"Crust upon crust of mud..." and "Fog everywhere"Though made a bit uneven by Dickens' use of two narrators, I think this is his best novel (with David Copperfield his best book). Esther Summerson, a sweet and modest orphan, tells her tale in the first person present, as Dickens used for David in Copperfield and Pip in Great Expectations; and, the other narrator is an omniscient, largely dispassionate third person. The novel has mystery, romance, comic elements, an intriguing cast of characters and superb social reformist themes of care for homeless children and the dilatory English chancery justice system via the case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce (involving a decedent who wrote a number of conflicting wills). I thought it so good, I read it again.To this day, most states in America's legal system, patterned on English jurisprudence, have two judicial systems running concurrently: one, the legal courts, or courts of law, which try traditional civil and criminal cases with juries (and by bench, when appropriate); second, the courts of chancery, also called equity courts and probate courts, which traditionally decide issues relating to real property, wills, trusts and estates, and involuntary commitments for danger to self and others. Dickens had touched on the legal side in The Pickwick Papers, lambasting its inherent greed and specious civil lawsuits. Here, he absolutely excoriates the chancery system which could keep a dispute over a will entangled for decades, literally, in which dispute the lawyers, the likes of Tulkinghorn (a most evil bastard) and Mr. Vholes (worried more about his reputation than the interests of his clients), are enriched, to the point that the property at issue is completely eaten up by legal fees. Bleak House led to a reform of the chancery judiciary in the 1870s.The beginning is one of the most memorable in all literature in metaphorically describing the chancery court system in terms of mud and fog. I don't include quotes nearly this length in my reviews, but this one is worthy of a sole exception: LONDON. Michaelmas Term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincolns 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 snow-flakes 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 anothers 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 the 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. Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon, and hanging in the misty clouds. Gas looming through the fog in divers places in the streets, much as the sun may, from the spongy fields, be seen to loom by husbandman and ploughboy. Most of the shops lighted two hours before their time as the gas seems to know, for it has a haggard and unwilling look. The raw afternoon is rawest, and the dense fog is densest, and the muddy streets are muddiest near that leaden-headed old obstruction, appropriate ornament for the threshold of a leaden-headed old corporation, Temple Bar. And hard by Temple Bar, in Lincolns Inn Hall, at the very heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery.

Okay, so this is the 1853 version of The Wire. But with less gay sex. And no swearing. And very few mentions of drugs. And only one black person, I think, maybe not even one. And of course it's in London, not Baltimore. But other than that, it's the same.Pound for pound, this is Dickens' best novel, and of course, that is saying a great deal. I've nearly read all of them so you may take my word. Have I ever written a review which was anything less than 101% reliable, honest and straightforward? Well, there you are then.Bleak House gives some people a leetle problem insofar as you have half of it narrated by Esther (Goody Three Shoes, too good for just two) Summerson, who you ache to have a few bad things happen to, because she trills, she sings, she sees the best in everyone, tra la la, tweedly dee dee. This does get on some people's nerves. But I downloaded a dvd called Dickens Girls Gone Wild last week and let me tell you there's a whole other side to Esther Summerson - given the right surroundings (I think it was Malta, and the sangria was flowing) she could be good company. However. Bleak House as a whole does no more than take it upon itself to explain how society works. And it's utterly gobsmacking. There are a lot of words in Bleak House's 890 pages but gobsmacking is not one of them. It's a word that was invented to describe Dickens novels.

