As you good Victorian scholars know, Charles Dickens died 138 years ago today. He was 58 when he died of a combination of too many public appearances and parties, stepping out on the mother of his ten children, and writers block. And while I object to Dickens' place in history as the the most important of Victorian novelists for many reasons (all of which I will list for you in great detail if you send me a self addressed stamped envelope) he did create the greatest and most evil knitter of all times, Madame Defarge.
Everybody has heard of Madame Defarge, but did you know what she was knitting? She was knitting the names of her enemies into a hit list, which makes her an artist wayyyyy ahead of her time.
And while the Tale of Two Cities is kind of a hard read, even for me, here is probably the best fiction writing about knitting that I know.