Ch. 4: Congratulatory (p. 81-88)

Thoughts, Vocab, Explanations: 

• Sometimes it's hard to shake the feeling that Dickens is a bit of a misanthropist: "From the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of the human stew that had been boiling there all day, was straining off..." (81).
• Is this the first use of Lucie's first name?  I remembered it but hadn't been using it because I thought maybe I was making it up.  Miss Manette shall henceforth be Lucie.
  
   
• I guess we are more or less in the position of Mr. Darnay here; we are loosely aligned with Lucie and her family, and we don't know what the heck Carton's deal is.  He calls out Mr. Lorry for avoiding Mr. Darnay's company while Mr. Darnay is accused (because Mr. Lorry is a man of business and it would have looked bad for them to be seen together--remember that Mr. Carton goes and speaks to Mr. Darnay before the verdict is returned, though, and here he insists that he has no business.)  He smashes a glass when Mr. Darnay toasts (and then orders another glass: why would you serve him, innkeeper?)  Finally he point-blank asks Mr. Darnay, "Do you think I particularly like you?" (86).  I confess to being a little frustrated at his antics, but I'm sure Dickens has something up his sleeve. 

Takeaways: 

Carton is a strange guy; I think either Carton or Darnay (or both?) have some connection to Lucie's father's imprisonment (what with that dark look that comes over Mr. Manette) and at the moment, we don't know much more.

Ch. 3: A Disappointment (p. 67-81)

Thoughts, Vocab, Explanations: 

•  So the gist of these extremely long-winded opening remarks is that Mr. Darnay is accused of giving France information about the plans of the British military when those two countries were at war (specifically, it sounds like, when the French came to the aid of the Americans during the American Revolutionary War.)  He is accused by some high-and-mighty Englishman and evidence was produced against him by his own servant (although that evidence does not seem to be in Mr. Darnay's handwriting.)

• I have a hunch that that opening speech was precisely when I decided I didn't like this book in high school.   In fact, Dickens often uses the technique of making characters we're ultimately meant to dislike incredibly long-winded, but here it's got the extra layers of history and war and the courtroom and it's harder to see it as the satire it's intended to be.

• "Gentleman" is a profession.  Humph.
  
• "Ever kicked downstairs?  Decidedly not; once received a kick on the top of a staircase, and fell down-stairs of his own accord." (p. 69)  You can see the good old Dickensian sense of humor in the responses to this cross-examination, as Mr. Darnay's lawyer just obliterates the "patriot" who accused Mr. Darney of treason.

• Aha!  Now we start to learn about the other two people in the coach from wayyyyy back at the beginning of the book!  Remember, they were all wrapped up like mummies and each suspected the other of being a robber or murderer or something?
•  Is it weird that I can't help liking Carton better than his fancier, better-groomed double?  Carton's wig is half off, he's slouching around, and he's so obnoxious: "Yes I could.  I will, if you ask it" is the jerkiest possible response to "Could you tell so-and-so something" but it kind of makes me love him (80).

Takeaways: 

Despite everyone's assumptions going in, Mr. Darnay is acquitted and will live to flirt with Ms. Manette and tell dumb jokes about George Washington another day!

Ch. 2: A Sight (p. 61-67)

Thoughts, Vocab, Explanations:

•  "the Old Bailey" (p. 61)--a large criminal court in London

• "quartering" (p. 62)--a horrific sentence once given for certain crimes (like treason) which took its name from the fact that the body of the criminal was cut into four quarters.  (That followed hanging, evisceration, and decapitation.)

Takeaways:

So wait--we're back with (presumably) the Manette's, who are here to testify against this guy they seem to feel sorry for?  What's going on?

Ch. 1: Five Years Later (p. 55-61)

Thoughts, Vocab, Explanations:

•  Hmm, so I had been picturing Tellson's as Gringott's, minus the goblins.  Apparently it's more like Harry's closet under the stairs: small, dark, and full of something extremely valuable.

• Ooh, social commentary: "Any one of these partners would have disinherited his son on the question of rebuilding Tellson's.  In this respect, the House was much on a par with the Country; which did very often disinherit its sons for suggesting improvements in laws and customs that had long been highly objectionable, but were only the more respectable" (55).  In other words, just as anyone who suggested that Tellson's band should ditch its dirty, tiny building for a newer, nicer one would find himself out on the streets, anyone who tried to get unjust old laws to change would find himself on the wrong side of the government.  The people in power value things that are old simply because they are old, even if they are no good, and they do not welcome even the suggestion of change.  (This is one of the major patterns that emerges in any study of history: if you're in charge, you tend to want to keep things in whatever order they were that allowed you to become powerful.)

• This is a grim way of looking at businesses: in times when many crimes were punished with death, any business that had been around long enough to have many crimes committed against it would be (by bringing charges) at least partially responsible for the deaths of quite a few people (and, I suppose, if its actions brought people into dire straits that caused them to commit crimes, then it would be responsible for those as well?) 
   
• This is why I read Dickens: "When they took a young man into Tellson's London house, they hid him somewhere till he was old.  They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full Tellson flavour and blue-mold upon him"  (57).

• Also this: "His surname was Cruncher, and on the youthful occasion of his renouncing by proxy the works of darkness, in the easterly parish church of Houndsditch, he had received the added appellation of Jerry" (57).  Dickens might have said "His name was Jerry Cruncher" but instead we get this lovely sentence that makes the familiar (the concept of infant baptism) strange, and also lets us know that Jerry is from Houndsditch, which I guess I really didn't need the note to understand is not a lovely place.  (The note to my edition confirms that, yes, historically, Houndsditch was a dumping-ground for canine corpses.) 

• "Anno Domini" (p. 57)--Latin for "in the year of our lord"; more commonly stated today as "AD" (a method of labeling years before and after Christ.  Sometimes changed to "CE" for "common era" in order to avoid religious connotations.)

• The Cruncher household: a thing of beauty.  Father, mother, and son living together in two small rooms; Father and son going off each day to work as odd-job men at the bank, and mother trying to keep the place clean and say her prayers, which efforts are deeply resented by the other two, it seems.  And then the mysteries of Cruncher, Sr.: how do his boots get so muddy at night, and how do his fingers get so rusty?  Jerry's secrets get curiouser and curiouser--he'd be in a bad way if people started being recalled to life (remember Jerry from early on?) and he's covered in all sorts of mysterious grime...this can't end well.

Takeaways: 

Jerry's back!  And he works (sort of) for Tellson's.  Hmm...