On the 148th anniversary of Dickens's death, Prarthana Mitra of Qrius has written a nice tribute to "one of the prolific English novelists of all time, in whose works are enshrined all the ugly facets of Victorian England."
That description is perfectly true as far as it goes, but it tells only half the story. Dickens's portrayal of the ugly side of life wouldn't have been nearly as effective or as lasting had it not come to us alongside his portrayal of its beauty. The sordidness and starvation in Oliver Twist and David Copperfield cannot quench hope; the hatred and violence of A Tale of Two Cities are unable to conquer the power of love and sacrifice. Scrooge wouldn't be fully Scrooge without his ultimate redemption. Even the lowest street-sweeper, brought down by poverty, neglect, and disease, dies with dignity when Dickens is telling his story.
Had Dickens not been able to portray the whole story of life with both its joys and sorrows, had he not seen beauty as well as ugliness, he wouldn't have been mourned as he was. And he wouldn't be loved as he still is today.
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