I read a modern sequel to Oliver Twist, called Dodge & Twist and was bothered by the constant foul language. So, I decided to read the original, to see if there was as much cursing in it.

I was familiar with the story — who isn’t? But I had never read an unabridged version of this before. My father had Classics Illustrated Comics, and I have “read” many of the classics that way, but not many of the originals.

As usually happens when I read the original of one of these great classics, I am amazed at the skill of the author. These have rightly earned their place among the classics, and so-called sequels, written by modern authors, pale by comparison. ( )

The classic tale of the young, poor orphan Oliver Twist and his abuse by the system of support for the poor. I thought this was excellent, though lacking a bit in focus on the title character. Things are done to or for Oliver, he rarely does anything for himself. Still a great read. ( )

Somewhere closer to 3.5 than 4 stars.

It chugged along rather nicely at first, although I didn't like to picture the beatings and starvation too clearly. Certain characters, such as Mr. Bumble in his pomposity, were much more interesting to imagine than pathetic Oliver taking punches. However, once we came to Chapter 15 I almost tossed the book aside because I was so sad and frustrated with what happened. Almost, but I didn't.

I stuck with it through the hard bits, ones that justified the creation of a new adjective to describe the squalor and misery in Mr. Dicken's books, and came out into the sunshine of the happy ending that I knew would be waiting for me, complete with all loose ends tied up and all the villains getting their just rewards. The only real surprise was the murder of Nancy, which I didn't think for a second was going to happen. It wasn't until the final sentence of the chapter, where Bill takes a heavy club and strikes her down, and is named a murderer, that I believed it. Up through the very sentence before that I thought there was going to be a way out for her, or that he would go to the edge of death but not over. Frankly, I didn't think Dickens had it in him to kill off a woman like that. It sounds perverse that this violent death made the book, but it's true. Without Nancy's murder it's a collection of predictable cliches molded around a mildly entertaining plot; with her murder we are reminded that shock and surprise exist, even in a Dickens book. ( )

This was merely intended as a tribute to the animal's abilities, but it was an appropriate remark in another sense, if Master Bates had only known it; for there are a good many ladies and gentlemen, claiming to be out-and-out Christians, between whom, and Mr. Sikes's dog, there exist strong and singular points of resemblance.

"Only me, Bill; only me, my dear'" said the Jew looking in.
"Bring in your body then," said Sikes.
"Lie down, you stupid brute! Don't you know the devil when he's got a great-coat on?"

"Anti-porochial weather this, ma'am. (Mr. Bumble)

The sharp wind that scoured the streets, seemed to have cleared them of passengers, as of dust and mud, for few people were abroad, and they were to all appearance hastening fast home.

The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of pity and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and affection he had never known. Thus, a strain of gentle music, or the rippling of water in a silent place, or the odour of a flower, or the mention of a familiar word, will sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes that never were, in his life; which vanish like a breath; which some brief memory of a happier existence, long gone by, would seem to have awakened; which no voluntary exertion of the mind can ever recall.

Oh! if when we oppress and grind our fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one thought on the dark evidences of human error, which, like dense and heavy clouds, are rising, slowly it is true, but not less surely, to Heaven, to pour their after-vengeance on our heads; if we heard but one instant, in imagination, the deep testimony of dead's men voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride shut out; where would be the injury and injustice, the suffering, misery, cruelty, and wrong, that each day's life brings with it!

It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening. The clouds, which had been threatening all day, spread out in a dense and sluggish mass of vapour, already yielded large drops of rain, and seemed to presage a violent thunder-storm.

The heavy bell of St. Paul's tolled for the death of another day. Midnight had come upon the crowded city. The palace, the night-cellar, the jail, the madhouse: the chambers of birth and death, of health and sickness, the rigid face of the corpse and the calm sleep of the child: midnight was upon them all.

"Good boy, Charley - well done - " he (Fagin) mumbled.
"Oliver, too, ha! ha! ha! Oliver too - quite the gentleman now - quite the - take that boy away to bed!"

Beyond good or (and) evil: Oliver Twist.

Social Darwinism: intelligence is mostly determined by biology rather than by environmental influences. ( )

Dickens's second novel was quite an improvement over his first.

I find myself comparing Dickens and Hardy a lot, and I've realized that one of the best comparisons of the two is this: Dickens's novels are filled with beneficent coincidences, Hardy's with tragic. Which is more true to life? Anyone who knows me will know my opinion. ;) ( )