
Who is better, Dickens or Shakespeare? We asked nine prominent writers
Professor of Shakespeare Studies at Hertford College Oxford and author of This Is Shakespeare
It's a brilliantly preposterous thesis that Peter sets out but I disagree. What's great about Dickens is the maximalist, chock-a-block, teeming sense you get of that world. His work is like an extraordinary baroque cathedral that you could spend your life looking at, absorbed in the detail. By contrast, Shakespeare is more like a black box. There's a huge amount of potential to do these plays in very different worlds with very different outcomes. So what's great about Dickens is it's all there. But what's completely indispensable about Shakespeare is it's waiting for us to combine with it to make something new. I don't think rereading Dickens makes a new Dickens, but rereading or reperforming Shakespeare does make a new Shakespeare.
Adapted Bleak House and Little Dorrit for TV and is currently writing a book about Dickens's life
Shakespeare was just so extraordinary, so clever about so many things, that he has to be the greatest writer. He had such insight into what made people human. However, Dickens is much funnier than Shakespeare, whose comedies don't wear awfully well, and he's scary at the same time. He had this gift of retaining a childlike view of the world so that he could create these extraordinary grotesques that were larger and stranger than life, but also recognisably true. I have to say that Dickens was pretty hopeless on women, both in his life and in his work, whereas Shakespeare clearly understood women much better and was extraordinarily perceptive on what love can do to human beings.
Author of Shakespeare Is Hard, But So Is Life and other books
Shakespeare means more to me than Dickens for several reasons. First, Dickens is rooted in a very specific world, of mid-19th-century England, whereas Shakespeare is the opposite – he couldn't, for safety reasons, write about the England of his time. He had to invent other worlds and write in such a way that the plays become adaptable to almost any circumstance. Second, Dickens is brilliant at using words, whereas with Shakespeare it feels like he's inventing language itself all the time. Also, Shakespeare takes us into psychological terrain that I don't think Dickens approaches. Dickens gives us a world in which there are good people and bad people and we know the distinction between them. But with Shakespeare, there isn't that distinction. Heroes do really horrific things – Hamlet is a thug. From moment to moment, we don't know where we stand. The characters feel like they're being invented second by second, word by word. It's just a profoundly different kind of aesthetic experience.
Author of The Essex Serpent and Enlightenment
When you compare them, I don't see that Dickens is lesser at all, and in some ways could be considered superior. The main thing is that he has moral courage. Shakespeare's work doesn't lack the scrutiny of individual morals, but he was a sort of court stooge – so much of his work was designed to endear him to the establishment. Whereas Dickens was anti-establishment and a political radical – he was instrumental in the ending of public hanging in the UK. His social justice conscience has not aged five minutes. If you read Hard Times, you think of Gove and the Gradgrindian policies in our education system. And so that's where Dickens is more radiantly necessary, because that radical spirit he had never ages.
Also, his prose was so strange. What's magical about his work is how on earth he managed to get away with gritty social commentary absolutely latched to the conditions of the day, but also being completely surreal. It's a sleight of hand that's almost impossible to pull off, or even to see how he pulls it off. It leaves me completely agog. Just look at the opening of A Christmas Carol: 'Marley was dead: to begin with.' Our modern prose seems so pedestrian in comparison.
Author of Sankofa and, most recently, Mayowa and the Sea of Words
I roll my eyes when I hear someone arguing that a certain author challenges Shakespeare's 'crown'. It is very British, very Eurocentric. To say all of literature is contained in Shakespeare or Dickens, it's like, which literature? Is Chinua Achebe there as well? Wole Soyinka? Is oral literature there? I don't even think many people would say Dickens is the greatest novelist of all time. Tolstoy would be my preference. But it's not a competition. Between the two, I do think Dickens's language is more accessible to a modern reader, but Shakespeare is more open to reinvention. There have been so many reinventions of Shakespeare that people don't even realise, such as The Lion King (a reinvention of Hamlet) or West Side Story (Romeo and Juliet). Shakespeare is not so bound to his place and his time, whereas it's very difficult to divorce Dickens from Victorian England.
Author of I Heard What You Said and co-host of BBC Radio 4's Add to Playlist
What's interesting to me is their differences. Shakespeare gives us archetypal characters that are very relatable whatever context you put them in, and that's why he persists. The problem with that, if you want to call it a problem, is that the characters themselves are almost digital in a way, in that they can be wiped clean and transferred. Dickens, on the other hand, gives us a real analogue grittiness to his characters that's very of its time. So it depends on what you like. I like Shakespeare's universality and his exploration of the human condition. But if you like a real exploration of character in context to understand Victorian England, then you can't get better than Dickens.
