen . . .”
~Book III: Chapter 6, “Triumph”

I cried at the end. Sat at the dining room table at my friend’s house with the book in my hands and cried. (What human being with a soul could read those final paragraphs and NOT cry, I’d like to know.) And then I wanted to start from the beginning and put myself through it all over again because it was so beautiful and powerful.

Maybe someday I’ll write an essay in praise of Sydney Carton, my new literary hero (I WILL name something after him). Or a longer work exploring some of the motifs I noticed throughout the story. Or a shorter ode to the final showdown between Madame Defarge and Miss Pross with all its comedy, passion, and symbolism.

That is the hallmark of a good classic—when there is so much to explore through close reading, analysis, comparison, and study.

Because A Tale of Two Cities is so rich, and having been written in the 1850s, it’s a book that requires a bit of patience. First, with the writing. As some of the most creative writing I’ve ever read, absolutely gorgeous and picturesque, full of simile and metaphor and personification and other literary devices (not to mention the sarcasm and dry wit), Dickens’ narrative isn’t writing you can breeze through. This is the kind of prose—and story—you need to soak in. Take it slowly. Appreciate the words and what they’re saying. And then read it again, and again, to absorb the full impact of the language, the story, and its themes.

The beach was a desert of heaps of sea and stones tumbling wildly about, and the sea did what it liked, and what it liked was destruction.
~Book I: Chapter 4, “The Preparation”

Growling . . . and throwing off other sarcastic sparks from the whirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Cruncher betook himself to his boot-cleaning and his general preparations for business.
~Book II: Chapter 1, “Five Years Later”

The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by nothing else.
~Book III: Chapter 13, “Fifty-two”

Second, with the plot. If you start reading (or keep reading) and wonder what’s going on and how X relates to Y and why we’re spending so much time on Z, hang in there. Threads that seem random or out of place come together at the end in a glorious, all-encompassing climax that reminds me of Snoopy’s novel in the Peanuts cartoon.

That’s one of the reasons I love this book so much: the gradual revealing of unknown families and hidden motives as side characters take the stage to bring the story to its conclusion. You may spend the most page time with the main characters, but it’s the less-mentioned, the no-names, and the so-called minor players who decide the fate of those bigwigs at the end. All hail the literary underdogs! (And yes, even those side characters have their own arcs from start to finish. No character avoids some level of transformation.)

And then there are the themes. Oh, the themes—supported by characters, events, and language—of love, friendship, power, revenge, and sacrifice, along with the motifs of identity, resurrection, wine, and the color red. I wish I could tell you exactly how the book explores these themes, and what makes them so powerful, but I don’t want to give you spoilers that would ruin your own reading experience. Plus, you could read any number of scholarly essays analyzing this work far better than I could, so if you’re really interested, I suggest exploring the wealth of resources readily available on this famous work. Maybe someday I’ll contribute an amateur discussion to the engorged body of literature out there . . .

If you didn’t know I was writing about A Tale of Two Cities, would you be sold by now? What if I told you this book made me laugh and made me cry, reads like a movie, showcases some of the English language’s finest writing, and introduced me to my new favorite hero?

I hope you’ll give A Tale of Two Cities a(nother) try. If not, you’re missing out on a novel that truly deserves its place among the best—and my favorite—literary classics.