For some reason, I just love this passage:"She had no other relations than two aunts ... who had not held any other than chance communication with their brother for many years. Not that they had ever quarreled ... but that having been, on the occasion of Dora's christening, invited to tea when they considered themselves privileged to be invited to dinner, they had expressed their opinion in writing that it was 'better for the happiness of all parties' that they should stay away. Since which they had gone their road, and their brother had gone his."
Isn't that wonderful? It seems such a very civilized way to have a feud. I wonder what the modern day equivalent is. "You know, it's really better for the happiness of all parties if you would just piss off."
At any rate, I wouldn't want to be the people who were not invited to tea. I can only imagine how aggrieved they must have felt.
This was one of my favorite months of Copperfield. It was full of all the most compelling characters. The humbly evil Uriah Heep was in this section, as was lovely Agnes Wickfield. (And I know Copperfield keeps saying that he thinks of Agnes almost as a sister, but Copperfield ought to wise up and ask her to marry him instead of the annoying Dora.) Dora, with her rich girl's life and her little yapping dog, for some reason, keeps reminding me of Paris Hilton. Minus the sex tape, of course, unless there's a blue side of Dickens that I don't know about.
Valuable insights like this, of course, are yet another reason why I never could have been an English major.
Din-witted, adorable, pampered Dora has a tough month. Her father dies, though to be honest she seems to show the most stress when Copperfield suggests that she learn how to cook because he might not have enough money to support her extravagant lifestyle. I may pick on Dora, but she has a great attitude to life.
"My love," said I, "I have work to do."
"But don't do it! returned Dora. "Why should you?"
It was impossible to say to that sweet little surprised face, otherwise than lightly and playfully, that we must work to live.
"Oh, how ridiculous!" cried Dora.
"How shall we live without, Dora?" said I.
"How? Any how!" said Dora.
She seemed to think that she had quite settled the question, and gave me such a triumphant little kiss, direct from her innocent heart, that I would hardly have put her out of conceit with her answer for a fortune.
Oh, that Dora. I think she might be onto something.
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