Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens

Another enjoyable, although longer-than-necessary, novel by Charles Dickens.

I really tried to increase my enjoyment of this novel by forcing myself to ready every paragraph closely, to thoroughly absorb and understand every page before moving on.

But over time it becomes very difficult to do so because Dickens' novels are unnecessarily long.  Too many characters; too many plotlines; too much ancillary detail.

And I suppose it's silly for an unqualified reader like myself to question such a master as Dickens, but his novels simply contain too much of everything.  Somehow there must be a way to tell the same, wonderful stories in a moderately condensed format.

I chalk the length up to two things.  One, the novel format was still evolving in the 19th century, and Dickens, to his obvious credit, made marvelous contributions to that evolution.  He did not, however, discover that less can be more.  And two, he most often wrote in serialized format, meaning he was compensated by the chapter.  Longer serializations earned more money.  Who could blame him?

And ironically, I love long, epic books.  But they must be great books, with every chapter, every page serving a purpose.

Despite its length, Little Dorrit was lovely, another heart-warming story of triumph for the good-natured, and desolation for the wicked.

It wasn't my beloved Copperfield, but at moments it came close.