Exhuming him is a way for her to make a claim of inheritance explicit at a time when teeming, boisterous, activist novels are unfashionable. Like Dickens, she is unblushingly political and works on a sprawling scale, animating her pages with the presence of seemingly every creeping thing that has ever crept upon the earth. Kingsolver’s resurrection of Dickens’s most sentimental (though cherished by many, including me) novel might seem a bit strange - as if Harry Styles had released a song-for-song remake of the original cast recording of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “South Pacific.”īut then, from another angle: Of course Barbara Kingsolver would retell Dickens. In “Demon Copperhead,” Barbara Kingsolver offers a close retelling of Charles Dickens’s “David Copperfield,” which is either a baffling choice or an ingenious maneuver from a novelist who has been nominated for a Pulitzer Prize and selected for Oprah’s Book Club and regularly - inevitably, even - appears on the best-seller list of this newspaper, all while reaping a surprising quantity of stinging pans from critics.
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