by Terry Pratchett


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Beloved and bestselling author Sir Terry Pratchett's Dodger, a Printz Honor Book, combines high comedy with deep wisdom in a tale of one remarkable boy's rise in a fantasy-infused Victorian London.

Seventeen-year-old Dodger is content as a sewer scavenger. But he enters a new world when he rescues a young girl from a beating, and her fate impacts some of the most powerful people in England.

From Dodger's encounter with the mad barber Sweeney Todd, to his meetings with the great writer Charles Dickens and the calculating politician Benjamin Disraeli, history and fantasy intertwine in a breathtaking account of adventure and mystery.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780062009517
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 09/24/2013
Pages: 368
Sales rank: 138,243
Product dimensions: 5.31(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.83(d)
Lexile: 1210L (what's this?)
Age Range: 13 Years

About the Author

Sir Terry Pratchett was the internationally bestselling author of more than thirty books, including his phenomenally successful Discworld series. His young adult novel, The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, won the Carnegie Medal, and Where's My Cow?, his Discworld book for “readers of all ages,” was a New York Times bestseller. His novels have sold more than seventy five million (give or take a few million) copies worldwide. Named an Officer of the British Empire “for services to literature,” Pratchett lived in England. He died in 2015 at the age of sixty-six.


Salisbury, Wiltshire, England

Date of Birth:

April 28, 1948

Place of Birth:

Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, England


Four honorary degrees in literature from the universities of Portsmouth, Bristol, Bath and Warwick

Read an Excerpt


By Terry Pratchett

HarperCollins Publishers

Copyright © 2012 Terry Pratchett
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-06-200949-4



In which we meet our hero and the hero meets an orphan of the storm and comes face to face with Mister Charlie, a gentleman known as a bit of a scribbler.

The rain poured down on London so hard that it seemed that it was dancing spray, every raindrop contending with its fellows for supremacy in the air and waiting to splash down. It was a deluge. The drains and sewers were overflowing throwing up—regurgitating, as it were—the debris of muck, slime, and filth, the dead dogs, the dead rats, cats, and worse; bringing back up to the world of men all those things that they thought they had left behind them; jostling and gurgling and hurrying toward the overflowing and always hospitable River Thames; bursting its banks, bubbling and churning like some nameless soup boiling in a dreadful cauldron; the river itself gasping like a dying fish. But those in the know always said about the London rain that, try as it might, it would never, ever clean that noisome city, because all it did was show you another layer of dirt. And on this dirty night there were appropriately dirty deeds that not even the rain could wash away.

A fancy two-horse coach wallowed its way along the street, some piece of metal stuck near an axle causing it to be heralded by a scream. And indeed there was a scream, a human scream this time, as the coach door was flung open and a figure tumbled out into the gushing gutter, which tonight was doing the job of a fountain. Two other figures sprang from the coach, cursing in language that was as colorful as the night was dark and even dirtier. In the downpour, fitfully lit by the lightning, the first figure tried to escape but tripped, fell, and was leaped upon, with a cry that was hardly to be heard in all the racket, but which was almost supernaturally counterpointed by the grinding of iron, as a drain cover nearby was pushed open to reveal a struggling and skinny young man who moved with the speed of a snake.

"You let that girl alone!" he shouted.

There was a curse in the dark and one of the assailants fell backward with his legs kicked from under him. The youth was no heavyweight but somehow he was everywhere, throwing blows - blows that were augmented by a pair of brass knuckles, always a helpmeet for the outnumbered. Outnumbered one to two as it were, the assailants took to their heels while the youth followed, raining blows. But it was London and it was raining and it was dark, and they were dodging into alleys and side streets, frantically trying to catch up with their coach, so that he lost them, and the apparition from the depths of the sewers turned around and headed back to the stricken girl at greyhound speed.

