The Book Party Page
with Host Bill Moore
Updated 3/3/04, Created 1/1/04

The 2004 Book Party: A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens (b. 1812 d. 1870)

Details:

When: Saturday March 6th, 2004. 9AM to 2PM

Where: La Chatelaine in Worthington ( 627 High Street in Worthington)

Cost:  $4 for printing and a SUPER souvenir (payable to Bill Moore on or before Sun. Feb 29.).  The cost for the meal is separate.  Here's the menu and pricing.

What to expect: fun friends gathered together for talk, food, and a good movie.

More Information: Email Bill at wmoore@biblicalstudies.org  requesting to be updated as more details are available.


Past Book Parties:

    2003 Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky
    2002 To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
    2000 The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis
    1996 The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky

3/3/04 Bill: I have the program as well as maps and directions. More...

2/15/04 Greg Tidwell: Here are some thoughts by  Edmund Burke on the French Revolution. More...

2/7/04 Dennis Faulkner: Dickens based his novel on a history by his friend Thomas Carlyle. More...

2/7/04 Bill: The restaurant has been chosen. La Chatelaine, in Worthington. More...

Warning: There are two La Chatelaines. We are NOT meeting at the one on Lane Avenue in Upper Arlington.

1/29/04 Bill: Here's a poignant piece of poetry perched in prose. What I mean is that  this passage in TofTC is surprisingly beautiful, even poetic.  I think it can stand apart  from the novel as a meditation on the inevitability of isolation.

 1/6/04 Entire text of "A Tale of Two Cities." A link provided by Randy Teynor.



Charles Dickens - Tale of Two Cities 1859

From Book 1 , Chapter III "The Night Shadows"

A WONDERFUL FACT to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me, or than I am to them? As to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance, the messenger on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the first Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London.