Confession: I adore long, slow books with words like magic—Dickens and Bleak House at the moment.
Assignment: Shari Zook, please describe the state of the city in the painting above.
“Alright. Here goes:
London was full of mud and fog that morning.”
Not bad, not bad.
Assignment: Charles Dickens, please describe the state of the city in the painting above.
“London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another’s umbrellas in a general infection of ill-temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest.”
Charles Dickens, Bleak House, 1852-1853
Having spent a paragraph on the mud, he then addresses the fog…
Dickens spins straw into gold.
This is why I read seriously.