He kneeled down, and to his surprise she grabbed him by the collar and whispered in what he considered to be foreigner English, "They want to take me back - please help me...." The lad sprang to his feet, his eyes all suspicion. On this stormy night of stormy nights, it was opportune then that two men who themselves knew something about the dirt of London were walking, or rather, wading, along this street, hurrying home with hats pulled down - which was a nice try but simply didn't work, because in this torrent it seemed that the bouncing water was coming as much from below as it was from above. Lightning struck again, and one of them said, "Is that someone lying in the gutter there?" The lightning presumably heard, because it sliced down again and revealed a shape, a mound, a person as far as these men could see.

"Good heavens, Charlie, it's a girl! Soaked to the skin and thrown into the gutter, I imagine," said one of them. "Come on...."

"Hey you, what are you a-doing, mister?!"

By the light of a pub window that could barely show you the darkness, the aforesaid Charlie and his friend saw the face of a boy who looked like a young lad no more than seventeen years old but who seemed to have the voice of a man. A man, moreover, who was prepared to take on both of them, to the death. Anger steamed off him in the rain and he wielded a long piece of metal. He carried on, "I know your sort, oh yes I do! Coming down here chasing the skirt, making a mockery of decent girls, blimey! Desperate, weren't you, to be out on a night such as this!"

The man who wasn't called Charlie straightened up. "Now see here, you. I object most strongly to your wretched allegation. We are respectable gentlemen who, I might add, work quite hard to better the fortunes of such poor wretched girls and, indeed, by the look of it, those such as yourself!"

The scream of rage from the boy was sufficiently loud that the doors of the nearby pub swung open, causing smoky orange light to illuminate the ever present rain. "So that's what you call it, is it, you smarmy old gits!"

The boy swung his homemade weapon, but the man called Charlie caught it and dropped it behind him, then grabbed the boy and held him by the scruff of his neck. "Mister Mayhew and myself are decent citizens, young man, and as such we surely feel it is our duty to take this young lady somewhere away from harm." Over his shoulder he said, "Your place is closest, Henry. Do you think your wife would object to receiving a needy soul for one night? I wouldn't like to see a dog out on a night such as this."

Henry, now clutching the young woman, nodded. "Do you mean two dogs, by any chance?"

The struggling boy took immediate offense at this, and with a snakelike movement was out of the grip of Charlie and once again spoiling for a fight. "I ain't no dog, you nobby sticks, nor ain't she! We have our pride, you know. I make my own way, I does, all kosher, straight up!"

The man called Charlie lifted the boy up by the scruff of his neck so that they were face-to-face. "My, I admire your attitude, young man, but not your common sense!" he said quietly. "And mark you, this young lady is in a bad way.

Surely you can see that. My friend's house is not too far away from here, and since you have set yourself up as her champion and protector, why then, I invite you to follow us there and witness that she will have the very best of treatment that we can afford, do you hear me? What is your name, mister? And before you tell it to me, I invite you to believe that you are not the only person who cares about a young lady in dire trouble on this dreadful night. So, my boy, what is your name?"

The boy must have picked up a tone in Charlie's voice, because he said, "I'm Dodger - that's what they call me, on account I'm never there, if you see what I mean? Everybody in all the boroughs knows Dodger."

"Well, then," said Charlie. "Now we have met you and joined that august company, we must see if we can come to an understanding during this little odyssey, man to man." He straightened up and went on, "Let us move, Henry, to your house and as soon as possible, because I fear this unfortunate girl needs all the help we can give her. And you, my lad, do you know this young lady?"

He let go of the boy, who took a few steps backward. "No, guv'nor, never seen her before in my life, God's truth, and I know everybody on the street. Just another runaway, happens all the time, so it does; it don't bear thinking about."

"Am I to believe, Mister Dodger, that you, not knowing this unfortunate woman, nevertheless sprang to her defense like a true Galahad?"

Dodger suddenly looked very wary. "I might be, I might not. What's it to you, anyway? And who the hell is this Galahad cove?"

