'Oliver Twist' by Charles Dickens

The story of Oliver Twist - orphaned, and set upon by evil and adversity from his first breath - shocked readers when it was published. After running away from the workhouse and pompous beadle Mr Bumble, Oliver finds himself lured into a den of thieves peopled by vivid and memorable characters - the Artful Dodger, vicious burglar Bill Sikes, his dog Bull's Eye, and prostitute Nancy, all watched over by cunning master-thief Fagin. Combining elements of Gothic Romance, the Newgate Novel and popular melodrama, Dickens created an entirely new kind of fiction, scathing in its indictment of a cruel society, and pervaded by an unforgettable sense of threat and mystery.

MY THOUGHTS:

I was left so gloomy and irritated by my recent reading of Dombey and Son that I didn't dare choose another of Dickens' less renowned books yet. I wanted to follow that facepalm with something certain to hit my sweet spot. What better than a scathing indictment of society that delighted the public enough to be taken on stage with a stellar musical score all of its own? Even my Year 7 class put on a great production of 'Oliver!' based on the 1968 film. I wasn't in it because I joined the school after the cast had already been chosen. That made me really sad, but I have strong memories of those days and decided it was high time I actually read the book. 

Poor little Oliver's anonymous mother gives birth to him in a workhouse and dies. He's assigned a random name by Mr Bumble the Beadle (who is up to T for Twist) and thrown upon the hypocritical mercy of charity. Behind the scenes, Oliver's parents were, of course, real people with complex histories. But since nobody knows, he's treated like the dregs of society in an institution where inmates are exploited and starved. 

Severely punished for his unprecedented nerve to ask for more gruel, Oliver is apprenticed to Mr Sowerberry the undertaker where he's bullied by cowardly fellow-apprentice, Noah Claypole. Finally Oliver trudges his own way to London, and becomes the oblivious target of creepy old Fagin and the gang of little boys he's training to become criminals. What's more, a vindictive face from Oliver's past (or rather, his parents' pasts) is out to get him. What chance does an innocent boy have with sneaky undesirables hemming him in from multiple directions?  

Charles Dickens wasn't an old guy when he wrote this book. I think an image of the bearded, mature author of classics gets stuck in our heads. This was only his second book and he was 25 years old, surely still in touch with how young boys think. His wistful and sensitive Oliver, forever coming head on with the seamier side of society, is captivating and convincing. But so is the street-smart and super-precocious 'Artful Dodger' who carries off the slick mannerisms of a grown man in his too-big clothes; and his sidekick, the easily amused Charley (aka Master Bates!) The obnoxious, tough-talking Noah with the heart of a chicken is pretty memorable too.

But it impresses me even more that such a youthful Dickens conjured up with his pen such unforgettably shady characters from the underworld, including the villainous Monks, who would've been of a similar age to himself. And don't get me started on the infamous Bill Sikes with his serious anger management issues. 

The sticky problem of Fagin became awkward for Dickens. Even though the young author was not writing for such a reactive woke culture as ours, he still faced shouts of 'Anti-Semitism' which apparently surprised him. But it's no wonder! I didn't count them, but it's clear that the rascal is referred to as 'the Jew' far more than his actual name. (My Google search reveals that in the first 38 chapters alone, Fagin is referred to as 'the Jew' 257 times, as opposed to a mere 42 for 'Fagin' and 'the old man' combined.) I believe Dickens re-issued a later edition where he weeded some out, but it was a case of too little, too late. That designation (the Jew) is bandied around so often it does merge with the villainy and repulsiveness of Fagin's character, which is sometimes likened to Satan himself. Especially how he creeps around like some hideous lizard from the gutter calling everyone, 'My dear.' And if you've seen the musical, do you remember him crooning to his young protėgės that they've 'got to pick a pocket or two'? The guy is so abhorrent, he's a legend.  

About 25 years down the track when Dickens wrote Our Mutual Friend, he created Mr Riah, a noble-hearted hero of the Jewish faith. If that was an olive branch to make up for Fagin, I wonder if it worked. 

Here, I believe, is the power that drives this story. Dickens reveals two parallel universes within one geographical location, Victorian London. There is the gentle, lovely respectable world inhabited by the likes of Mr Brownlow and the Maylies. This is heaven itself to Oliver, 'after the noise and turbulence in the midst of which he had always lived.' Juxtaposed against this is the harsh and sordid abyss of iniquity which is anathema to Oliver, but a trap for all who dip their toes in, however unwittingly. Dickens makes it clear that nobody can hope to hop over in an upward direction. Oliver, aged 11, is swallowed by the dark side, who refuse to relinquish him.

That is where the awesome Nancy, former girl pupil of Fagin's, steps in. There are strong hints that she's a prostitute, although Dickens never states it outright. This young woman feels that her own case is too far gone, but resolves to be a bridge for Oliver, whatever it may take. Whoa, she's earned herself the right to be the first heroine who springs to our collective minds whenever anyone mentions this book. Dickens loved the sweet and principled Rose Maylie. She was believed to be modeled on his own beloved sister-in-law Mary Hogarth, who passed away while he was writing it. Yet I'll bet the general public embrace the conflicted character of Nancy, that bad girl with her tragic brand of thief's honour. 

I do love this book. It's up among my favourite Victorian novels, and only just slips in to the early end of that era too. It was first published in monthly installments between February 1837, the year Victoria ascended the throne, and April 1839. The cops who pound on the derelict warehouse door toward the end of the story demand the gang to, 'Open up, in the name of the King.' They're evidently referring to King William IV, who died in 1837. So although Oliver the book squeezes into the Victorian era, Oliver the story pre-dates it just a little. 

I guess it set a high bar for all Victorian novels yet to come. It's so satisfying when Oliver finally gets a break. How much horror can one young boy take? The astounding coincidences we're bombarded with at the end are all part of the fun. Dickens could probably get away with them then because the magazine subscribers he was writing for relished that neat sense of loose ends being tied up. And he gets away with them now because he's Dickens and that's his trademark.

 If I'd been a reader from that time period, I would've echoed right back at Dickens the iconic words of his title character. 'Please sir, I want some more.' 

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