Oliver Twist

Oliver Twist

4.3 299
by Charles Dickens

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Oliver nace y crece en un orfanato parroquial. Con nueve años es enviado a trabajar en una funeraria. Huye y cae en un grupo de ladronzuelos callejeros dirigidos por Fagin, un judío usurero, y unidos a un delincuente violento de nombre Sikes.

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Oliver nace y crece en un orfanato parroquial. Con nueve años es enviado a trabajar en una funeraria. Huye y cae en un grupo de ladronzuelos callejeros dirigidos por Fagin, un judío usurero, y unidos a un delincuente violento de nombre Sikes.

Editorial Reviews

School Library Journal
Gr6–8—A graphic retelling of the classic, Great Expectations is rushed, confusing, and an unpleasant read. At times it is difficult to tell the characters apart, mainly because of the lack of depth in the secondary players, and because the artwork is flat and impassive. The plot is without focus, so struggling readers will have an issue with continuity. Oliver Twist has similar problems. The flow is choppy, characterization is nonexistent, and the compression of the story line adds to the confusion. The artwork, black-and-white rough sketching, is inconsistent. Panels range from clean and distinct to dark and busy. As in the first book, some characters are indistinguishable from page to page. The combination of story and artwork will not create new fans of graphic novels.—Mariela Siegert, Westfield Middle School, Bloomingdale, IL
Publishers Weekly
The inimitable Martin Jarvis brings his talents to bear on Charles Dickens's classic in an audiobook that will delight listeners with its superb recreations of gritty 19th-century London. To escape Mr. Bumble and life in the workhouse, Oliver flees to London where he meets the Artful Dodger and becomes embroiled with Fagin's ragtag band of thieves. Jarvis simply dazzles: his performance captures both the humor and sorrow of the text, his narration is crisp, and his characterizations--his rendition of the terrifying district magistrate, Mr. Fang, is particularly memorable--are as varied as they are energetic, befitting, and enjoyable. (June)
From the Publisher
"Narrator Simon Vance raises a banner that announces a once-in-a-lifetime performance that exquisitely matches narrator and text. Vance has a mellifluous English voice, an engaging tone, and marvelous diction." ---AudioFile

Product Details

Worth Press Ltd
Publication date:

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Oliver Twist

By Charles Dickens


Copyright © 2015 Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0555-5


AMONG OTHER PUBLIC BUILDINGS in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.

For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration,—a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.

As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated the words, 'Let me see the child, and die.'

The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire: giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said, with more kindness than might have been expected of him:

'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'

'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.

'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better than to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be a mother, there's a dear young lamb do.'

Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched out her hand towards the child.

The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back—and died. They chafed her breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.

'It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy!' said the surgeon at last.

'Ah, poor dear, so it is!' said the nurse, picking up the cork of the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to take up the child. 'Poor dear!'

'You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,' said the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. 'It's very likely it will be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is.' He put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to the door, added, 'She was a good-looking girl, too; where did she come from?'

'She was brought here last night,' replied the old woman, 'by the overseer's order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came from, or where she was going to, nobody knows.'

The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. 'The old story,' he said, shaking his head: 'no wedding-ring, I see. Ah! Good-night!'

The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having once more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low chair before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.

What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have assigned him his proper station in society. But now that he was enveloped in the old calico robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once—a parish child—the orphan of a workhouse—the humble, half-starved drudge—to be cuffed and buffeted through the world—despised by all, and pitied by none.

Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan, left to the tender mercies of church-wardens and overseers, perhaps he would have cried the louder.


FOR THE NEXT EIGHT or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematic course of treachery and deception. He was brought up by hand. The hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then domiciled in 'the house' who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist, the consolation and nourishment of which he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with humility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities magnanimously and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be 'farmed,' or, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch-workhouse some three miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the parental superintendence of an elderly female, who received the culprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week. Sevenpence-halfpenny's worth per week is a good round diet for a child; a great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny, quite enough to overload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was a woman of wisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children; and she had a very accurate perception of what was good for herself. So, she appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own use, and consigned the rising parochial generation to even a shorter allowance than was originally provided for them. Thereby finding in the lowest depth a deeper still; and proving herself a very great experimental philosopher.

Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who had a great theory about a horse being able to live without eating, and who demonstrated it so well, that he had got his own horse down to a straw a day, and would unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and rampacious animal on nothing at all, if he had not died, four-and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately for, the experimental philosophy of the female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, a similar result usually attended the operation of her system; for at the very moment when the child had contrived to exist upon the smallest possible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen in eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from want and cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got half-smothered by accident; in any one of which cases, the miserable little being was usually summoned into another world, and there gathered to the fathers it had never known in this.

Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting inquest upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead, or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to be a washing—though the latter accident was very scarce, anything approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm—the jury would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions, or the parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a remonstrance. But these impertinences were speedily checked by the evidence of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former of whom had always opened the body and found nothing inside (which was very probable indeed), and the latter of whom invariably swore whatever the parish wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides, the board made periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle the day before, to say they were going. The children were neat and clean to behold, when they went; and what more would the people have!

It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist's ninth birthday found him a pale thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and decidedly small in circumference. But nature or inheritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver's breast. It had had plenty of room to expand, thanks to the spare diet of the establishment; and perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any ninth birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it was his ninth birthday; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select party of two other young gentleman, who, after participating with him in a sound thrashing, had been locked up for atrociously presuming to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house, was unexpectedly startled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle, striving to undo the wicket of the garden-gate.

'Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?' said Mrs. Mann, thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joy. '(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats upstairs, and wash 'em directly.)—My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you, surely!'

Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead of responding to this openhearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he gave the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a kick which could have emanated from no leg but a beadle's.

'Lor, only think,' said Mrs. Mann, running out,—for the three boys had been removed by this time,—'only think of that! That I should have forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account of them dear children! Walk in sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do, sir.'

Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might have softened the heart of a church-warden, it by no means mollified the beadle.

'Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,' inquired Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, 'to keep the parish officers a waiting at your garden-gate, when they come here upon porochial business with the porochial orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?'

'I'm sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the dear children as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,' replied Mrs. Mann with great humility.

Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He relaxed.

'Well, well, Mrs. Mann,' he replied in a calmer tone; 'it may be as you say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on business, and have something to say.'

Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor; placed a seat for him; and officiously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced complacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men: and Mr. Bumble smiled.

'Now don't you be offended at what I'm a going to say,' observed Mrs. Mann, with captivating sweetness. 'You've had a long walk, you know, or I wouldn't mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of somethink, Mr. Bumble?'

'Not a drop. Nor a drop,' said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a dignified, but placid manner.

'I think you will,' said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. 'Just a leetle drop, with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar.'

Mr. Bumble coughed.

'Now, just a leetle drop,' said Mrs. Mann persuasively.

'What is it?' inquired the beadle.

'Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put into the blessed infants' Daffy, when they ain't well, Mr. Bumble,' replied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a bottle and glass. 'It's gin. I'll not deceive you, Mr. B. It's gin.'

'Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?' inquired Bumble, following with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.

'Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is,' replied the nurse. 'I couldn't see 'em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.'

'No'; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; 'no, you could not. You are a humane woman, Mrs. Mann.' (Here she set down the glass.) 'I shall take a early opportunity of mentioning it to the board, Mrs. Mann.' (He drew it towards him.) 'You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann.' (He stirred the gin-and-water.) 'I—I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann'; and he swallowed half of it.

'And now about business,' said the beadle, taking out a leathern pocket-book. 'The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine year old to-day.'

'Bless him!' interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of her apron.

'And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish,' said Bumble, 'we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what was his mother's settlement, name, or condition.'

Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment's reflection, 'How comes he to have any name at all, then?'

The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, 'I inwented it.'

'You, Mr. Bumble!'

'I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last was a S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named him. The next one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z.'

'Why, you're quite a literary character, sir!' said Mrs. Mann.

'Well, well,' said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; 'perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.' He finished the gin-and-water, and added, 'Oliver being now too old to remain here, the board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let me see him at once.'

'I'll fetch him directly,' said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent protectress.

'Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,' said Mrs. Mann.

Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair, and the cocked hat on the table.