Author of Julia, The Heavens and other novels
Of the two, I have a greater affinity for Shakespeare. I see him as a professional who was writing plays that he intended to be popular, and writing them at speed, and so he was using the talents he had and glossing over the bits that were difficult for him. I love him for his flaws, such as writing ridiculously stupid plots. Dickens's flaws seem much more like they came from him, rather than from not finishing the job on time. I think he was a sentimentalist whose idea of psychology could be frighteningly acute or frighteningly obtuse depending on what he was looking at. The obtuseness is just as sincere, it comes from a genuine Dickensian point of view, whereas when Shakespeare's being obtuse, he's just simply not working hard enough.
Author of There Are Rivers in the Sky and other novels
In order to compare Shakespeare and Dickens better, I focused on their female characters. While both are quite sympathetic when it comes to understanding the complexity of being a woman in a patriarchal world, Shakespeare is far ahead in terms of portraying unruly female characters. There's more depth and darkness there. I love the way Peter finished his article, but I want to add a twist. If Shakespeare was far ahead in terms of depicting human emotions, and Dickens when it comes to social injustice, there's one author who brings the two together and that's Virginia Woolf. They both need to move over and make room for her.
Author of The Confessions of Frannie Langton
Is Dickens a greater writer than Shakespeare? Perhaps not. But is he a more enjoyable writer to read? I could agree with that. Dickens is the author from whom you're more likely to get the immersive reading experience I look for in a good novel. But then Shakespeare wasn't a novelist so it's a bit like comparing an apple with an orange. What I will say is that each aspired to give us all of humanity in their work, and clearly they succeeded, which is why their work endures. However, while we're pitting them against each other, we have to make sure we're also creating space for something new, for the masters of the future. That kind of reverence shouldn't dominate the landscape.
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The Herald Scotland
a day ago
- The Herald Scotland
Beware white women: a Dickensian masterpiece of modern Africa
Or I could simply say that when I got within 50 pages of the end of Theft by Abdulrazak Gurnah I panicked that it would all soon be over and I'd have to say goodbye to its world and its characters, some of whom I'd come to love, some of whom I despised. All the learning would come to end, the lessons I'd been taught about the food and fashions of east Africa, the history of Zanzibar, the culture of people far removed from me through distance but exactly the same as me, my friends and my family in their shames and ambitions, failings and braveries. This is the first book Gurnah has written since he won the Nobel Prize. Be in no doubt, his talents remain undimmed. If anything this is his most affecting book, in terms of its emotional heft, and his most important given its ruthless dissection of colonialism and the hangover which remains for both Africans and Europeans. Theft is intensely political, but its politics are almost invisible. It isn't hectoring. You aren't being lectured. You aren't even aware that history is being laid on the anatomy table. Theft by Abdulrazak Gurnah (Image: Bloomsbury) This is a book about family and friendships. Yet its message reaches right to the poisoned root of the relationship between Africa today and the Europe which exploited the continent for two centuries. This is a book you want to stand up and applaud when you finish. The comparison with Dickens is apt. Like Dickens, Gurnah's lead character is the classic 'orphaned boy'. Badar has no mother and father. He's raised by distant relatives who care little for him, then farmed out to another family as a servant. I must tread carefully, for fear of ruining the plot, but we're in David Copperfield territory here, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby. It feels somehow wrong to equate Gurnah with Dickens. To do so is almost the kind of inward-gazing colonial act he takes his scalpel to, but the comparisons are too strong to avoid. Theft, like any Dickens novel, is driven relentlessly forward by character. You cannot resist the company of his creations. The story is addictive and page-turning. Again like Dickens. This blend of character and story is so heady it hides the very powerful, very political points the writer makes. Again like Dickens. Though Gurnah has a subtlety Dickens lacks. Read more Midway through, Badar is falsely accused of theft. Initially, it seems this gives us the book's title. However, as the novel closes, we learn that the theft Gurnah is exploring isn't one of property or money. To understand the theft Gurnah is really investigating, we must turn to the white characters - specifically, and uncomfortably, white women. It's the action of white women who explain the metaphor of theft. Again, I'll say no more, lest I ruin a moment in the book, which for white readers is deeply troubling but horribly and shamefully recognisable. After all, who are history's great thieves if not our colonial ancestors who stole the very land from under the feet of the peoples they invaded and ruled? Are we more like them even today than we care to acknowledge? Do we still have the thief's mind? Like Dickens, Gurnah expertly dissects broken families. There's no family here not carrying some secret, some shame, some guilt. Children are abandoned, raised by relatives, shipped off. Parents