In praise of Charles Dickens

With apologies to my good neighbour Jenny Diski (discussing the pointlessness of marking anniversaries on PM last night)...

I couldn't resist blogging about Dickens' bicetenerary. 

Dickens is so closely associated with London that we might forget the importance that nature played in his novels.  As well as all the dark places in London, Dickens was also aware of small corners and hidden refugia where people could connect with nature and find solace.

"It [Staple Inn] is one of those nooks the turning into to which out of the clashing street imparts to the relieved pedestrian the sensation of having put cotton in his ears and velvet on the soles of his boots. It is one of those nooks where a few smoky sparrows twitter in the smoky trees, as though they called to one another, ‘Let us play at country,’ and where a few feet of garden mould and a few yards of gravel enable them to do that refreshing violence to their tiny understandings." The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

When he wants to reward his characters with a happy ending they often find their way to some country idyll.

"The memories which peaceful country scenes call up, are not of this world, nor of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence may teach us how to weave fresh garlands for the graves of those we loved: may purify our thoughts, and bear down before it old enmity and hatred; but beneath all this, there lingers, in the least reflective mind, a vague and half-formed consciousness of having held such feelings long before, in some remote and distant time, which calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, and bends down pride and worldliness beneath it." From Oliver Twist.

And sometimes it is the sheer sensual delight of being close to nature.

"The rich, sweet smell of the hayricks rose to his chamber window; the hundred perfumes of the little flower-garden beneath scented the air around; the deep-green meadows shone in the morning dew that glistened on every leaf as it trembled in the gentle air: and the birds sang as if every sparkling drop were a fountain of inspiration to them." From Pickwick Papers.

Wherever Dickens was writing about - the marshlands of Kent or a suburban garden in Great Expectations - he understood the intimate connection of people to place and the sustenance that nature provides.

200 hundred years on, despite dramatic social progress, our spiritual need to connect with nature remains as strong as ever.