Excerpted from Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. Copyright © 2015 Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Oliver Twist 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 299 reviews.
Kelli Remley More than 1 year ago
This version is only the first half of the book, I believe.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The book Oliver Twist written by Charles Dickens was very good. During the first semester of history I learned about the industrial revolution. Many children had to work long hours in factories or workhouses. The conditions were really bad. Oliver had to work in the workhouse from the time he was very young. I feel that it was unjust and cruel to make a little child work in a workhouse at such a young age. The children suffered greatly because food was scarce and also the work hours were so harsh it caused the children to become very weak and sick. The relationship between Oliver and Dodger is very strong. I think even though Dodger is a bad boy he is a good friend to Oliver. Dodger's personality is good though. He is very friendly and is a brother figure to Oliver. Oliver needs a friend like that because he an orphan, has been through a lot of harsh times working and living at the workhouse, and never met his family before. I also liked the plot of the story. Oliver is on a search to find his family with the help of the locket that his mother left for him after she gave birth to him. Oliver's persistent personality helps him through out the journey. He meets many various people that affect his life forever. For example, Dodger. I recommend this book to anyone that likes a book with suspense and a hint of history. I personally liked the book because I read it after I knew some information on the industrial revolution when this book takes place. The book made a lot of sense to me because I had a lot of knowledge of the industrial revolution and about the time period when the book takes place.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This story is about a young boy named Oliver Twist born in a work house in the mid 1800's. A work house is like todays orphange. This work house was very dirty and their was never enough to eat. Oliver is just a shy boy who can not take the harsh conditions of the work house. Oliver runs to London only to fall in with a croud of a youth pickpocket gang led by the crimnal Mr. Fagin. Oliver befriends some one in the gang, and finds his true identity, and gets his long over due inhairtence. This book is a classic Dickens book filled with action and suspence. I would give it 4 stars.
xMissMelaniex More than 1 year ago
My second Dickens work was not quite the ecstatic experience my first was, but it was still amazing. He does have a different sentence structure and they do tend to run on, but when you're done and you reflect on what you just read ... it was well worth the effort!
ericho More than 1 year ago
A young orphan born into a cruel world. Abused and mistreated by all of his peers, yet innocent at heart. Through good will the orphan finally finds his place in society, being accepted into his dream family. Sound a bit cliche? It should since this is a very common theme and plot that is present in many stories and novels. Although Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens, has the same cliche plot, it offers so much more through Dickens' mastery of the English language and his effectiveness at writing with it. In the book, Dickens vividly portrays nineteenth century London and the harsh conditions that the majority of the population have to endure. At first, it was somewhat difficult to comprehend Dickens' writing style, but as I became more familiar with it, it started to become easier to understand. The book starts with Oliver's birth in a child labor workhouse. Unfortunately Oliver's mother dies shortly after giving birth and Oliver is left in the care of the caretakers of the workhouse. Oliver is forced to work for the undertakers for the good majority of his childhood, but after his famous, "Please may I have some more," line, he is traded away by the workhouse for his rebellion. From there, he is apprenticed by a coffin maker. After being provoked into a fight with another apprentice, Oliver leaves and is eventually picked up by a pick-pocketing gang in London. From there the plot thickens, more conflicts arise, and poor Oliver is caught between everything. Despite this, Oliver eventually receives the happy ending he deserves.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I had been for a long time having an obsession with the movie musical Oliver!. I have been enjoying the film (and I don't care about all the nasty things that people say about it) and my mother went out and got me a copy of the book because she knew how much I love the musical. Because the print in my paperback copy was very difficult to read, I ended up getting the nook edition. I've fallen in love with the story, and it bears a close resmblance to it's musical adaption. It's defintely worth the time it may take you to read it, and is a true classic. It is one of the many stories that has increased my love of Charles Dickens's works.
Pills More than 1 year ago
This was one of the books that I missed in my earlier days and always felt that I should read. It was surprisingly a quick read with fabulous plot and character developement. I would love to read more Dickens in the future.
Al_Azar More than 1 year ago
I read this book a long time ago and I love if it. The story was awesome and extremly entertaining.
Baldy1Cotton More than 1 year ago
Charles Dickens writing style is so human, it reads as though it was written recently. You can almost feel every pain that Oliver feels. I've read it many times.
ECornett More than 1 year ago
Oliver Twist is a complex story about a young boy who tries to find his place in this world. He wanders into sticky situations along the way, including a pick pocketer, bad adoptive parents and he had to walk 26 miles in three days to find salvation. Through his journey, Oliver runs into a wise little street tough who has knowledge about the big city, while beforehand being starved and mistreated by his previously adopted parent. I recommend this riviating tale to anyone who is a fan of Charles Dickens or a reader with a taste for high vocabulary.
Mel111 More than 1 year ago
I love this book! I'm trying to catch up on some classics that I never read in school and this is one of my favorites so far. The ultimate "down on his luck" kind of book, it has so much more than the movie/tv versions. You really get to know the characters so well. Dickens has a way of painting a picture with his words that makes it seem like you're right there with Oliver, through his pain and his joys, his highs and lows, his triumphs and failures. I felt I was whisked away to 18th century London and not shown the upper class fiction, but the real underside of the city that is rarely shown. The people and places described in this book will stay with you for a very long time! And even though there is an epilogue of sorts, it left me wanting much, much more.
Anonymous 4 months ago
I really liek dis book!!! it's one of those "must read" books, ya know? I also have read the revised version for young readers, which btw if u read it you won't be able to stop reading it, trust me i know!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Arrg! Volume two of three! The book is good but i am dissappointed that it is not the whole book
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