disappear, sleep around, hurt their kids. There's one scene of physical violence when a character we began by loving but come to loath harms their own baby in the most ghastly way. It's a moment of shocking horror in a novel that's otherwise tender, even when dealing with the pain of poverty and humiliation. In essence, Theft tells the story of young and impoverished Badar, taken under the wing of the slightly older and much wealthier Karim. The pair set out to make their way in 1990s Tanzania as it juggles modernity and tradition: a nation trying to maintain its dignity amid the interference of western charity workers who use Africa to burnish their own fake sense of virtue. They're nothing but modern missionaries, dressing the colonial mindset in the clothes of progressive liberalism. Much more harm is done than good, and those harms crowbar their way into the lives of Badar and Karim. While Badar and Karim are the twin poles the book revolves around, the supporting cast is dominated by strong women characters, from Karim's feckless and selfish mother, to the modern but diffident Fauzia. This isn't a book which simply turns white characters into monsters, though. Indeed, white characters cause harm through thoughtlessness, self-absorption and carelessness. Black characters can be just as unpleasant: vengeful, cruel, petty, intolerant. Damage is inherited. Damaged parents create broken children, and it takes great courage to overcome this inheritance. The same is true of countries. How do they recover from the damage of colonialism? Do they inherit the sins of the coloniser? What matters to Gurnah is the simple contents of a human soul. It's irrelevant if you're rich or poor, had good parents or bad, come from a country of colonisers or the colonised. It's the heart inside you which shapes your humanity. Badar wonders to himself if white people come to Africa as they 'feel entitled to please themselves because in the end it was they who mattered'. The same is true of men in their behaviour towards women in this book, and parents towards their children. Damaged people hurt others as they believe they are all that matters. In their pain, they cannot see the lives of others. What Gurnah does is paint a picture of how empathy is the escape mechanism. If we can find that key within us we can save ourselves from the horror of history and the pain of family. In the end, if we're to be human, empathy is all we've got.


Daily Record
4 days ago
- Daily Record
BBC period drama fans rave about fantastically cast 'unrecognisable' The Crown star
The BBC adaption of Charles Dickens' novel may have been released over a decade ago, but it is still being enjoyed today by fans who are rediscovering the series Viewers are rekindling their love for a 2008 costume drama that has brilliantly encapsulated a classic Dickensian narrative, led by a "fantastic cast", which includes an actress whose transformation is spellbinding. 'Little Dorrit', a BBC miniseries, dives into Charles Dickens's lesser-celebrated eponymous novel set in the 1850s. The plot tracks the peculiar existence of Amy Dorrit who, for twenty-one years, lived within the confines of a debtors' prison with her father. The tale takes a turn when Amy encounters Arthur Clennam, who, in pursuit of his family's elusive legacy, discovers it to be mysteriously connected to the Dorrit family. In seeking answers, Clennam is introduced to diverse individuals through Amy's gentle spirit, from the extraordinarily wealthy to those barely scraping by. Set amidst the class disparities of Victorian England, Dickens's signature commentary on social inequities underpins the series. However, viewers have found 'Little Dorrit' to have an engaging charm despite the sombre undertones. Praise for the show also appears on Rotten Tomatoes, stating: "This is a great BBC mini-series; though most of their mini-series are really good. The story has so many characters and smaller plots going on that one really must pay attention to everything. The casting was also brilliant.", reports Surrey Live. "Matthew Macfadyen and Claire Foy gave their characters such life and had so many subtleties. Andy Serkis, who played Rigaud, was also amazing; you had your eyes on him in every scene he was in." While another viewer added: "I absolutely loved this movie. I think it may have even surpassed the BBC's marvellous representation of Pride and my opinion." British actress Claire Foy takes on the role of Amy Dorrit in the series, a stark contrast to her portrayal of Queen Elizabeth in The Crown, making her almost unrecognisable. This early part was crucial for Foy, marking her emergence well before she reached the pinnacle of fame with roles in Season of the Witch, The Girl in the Spider's Web, and Unsane. She is joined by a stellar lineup of British talent, including Matthew Macfadyen as Arthur Clennam and Andy Serkis, better known for his work in Lord of The Rings, as Rigaud. Screen legends Tom Courtenay and Sue Johnston are also amongst the cast enriching the BBC adaptation. One critique says: "This mini-series is almost perfect. Great costumes and sets. Great camera work. Fantastic acting all around. Everyone inhabits their characters completely. A good amount of humour too amongst the Dickensian bleakness. However, I don't think all the loose ends were tied up very well.." Another viewer wrote: "I don't know how this compares to the book, but this series is engaging and has a touch of mystery to it that keeps you eagerly watching to see how all the varied parties are interconnected in the end. Wonderful acting as well. A worthy period drama." The overlooked gem of a period drama, Little Dorrit, can be streamed on BBC iPlayer.


