The Fraud

by Zadie Smith

Look at the lamb that springeth through the bluebells, she told herself, but in all honesty the lamb didst bore her. Instead she took mental note of the order of inns – the Cock Tavern,

‘Because of poor Copperfield! Estella was so cruel!’

Estella? No one corrects this in the scene.

‘With respect, Lady Blessington, Mr Wilberforce surely had weightier matters on his mind than curtains.’

‘As long as we speak of an island upon which people can suffer – and can cause pain the one to the other – I do not see that an eternity at either end is necessary to render that island of the utmost importance. Our duties on the island will be many. They will be never-ending, in fact. And that, I should think, is enough of eternity for any man, woman or child.’

It was during that tumultuous year of 1838 that she felt she had finally understood what writing was for, or at least what it was for in William’s case: escape from the void. Distraction.

Keep stealing, my friends! From life for fiction, and from fiction for life. What a terrible business. At least William did it clumsily, with benign incompetence. Whereas his friend Charles had done it like a master – like an actor. That was precisely what was so dangerous about him. Charles Dickens played a part, always.

They heard only the quiet voice, speaking lilting words in a certain arrangement. And mistook all of this for a person.

Mrs Touchet scanned the courtroom. No one wished to be aligned with a scoundrel, nor to be mistaken for one.