Book Two, where Dickens takes the twentysomething Pip to London and raises him with 'great expectations' is startling in how accurately it captures what it means to be a twentysomething - except I'm talking about how accurately it captures that sense in 2012. So Dickens is indeed, as it turns out, the writer everyone has told me he is: the fantastic chronicler of the human condition. I'm thoroughly impressed if I do say so myself. Still, the book does drag a bit here and there, so he still isn't that unparalleled talent I want him to be. At least I now know the basis for Miss Havisham, though - Jasper Fforde, you prepped me but also ruined me a little for the great classics.More about what I mentersay at RB: wp.me/pGVzJ-q8