The Guardian
4 days ago
- The Guardian
My cultural awakening: a shock at a Shakespeare production made me quit the bank for theatre
I was a working-class kid who'd failed my exams and done a series of nothing jobs before I discovered Shakespeare in my 20s. I was bored out of my head most of the time, working nights in a bank as a computer operator, watching tapes going round. A respite came three times a year when my girlfriend at the time, Sandra, and I would drive from our rented flat in Ealing to Stratford-upon-Avon and queue at the RSC for cheap returns or standing tickets. The plays were so good it made life bearable. In June 1978, we went to see Jonathan Pryce as Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew, with David Suchet. The sunny Saturday matinee coincided with Scotland playing in the World Cup and as the audience made its way into the Royal Shakespeare Theatre foyer, a Scottish supporter with a six-pack of lager was getting rowdy and rude, singing football songs outside. He grabbed me, saying, 'Have a drink with me, brother', and did a double-take as if he recognised me. I turned away, feeling I'd die of embarrassment in this posh and genteel crowd focused on the business of being civilised and arty. As we entered, he continued shouting abuse, putting his fingers up and telling us where we should go stick our English, stuffy-nose, Shakey bollocks. No sooner was he ushered out and we'd taken our seats than he burst back in, got on to the stage and knocked down the whole set to horrified shouts. We were gobsmacked; the show ruined by a moronic football fan. Actors tried to stop the damage until, suddenly, with one final shout of: 'Why don't ye all fuck off?' he collapsed. Then, very slowly, the house lights dimmed, a spotlight fell on the drunk and it dawned on us all that it was him: Jonathan Pryce, as Christopher Sly, a character in Taming of the Shrew's lesser done prologue. It was a magical moment, shocking and breathtaking. I was captivated. The play was brilliant and I turned to Sandra frequently, whispering: 'I want to do this.' 'You can,' she said. I saw my future in front of me. After the production, I enrolled in an arts degree with the Open University, left the bank and started running creative arts projects in prisons, working with lifers in Wormwood Scrubs. Just as the Shrew confronted me with the transformative power of theatre, this work made the invisible visible, even in unexpected places. I did similar work with disadvantaged teenagers in New York, took acting evening classes and finally went to a proper drama school in London. I set up my own theatre company, mainly for people who could not go to conventional drama school, and taught and directed in community theatre for 32 years. I have put on so many shows – all, I'm sure, influenced on some level by Pryce and that incredible matinee. I've used that framing device many times and when I directed Trevor Griffiths's play Comedians 10 years ago, in which Pryce once famously starred, I cast an actor who reminded me of him on that Saturday afternoon when theatre changed the world a little bit. In the years since, I've thought about why he might have done a double-take. People often commented that we looked alike. My daughters first noticed it in Pirates of the Caribbean and message when he's in Slow Horses with 'Dad, you're on TV'. In December, I attended a British Film Institute screening of Comedians introduced by Pryce. As he finished, I walked up the aisle and told him how he changed my life. 'I feel like you woke me up,' I said. 'I'm so delighted,' he replied. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion You can tell us how a cultural moment has prompted you to make a major life change by filling in the form below or emailing us on Please include as much detail as possible Please note, the maximum file size is 5.7 MB. Your contact details are helpful so we can contact you for more information. They will only be seen by the Guardian. Your contact details are helpful so we can contact you for more information. They will only be seen by the Guardian. If you include other people's names please ask them first.