Shivering in unheated gaslit quarters (Mrs. Winklebottom, my plump and inquisitive landlady, treats the heat as very dear, and my radiator, which clanks and hisses like the chained ghost of a boa constrictor when it is active, had not yet commenced this stern and snowy morning), I threw down the volume I had been endeavoring to study; certainly I am not clever, neither am I intrepid nor duly digligent, as after several pages I found the cramped and tiny print an intolerable strain on my strabismic eyes. Straightening my bonnet, I passed outdoors into the frigid, sooty streets, where shoppers bustled by in a frenzy, now rushing into the 99-cent store, bedecked with PVC Santa Claus banners, now into Nelson's Xmas Shoppe, in search of glistening ornaments. Bowing my head perversely against busy crowds and fierce wind, I stepped into a subway, which conveyed me to a winding street down which I hurried until I reached a peculiar establishment, the shingle for which had been battered by the strain of city winters, by pollution, and no doubt by the small mischievious hands of vandals, who had modified the sign with their colorful signatures and illustrations, but upon which could still be read - with some effort - Amperthump & Hagglestern, Booksellers.I entered to a sound of tinkling bells affixed to the heavy door, the hinges of which creaked as I propelled myself through its narrow passage. Proceeding forward, I heard a sullen voice squeak, "Check yer bag, miss?" and glanced up to see an urchin, nearly lost amidst piles of remaindered volumes, beckoning with one grubby hand while clutching a wrinkled comic in the other; I refused, smiling gently, and passed into the densely cluttered shop, where I was intercepted by Mr. Amperthump, the proprietor, a gentleman of about three and forty, whose thick-rimmed spectacles and corpulent physique recall two of a tragic trinity of dead singers, who upon seeing me took my cold hands in his ink-stained ones and kissed them. "How can I assist, my dear?" he boomed so loudly that a little one-eyed spaniel started from its slumber, and the urchins shelving books glared up at their master with undisguised annoyance.Drawing out my small copy of Bleak House, which I had obtained from the Queens Public Library -- supported, to wonderous effect, by the subsciption of tax dollars, and no doubt supplemented by charitable impulses of certain gentleladies -- and endeavored to explain, as simply as I could, that I desired an edition of the same narrative writ larger and in more mercifully legible print. However Mr. Amperthump appeared distressed and could not remain silent long, flinging my book away. "NO!" he cried. "You are too young and pretty" (at this I blushed and tried to protest, for I am not pretty, in fact I am plain) "to be reading this antiquated rot! Here, instead, is the latest experimental fiction from Rajistan D. McGingerloop." At this he placed in my hands a queer volume, unlike any I had seen before. "Throughout his controversial career McGingerloop has exploded one by one conventions of the novel... in this latest work he has done away with pages!" And indeed, when I examined the book I discovered he was quite right, and that the book I held was a brick of paper, and could not be opened, having as he indicated, no pages at all. I thanked Mr. Amperthump for his solicitude, at which point he pressed that I try Petunia al Gonzalez-Mjobebe's story of a love affair between an Iranian transexual and a Chinese android, a meditation, Mr. Amperthump assured me, on globalization and identity, but also, he said, a suspenseful legal thriller in its own right, albeit one subverting the conventions of that genre - quite, he added, subversively. Finally I was given to understand that in addition to Mr. Amperthump's conviction that I should not be reading Dickens, he had none in stock, and finally I gave my thanks for all his kindness and passed out again into the filthy snow and gloom.

And so thirty-one Regency romances, fifteen Kindle freebies, innumerable cups of tea and many more books later, I have finally finished this Dickens masterpiece. It took me exactly thirteen months, and I had time to read an alarming total of eighty-three books in between the start and finish of Bleak House. Why the five stars then, you ask? If it took me that long to get through it, surely it's not worth the effort?Well, it is. It's awesome. Very put-downable in my opinion though, and I will be completely honest, extremely boring in some instances. I wasn't even half-way through the first chapter that I was already feeling like Lady Dedlock.I don't know what possessed me to start reading that book during summer, when it's the perfect time for fluffy romances, popsicles and beaches, but there I was, struggling to get into dreary, smoky London streets and rainy, gloomy Chesney Wold. No wonder my sense of boredom only intensified!Do I really not have anything else to do but read this? Do I really want to commit to this tiny-printed 880 pages manuscript?Nawww, not really. Get the brain candy out, I already need it after ten pages. Why are there so many descriptions? So many details? Do I really have to sit through the effects the rain has on everybody and everything? Who are these people anyways?So, back on the shelf this door-stop went, and remained untouched for many a month, gathering up dust and cobwebs (not really, but almost!), while I escaped most of the time to Regency England, only to come out, ignoring the nagging voice that urged me to pick this back up, before plunging again and forgetting all about it.Then one morning, I finally decided that my behaviour was ridiculous, jumped out of bed, and rescued poor dusty Bleak House from its place under the bed on the shelf, and read it through in one sitting. Ha! Just kidding, but I wish, as it would have saved me so much time!! What really happened is that after taking it in small doses and getting to a point where I seriously thought of abandoning it for good, a lovely and clever friend of mine suggested I should perhaps...watch the BBC mini-series??!Heck, why not! It can't get any worse than it is now, I thought. So I watched it. And fell completely head over heels in love with it. No joke. It's THAT good. I don't blame anyone who wishes to stay away from Dickens novels, but that movie, you need to see it. Seriously, start by watching the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_9SB...Sounds