Dear Mr. Dickens

Sharing an unlikely conversation with ghost of writers past

The struggling author visited Westminster Abbey in London. He stood in Poets’ Corner, alone, staring down at the floor tombstone of Charles Dickens.

“Well, Mr. Dickens, you’re certainly in good company,” he said, glancing at the tombstones of other renowned writers.

“You were the greatest novelist in the Victorian era. How did you do it?”

“Perseverance and not a small modicum of talent,” said the ghost that materialized next to him.

“WAAH!” cried the struggling author, stepping away hastily. “You’re his ghost! I recognize that strange scraggly beard!”

“I’m rightfully proud of it,” said the ghost.

“So how did your novels get to be so popular back in your day?”

“I created characters that resonated with the public, like Ebenezer Scrooge. Unusual names helped, too. I died in 1870, so tell me of the times you live in.”

The man told of cars, planes, space flight, medical advances, computers, movies, television, video games and fast-food restaurants.

“I can scarce believe all of what you said,” said the ghost. “Tell me, in your modern era, are there still poverty and want? Have women achieved equality? Are children still persecuted?”

“Poverty and homelessness are still with us, but we have many programs trying to mitigate it. Women have far more rights and freedoms than in 1870 — Britain even had a female prime minister in the 20th century — but still haven’t achieved full equality.”

“A woman prime minister? Bravo! You still make war?”

“Yes, despite decades of peacebuilding efforts.”

“So it is still the best of times and the worst of times,” said the ghost, paraphrasing his famous opening sentence from “A Tale of Two Cities.”

Suddenly the man laughed. “What amuses you?” inquired the spirit.

“This! ‘A Christmas Carol’ featured four ghosts, you had ghosts in some of your other novels, and here you are, a ghost yourself, talking with me. That’s ironically funny!”

The apparition smiled. “It is even more ironic considering I was always obsessed with spirits. In fact, I was a member of London’s famous Ghost Club.”

“Tell me about creating ‘A Christmas Carol.’ To this day, it is a beloved holiday favourite.”

The ghost shrugged. “I dashed off that novella in six weeks in 1843 while writing another novel. I needed the money. I serialized it first, before publishing it in a book.”

“Ah, maybe that was the key to your success. Most of your novels were first published in weekly instalments with cliffhanger endings in various periodicals. Newspapers today — those that are still around — don’t publish serial stories.”

“Newspapers are a dying breed? Why?”

“Lack of advertising dollars. Advertisers now spend on social media.” The man then tried to explain the internet and social media.

“Enough! I cannot grasp what you say!”

“Many older folks in my time feel the same way. You died of a massive stroke at age 58, halfway through writing ‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood’ — you had even started serializing it. It is the greatest mystery of the literary world. So how does the story end and who is Edwin’s murderer?”

The spectre chuckled. “Ah, if I told you that, sir, then you would be world famous without having earned it.”

With that, the ghost of Charles John Huffam Dickens vanished.