Dickens: A Tale of Two Centuries I heard a World Service programme (yes, I am an insomniac) this week about Charles Dickens

popularity in India, past and present. Apparently, his novels we re set texts there long before they were studied in England where, presumably, h is early career as an episodic magazine writer was snobbishly held against him. Victorian English society has many similarities to contemporary Indian so ciety: strict class divisions; rapid entrepreneurial expansion juxtaposed with d ire poverty; family obligations trumping personal freedom, especially for women. Two young Indians testified to their enduring love of Dickens, which started w hen they were schoolgirls giggling nervously at Miss Havershams fate possessing a yellowing wedding dress but no husband. Spinsterhood is a pertinent fear in a p lace where a single woman, much over twenty-five, is still widely regarded as a p rostitute or a pathetic figure: Think Miss Bates in Emma. I remember my Indian friends anxiety as they waited for parental consent to their engagement, which was in some doubt even though they were both doctors fro m the same state, caste, and religion. Though their families were old friends, their intended union constituted a love marriage, not an arranged one, so his moth er feared that her 31 year-old son would be considered wild. His family were also slightly richer. Its not as if youre a Russian pole dancer, I kept saying consolingl y to the bride-to-be who would give a little sub-continental headshake: In retro spect, I think this meant, You just dont get it, do you? Obviously, the good docs have far more understanding of the constraints a D ickensian character might face than I do: Ditto Jane Austens love/money dilemmas which have translated so well into Bollywood movies like Bride and Prejudice. I started to think of other examples of how out of touch contemporary Brits are wi th the social mores of classic authors. I recall teaching a workshop to undergr aduates on Jean Rhys On Not Shooting Sitting Birds, an autobiographical short sto ry set in the early 1920s in which the narrator goes out in her new crepe de chi ne undies, intent on losing her virginity. Her date thinks shes a chorus girl or similar denizen of the demimonde but, on hearing that her brothers shoot in Dom inica, he says with disappointment, But youre a lady, arent you? exactly as he might have said, But youre really a snake or a crocodile, arent you? To her chagrin and bew ilderment, he packs her off in a taxi untouched by upper class male hand. My students couldnt grasp the young mans dichotomy; if his date was lady he c ouldnt sleep with her, or at least not without repercussions, but if she were of dubious social class, N.Q.O.S., he could roger her with impunity. This went rig ht over the heads of the online-dating, binge-drinking, condom-carrying undergra ds, as did the implications of not shooting sitting birds, which is, of course, caddishly unsporting and as bad as shagging bona fide ladies. We may soon need detailed footnotes to understand the social subtleties of literature from earlier centuries while in Dehli and Dhaka they are still all t oo comprehensible. On the other hand, like India, Dickens would have embraced ne w technology and turned his novels into e-books as fast as you can say apps. Ardella Jones