A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens is one of the greatest stories I have ever read. I love Dickens’ work in any case, but this book, in particular, holds a lot of memories for me.
As I’ve said before, it was the first book my parents ever read to me, and it was a staple of my bedtimes for most of my childhood, first being read by my Mum or Dad and then when I was able, by me.
If you’ve read my post, The Christmas Lights Fantastic, then you’ll know that I was rather obsessed with Christmas when I was a child and was often an absolute terror for my parents. Reading A Christmas Carol to me before bed was one of the few ways they had found of placating my incessant requests for them to put the tree up.
The book has always just spoken to me and the way in which Dickens describes Victorian London during the Christmas period is just masterful and conjures up vivid imagery for me even to this day. Whenever I read it, the inner world of the story comes alive for me, and it’s like I’m there.
I feel as though I am travelling along with Ebeneezer Scrooge from his cantankerous beginnings in his counting house, right through to his final transformation into a kind gentleman, changed by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, respectively.
Being a Christmas fanatic and a lifelong fan of supernatural fiction, I feel as though A Christmas Carol could have been written specifically for me. I’m all for anything that can give me that Christmassy feeling all the year round and creep me out a little bit at the same time (the door knocker and then the appearance of Marley’s ghost still give me the chills).
I also think that there’s a lovely message in the story; that kindness costs nothing. At least that’s the message I take from it. There will be other things that other people take away, but whenever I read it, I can’t help wishing that everyone could go on the same spiritual journey as Scrooge.
The book means more to me these days than ever before because it is something that still tethers me to my parents who passed away almost ten years ago and to the childhood I find myself wishing for every so often.
At the age of 22 when they died, I had been shell-shocked, along with my other brothers and my sister, but through reading this book, I was and am still able to feel close to them. It was the first book they ever bought me, the first they ever read to me, and I will always hold a special place for it in my heart.
Anyway… as always, thank you for your valuable time if you’ve made it all the way through.
Until next time…