Oliver Twist: Campfire Graphic Novel

Oliver Twist: Campfire Graphic Novel

by Charles Dickens, Rajesh Nagulakonda
     
 

Oliver Twist's life has been a hard and desperate one. With his mother dying during his birth, and having no idea who his father was, Oliver has spent his first nine years struggling to survive in a world that has little pity for a poor orphan such as him.
After Oliver gets involved with the nefarious Fagin and the sinister Bill Sikes, he is wounded during a

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Overview

Oliver Twist's life has been a hard and desperate one. With his mother dying during his birth, and having no idea who his father was, Oliver has spent his first nine years struggling to survive in a world that has little pity for a poor orphan such as him.
After Oliver gets involved with the nefarious Fagin and the sinister Bill Sikes, he is wounded during a burglary. Oliver is rescued by Sikes's intended victims, the young Rose Maylie, and her guardian, Mrs Maylie. At last, the boy finds a loving home and people who care for him.
But how long will Oliver's happiness endure, especially when Fagin begins to conspire with a mysterious stranger with a link to the boy's past?

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"It is no small task to condense one of Dickens's most beloved and frequently retold stories from 400 pages into a mere 88 while maintaining the major plot developments. However, remarkably, this graphic novel version is generally a success. . . . Owing to the minor violence and complexity of Dickens's plot twists, this would be suitable for middle school students who like darker stories; think A Series of Unfortunate Events for older readers." Library Journal

"I highly recommend Campfire’s comics. They do what they are intended to do and do it in  a way that excites kids about classic literature." — Chris Wilson, The Graphic Classroom (a resource for teachers and librarians)
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)
Matt Travers
The countless admirers of Charles Dickens will be delighted by the appearance of this lavishly produced twenty-first century edition of Oliver Twist.

—Matt Travers

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9789380028569
Publisher:
Steerforth Press
Publication date:
08/16/2011
Series:
Campfire Graphic Novels Series
Pages:
88
Sales rank:
443,028
Product dimensions:
10.02(w) x 6.60(h) x 0.22(d)
Age Range:
8 - 12 Years

Read an Excerpt

Oliver Twist

CHAPTER 1

Treats of the Place where Oliver Twist was Born, and of the Circumstances attending his Birth

 

 

 

 

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, it boasts of one which is 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 take upon 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 he 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, being comprised within a couple of pages, that 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 ina 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 his 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 female 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; but 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 frozen for ever. 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 leant 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 thenurse, 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 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 fixed his 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 churchwardens and overseers, perhaps he would have cried the louder.

All new material is copyright © 1998 by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

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Meet the Author

Charles Dickens was born in 1812 near Portsmouth. The Christmas Books was first published in a single volume in 1852, bringing together five stories, which Charles Dickens had written especially for the Christmas season, beginning in 1843 with A Christmas Carol. Over the next three years, Dickens published The Chimes, The Cricket on the Hearth, and The Battle of Life. There was no story in 1847 but a fifth, The Haunted Man, appeared in 1848.

Brief Biography

Date of Birth:
February 7, 1812
Date of Death:
June 18, 1870
Place of Birth:
Portsmouth, England
Place of Death:
Gad's Hill, Kent, England
Education:
Home-schooling; attended Dame School at Chatham briefly and Wellington

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