Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities is full of dark Victorian romance. Muddy roads on a dark night. A secluded house on a corner that echoes footsteps. Cemetaries at night. And, of course, Paris streets that run with wine and then blood because of La Guillotine. It is a sinister world for the upper class, yet Dickens also manages to capture a sweet side of horror of the French Revolution by giving us some memorable characters that think of others. Truly, his novel is appropriately described in the first phrases:
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
Why, then, did I struggle so much in reading it?