Everyone always talks about the big social themes and sweeping plots, which yeah, that's true. But what really defines them for me is the sheer narrative confidence. They'd take twenty pages to describe a room or a minor character's backstory without worrying the reader would tap out. There's an assumption you're there for the journey, not just the plot points.
That patience built a different kind of intimacy. You live in those worlds. You know the rustle of the heroine's dress, the exact quality of light in a Parisian garret, the specific brand of misery in a clerk's soul. It's not always efficient, but it creates a density of reality that a lot of modern, faster-paced fiction just can't match.
Another trait is the moral weight. Even the funny ones, like Dickens, have this underpinning sense that the story is about something—social injustice, the soul's struggle, the hypocrisy of institutions. It rarely feels like entertainment for entertainment's sake. Sometimes that's heavy-handed, but at its best, it gives the work a spine.