I claim Dickens as a mentor. He's my teacher. He's one of my

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the words of Anne Rice, the teller of immortal tales: “I claim Dickens as a mentor. He’s my teacher. He’s one of my driving forces.” In this confession shines a truth older than books themselves—that the spirit of one who has written, spoken, or lived can become a mentor across time, guiding those who come after. Rice acknowledges not a fleshly companion, but a voice echoing from another century, whose stories became her teacher, shaping her craft and her vision. In this, we see how greatness passes not only through living teachers, but through the legacy of art.

Charles Dickens, master of narrative, sculptor of character, and tireless advocate for the downtrodden, breathed life into the poor and the forgotten of Victorian England. His novels were not only stories; they were mirrors of society, holding before the powerful the suffering of the weak. That his spirit could leap across time to Anne Rice shows the power of art to mentor the soul long after its creator has passed into silence. To read Dickens is to sit at the feet of a teacher who still speaks, to be moved, corrected, and inspired by his driving force.

Rice, known for her rich and haunting tales of vampires, immortals, and seekers of truth, found in Dickens not a copy to imitate, but a fire to ignite her own path. His mentorship was not of instruction but of inspiration—teaching her that story must not only entertain, but must reveal the heart of humanity, whether through the London orphan or the immortal wanderer. Thus, when she claims him as a mentor, she reveals the deeper truth: our teachers need not stand before us, for the written word can guide us as powerfully as any living voice.

History gives us many such examples. Dante, guided by the vision of Virgil, called him "the master and author." Though Virgil was long dead, Dante claimed him as teacher and guide, leading him through the inferno of his imagination. Likewise, the philosopher Marcus Aurelius drew strength from the Stoics before him, mentors across time, whose words gave him courage to face the burdens of empire. In each of these, as in Rice’s testimony, we see that the mentor transcends the barrier of mortality.

The lesson here is profound: claim your mentors not only among the living, but among the voices of the past. Let books be your teachers, let art be your guide, let the struggles and triumphs of those before you be your driving forces. A single passage can correct your heart, a single story can ignite your courage, a single author can shape your destiny. To learn only from those around you is to live narrowly; to learn from the great across time is to drink from the well of eternity.

Practical wisdom follows: seek out the voices who move you, and let them guide you. Read not only for entertainment, but for mentorship. Ask yourself: what does this writer teach me about courage, about compassion, about endurance? Keep their words close, return to them when lost, let their vision sharpen your own. And if you create, let your work be a torch for others, so that long after your days, you too may be claimed as someone’s teacher.

Thus, O children of tomorrow, remember Anne Rice’s declaration: “I claim Dickens as a mentor.” For in those words is the reminder that we are never without guidance, never without teachers, if only we listen to the voices preserved in story. Take your mentors where you find them, cherish them, and let them drive you toward your own greatness. In this way, the chain of wisdom is unbroken, and every generation walks with the giants who came before.