December 11: Charles Dickens, Writers, Saint Lucy

Marley was dead:  to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever about that.

Those are the first two sentences of A Christmas Carol.  Everyone knows them.  I'm pretty sure everyone could also come up with a few more Dickens quotes, as well.  How about, "It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times."   Or, "Please, sir, I want some more."  Or the most famous line from Scrooge:  "Bah, humbug!"

Charles Dickens was the Stephen King of Victorian England.  Everyone read Dickens, knew his characters and novels.  I'm sure everyone could quote Dickens, as well.  He was one of the first internationally famous writers.  When Dickens toured the United States, people lined the streets to see him.  When he gave public readings, they were  SRO events.

That is what always appealed to me about Charles Dickens.  He was a celebrity because of his writing.  That doesn't happen very often, even these days..  Dickens was able to make a difference in the world with his words.  As I've said before, Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol to draw attention to the plight of the impoverished in England.  (He also wrote it to make a lot of money.  Dickens always had money problems.)  Chuck had a huge social conscience.

December 13 is the feast day of Saint Lucy.  Lucy is the patron saint of writers.  I'm not sure why.  Nothing in her biography indicates she had anything to do with writers or writing.  She dedicated herself to a life of piety and holiness at a very young age.  She also made a vow of virginity when she was a girl, which evenutally led to her arrest and imprisonment and torture.  Lucy never gave up her trust in God's love.  I'm thinking, somewhere along the way, Lucy wrote something important, as well.  Maybe a prayer or psalm or a series of books about vampires.  She did something to earn the title of patron of writers.

Saint Marty has an idea for a novel he wants to write:  it's about a little orphan boy who finds out that he is actually a famous wizard.  The orphan goes to a wizarding school and makes friends with a big, hairy giant.

Someone stole my idea

May 19: The Grocers', Freak, New Cartoon

The Grocers'!  oh the Grocers'!  nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses!  It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely  white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious.  Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress:  but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, clashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

I know what you're thinking:  why in the hell did Saint Marty start with this catalogue of Christmas groceries?  It comes in the stave with the Ghost of Christmas Present, a stave that is full of these kinds of descriptions.  Dickens seems obsessed with the culinary details of Christmas.  You might call him a freak for these foods.

I just finished listening to an audio version of Steve Almond's book Candy Freak, which, to this day, still remains one of my favorite books of all time.  In the book, Almond displays his candy obsessions and fetishes in all their weird glory.  For a fellow candy freak like myself, I find in Almond a kindred spirit.  I find the same kind of kindred spirit in Dickens.  In Dickens' paragraphs about sucking pigs and joints of meat and candied fruits and French plums, I find a fellow freak.

I think most writers are freaks about something or other.  Writers are just walking balls of obsessive energy.  It comes with the territory.  If you can commit yourself to writing about candy bars or mental illness or any other subject for a year or so of your life, you are, by definition, a freak.  That's why I love being around writers.  Their preoccupations are consuming, fascinating, and powerful.  Writers can make any subject vivid and living.  Almond does this with chocolate.  Dickens does this with Victorian Christmas menus.

Saint Marty does this with Charles Dickens and Steve Almond and Cheetos.

Confessions of Saint Marty