amazing, no? That's when I realized that beneath all the lavish descriptions, the long speeches, the fancy turn of phrases and the annoying characters, lay an incredible, suspenseful and thrilling story.At the heart of Bleak House is the on-going, never-ending court case of Jarndyce & Jarndyce. John Jarndyce of Bleak House is long dead, but he wrote more than one will, so nobody knows who should inherit the money. The present Mr. John Jarndyce, now residing at Bleak House, had decided to take Miss Ada Clare and Mr. Richard Carstone, two cousin orphans, under his protection. He is also their distant cousin, and a very kind, devoted and benevolent man. Along with them also comes Miss Esther Summerson; a very quiet, sensible and intelligent young woman, who shall serve as companion to Miss Clare. Miss Summerson is also an orphan, but there is a great mystery surrounding her birth. Nobody knows who her parents are, and the lady who brought her up always said that she was a disgrace. Off they all go to Bleak House, where they are to reside in peace, tranquilly awaiting the result of Jarndyce & Jarndyce. Miss Clare and Mr. Carstone have a claim in the case, and may inherit a lot of money from it. However, the case has ruined many men who'd pined all their hopes on it, and Richard is encouraged to seek a profession and make his own way in life, without waiting for the case to be solved. Meanwhile, Mr. Tulkinghorn, the lawyer, is paying a call on his most important client, the proud and respected Sir Leicester Dedlock. He and his Lady are sitting in the drawing-room and Mr. Tulkinghorn is about to read to them on the advancements in the case of J&J. Perceiving the hand-writing on one of the documents, my Lady is greatly disturbed, and so too is Mr. Tulkinghorn in seeing the effect it has on her.As soon as he is back in his office, he starts off an investigation that will prove as intriguing and mysterious as it is cruel and manipulative. Mr. Tulkinghorn, that cold, calm, menacing and calculating lawyer, has caught the start of an intrigue in which its chain of events will forever change the lives of more people than originally bargained for. Everything is intertwined and suspiciously connected, and it will be layer upon layer of twists and turns before it is all resolved. In my opinion, there are two major heroines in this novel. The first, the young and courageous Esther Summerson, who is all happiness and consideration towards Mr. Jarndyce, who has done her the very great honour of making her his housekeeper. Torn between her devotion to Mr. Jarndyce, her love for the young doctor Mr. Woodcourt and her desperate desire to find the identity of her mother, Esther remains true to herself and loyal to her friends. She is kind, generous and very dependable. The second heroine is the great Lady Dedlock. She is one of the most fascinating women I have ever read about, and a great favourite of mine. Tall, graceful, once an acknowledged beauty in the long-gone days of her youth, Lady Dedlock is a model of perfect composure, deportment and manners. She appears ice-cold and impenetrable, carries herself as if she were a Queen and rarely betrays any emotion of feeling. But this great Lady has a secret, deeply buried inside her, and she suffers under its weight every day. Married for many years to the proud Sir Leicester Dedlock, she has done her best to be as good a wife to him as she can possibly be, and he in return loves her unconditionally. Though many years her senior, and a bit rough around the edges, Sir Leicester's devotion and admiration for his Lady are extremely touching. "His noble earnestness, his fidelity, his gallant shielding of her, his general conquest of his own wrong and his own pride for her sake, are simply honourable, manly and true."However, the importance he attaches to his good name and the reputation of his family are very great indeed. Lady Dedlock knows that. And the more Mr. Tulkinghorn inquires about, the more in dread she becomes of ruining the Dedlock family. When watching the mini-series, the excitement and suspense are there from the very beginning, and don't drop once until the ending. When reading the book, there are many slow parts and endless paragraphs, but with a little bit of skimming here and there, it becomes as exciting as the movie - or almost. ;) The whole thing is so intense and so genius though, that once you've past the first 250 pages or so, it becomes easier to read as the suspense grows. Many characters are hella annoying, fair warning, both in movie and book, and it is only with the fear of making a whole in my wall with the heavy brick that I didn't throw it in frustration, nor did I do anything to do the DVD since I had borrowed it from the library. But gaahhh, some of them drove me nuts!!I don't want to spoil anything (because y'all gonna go read this now, right?? Or at least watch the movie, RIGHT?? Riiiiight???), and so I will say nothing about the ending, simply that whether or not it has a HEA is entirely arguable and depends on each individual's point of view. Five stars Bleak House gets, for its sheer excellence and brilliancy, even though I was as excited as a five-year-old on Christmas morning when I turned the last page and realized it was finally over. :P :PAnd now, since my wonderful friend Becca had banned me from posting any Richard Armitage pictures until this book was finished, I cannot leave you without a few "delectables", which will hopefully not make you forget all about Bleak House so soon, because, remember, the movie is a must-see!! (And I'm talking about the 2009 mini-series with Gillian Anderson as Lady Dedlock and Anna Maxwell Martin as Miss Summerson -- I haven't seen the other version) On that note: <3 <3*oh my word he's so swoony*Many thanks to Hana, who decided to buddy-read it with me (even though she finished waaaayyyy before me) and made me watch the movie to keep me going, Tweety who encouraged me to finish it before its year-old anniversary (I didn't make it but it was a good challenge!), Becca who forbade me have anything to do with RA pictures (cruel, but served its end!) and Jaima, who suggested we should binge-read Regency romances after finishing our big books. Thank you also to all who encouraged me to push through and keep going, I am so glad I was able to finish it!! :DGroup read with the Enchanted Serenity of Classics group, buddy read with Hana and group read with the Bleak House View and Read group.

