WHY I HATE CHARLES DICKENS

Hannah Smith

Whenever someone asks why I’m single, this is the story I tell.
            I met this guy at a bookshop: the perfect meet cute. I was browsing the clothbound classics, debating whether David Copperfield was worth not being able to afford dinner, when someone touched my shoulder. Not urgently like they desperately needed to get their hands on The Odyssey, but not intimately either like an old friend. This was a stranger, who cared more about getting to know me than the books I was blocking. A refreshing change of pace, I thought.
            We discussed the book in my hand for a while before moving on to Dickens’s other works. His favourite was Great Expectations, which I thought was fitting as my own expectations were growing greater by the minute. He then asked if I wanted to grab some food – his treat – so I decided I would purchase David Copperfield after all.
            I should have known we were doomed as soon as we walked into the same fast-food restaurant where I’d hosted my tenth birthday, but I was blinded by optimism and a pretty face. Given our initial interaction, I thought I’d be in for more intellectually stimulating conversation – perhaps Shakespeare or Austen – but instead received a confession. It turned out that when he said he liked Great Expectations, that referred to the 1998 film adaptation and was less about its themes of morality or social mobility and more his borderline obsessive crush on Gwenyth Paltrow. He spent the next thirty minutes lusting after the actress and then had the audacity to suggest improvements I could make to be more like her. I didn’t stick around long after that.
            The next time I was approached in a bookshop, I wouldn’t listen to their esteemed review of Romeo and Juliet (meaning the 1996 adaptation starring Claire Danes) or about how much they respected Elizabeth Bennett (as long as she looked like Keira Knightley). Instead, I would curse Charles Dickens for his leading role in the date that officially made me lose all faith in men.
            And, for the record, I returned David Copperfield.