Dickens is all about sentiments you may run down his books as melodramas, tear-jerkers, 'poverty-porn' & so on but there is no denying their visceral appeal, for what are we without sentiments?Bleak House, Dickens' masterpiece, has all of his staple/ trademark ingredients an inheritance, a missing will, a mystery, angelic damsels, fairy godfather, old school gentlemen, evil-plotting villains, grotesque caricatures, a wide variety of humour- from biting satire, drollery, to crazy slapstick, social & moral commentary, several deaths, & of course, The Poor & all of it plays out in the gigantic, dinosaurian shadow of the Chancery Suit of Jarndyce and Jarndyce.Briefly, it is a law suit that's been going on for generations, without any rhyme or reason, so much so that "Jarndyce and Jarndyce has passed into a joke. That is the only good that has ever come of it. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in the profession."Merely writing about it gives me headache, let Dickens explain it:"It's about a will and the trusts under a willor it was once. It's about nothing but costs now. We are always appearing, and disappearing, and swearing, and interrogating, and filing, and cross-filing, and arguing, and sealing, and motioning, and referring, and reporting, and revolving about the Lord Chancellor and all his satellites, and equitably waltzing ourselves off to dusty death, about costs. That's the great question. All the rest, by some extraordinary means, has melted away."This lawsuit & a secondary mystery plot bring together an impressive cast of characters, only fair cause Bleak House celebrates the interconnectedness of people from all walks of life:"What connexion can there have been between many people in the innumerable histories of this world, who, from opposite sides of great gulfs have nevertheless been very curiously brought together!" Not since Shakespeare, has a writer given us this diorama/ galaxy of authentic, fully-fleshed out characters, each with their own unique voice! I'm so tempted to share with you their dialogues but it's such a mind-boggling choice that I'll settle for only two examples.Here's Grandpa Smallweed, all-a-shakin-&-a-cursin:"Will somebody give me a quart pot?" exclaims her exasperated husband, looking helplessly about him and finding no missile within his reach. "Will somebody obleege me with a spittoon? Will somebody hand me anything hard and bruising to pelt at her? You hag, you cat, you dog, you brimstone barker!" Here Mr. Smallweed, wrought up to the highest pitch by his own eloquence, actually throws Judy at her grandmother in default of anything else, by butting that young virgin at the old lady with such force as he can muster and then dropping into his chair in a heap.And here's Reverend Chadband with great flourishes of rhetorical style:"Peace, my friends," says Chadband, rising and wiping the oily exudations from his reverend visage. "Peace be with us! My friends, why with us? Because," with his fat smile, "it cannot be against us, because it must be for us; because it is not hardening, because it is softening; because it does not make war like the hawk, but comes home unto us like the dove. Therefore, my friends, peace be with us! My human boy, come forward!"No wonder with sleep-inducing preachers like that Christianity doesn't fare well & it is left to a few do-gooders like Mr.Jarndyce, Esther & Dr.Woodcourt to provide succour wherever they can. In our group read, there were energetic exchanges on the role of women & the nature of charity in the Bleak House universe. Jan-Maat has tackled those issues in his review but just to add my two cents: The handing over of keys is very important, esp. in our Indian culture; it's a rite of passage where the mother-in-law hands them to the new bride the power passing from one generation to the next Indian women know that whosoever holds the household keys, holds the actual reins of power!Thus Dickens' domesticated "little women" are not powerless- Esther, Mrs.Bagnet- these ladies are the centre of their universe.Contrast this with the treatment meted out to the likes of Mrs.Jellyby & Mrs.Pardiggle Dickens demonstrates that as a wife & mother, their first duties are towards the proper upbringing of their children & to a well-oiled household machinery- they fail at these roles, no wonder they fail at "telescopic philanthrophy" & hard charity as well. Is Dickens any different than millions of Americans who voice that before being an international president, Obama should be an American one!Victorian times were an age of prosperity but the poor remained deprived as usual- consider the current belt-tightening measures in the EU towards charitable causes & you'll understand Dickens' concerns better.Charity must always begin at home only it shdn't stop there !With 1,811 reviews at last count, this review of mine feels somewhat redundantignore it by all means but don't ignore the book & its writer they are infinitely more important. Anyone up for a Year of Dickens-2014 count me in!