Charlie and Henry made a cradle with their arms to carry the woman. As they set off, Charlie said over his shoulder, "You have no idea what I just said, do you, Mister Dodger? But Galahad was a famous hero.... Never mind—you just follow us, like the knight in soaking armor that you are, and you will see fair play for this damsel, get a good meal, and, let me see ..." Coins jingled in the darkness. "Yes, two shillings, and if you do come, you will perhaps improve your chances of Heaven, which, if I am any judge, is not a place that often concerns you. Understand? Do we have an accord?

Very well."

Twenty minutes later Dodger was sitting close to the fire in the kitchen of a house, not a grand house as such, but nevertheless much grander than most buildings he went into legally; there were much grander buildings that he had been into illegally, but he never spent very much time in them, often leaving with a considerable amount of haste. Honestly, the number of dogs people had these days was a damn scandal, so it was, and they would set them on a body without warning, so he had always been speedy. But here, oh yes, here there was meat and potatoes, carrots too, but not, alas, any beer. In the kitchen he had been given a glass of warm milk that was nearly fresh. Mrs. Quickly the cook was watching him like a hawk and had already locked away the cutlery, but apart from that it seemed to be a pretty decent crib, although there had been a certain amount of what you might call words from the missus of Mister Henry to her husband on the subject of bringing home waifs and strays at this time of night. It seemed to Dodger, who paid a great deal of forensic attention to all he could see and hear, that this was by no means the first time that she had cause for complaint; she sounded like someone trying hard to conceal that they were really fed up and trying to put a brave face on it. But nevertheless, Dodger had certainly had his meal (and that was the important thing), the wife and a maid had bustled off with the girl, and now ... someone was coming down the stairs to the kitchen.

It was Charlie, and Charlie bothered Dodger. Henry seemed like one of them do-gooders who felt guilty about having money and food when other people did not; Dodger knew the type. He, personally, was not bothered about having money when other people didn't, but when you lived a life like his, Dodger found that being generous when in funds, and being a cheerful giver, was a definite insurance. You needed friends - friends were the kind of people who would say: "Dodger? Never heard of 'im, never clapped eyes on 'im, guv'nor! You must be thinking of some other cove" - because you had to live as best you could in the city and you had to be sharp and wary and on your toes every moment of the day if you wanted to stay alive.

He stayed alive because he was the Dodger, smart and fast. He knew everybody and everybody knew him. He had never, ever, been before the beak, he could outrun the fastest Bow Street runner, and now that they had all been found out and replaced, he could outrun every peeler as well. They couldn't arrest you unless they put a hand on you, and nobody ever managed to touch Dodger.

No, Henry was no problem, but Charlie - now, oh yes, Charlie - he looked the type who would look at a body and see right inside you. Charlie, Dodger considered, might well be a dangerous cove, a gentleman who knew the ins and outs of the world and could see through flannel and soft words to what you were thinking, which was dangerous indeed. Here he was now, the man himself, coming downstairs escorted by the jingling of coins.

Charlie nodded at the cook, who was cleaning up, and sat down on the bench by Dodger, who had to slide over a bit to make room.

"Well now, Dodger, wasn't it?" he said. "I am sure you will be very happy to know that the young lady you helped us with is safe and sleeping in a warm bed after some stitches and some physic from the doctor. Alas, I wish I could say the same for her unborn child, which did not survive this dreadful escapade."

Child! The word hit Dodger like a blackjack, and unlike a blackjack it kept on going. A child - and for the rest of the conversation the word was there, hanging at the edge of his sight and not letting him go. Aloud he said, "I didn't know." "Indeed, I'm sure you didn't," said Charlie. "In the dark it was just one more dreadful crime, which without doubt was just one among many this night; you know that, Dodger, and so do I. But this one had the temerity to take place in front of me, and so I feel I would like to do a little police work, without, as it were, involving the police, who I suspect in this case would not have very much success."

Charlie's face was unreadable, even to Dodger, who was very, very good at reading faces. Solemnly, the man went on, "I wonder if those gentlemen you met who were harassing her knew about the child; perhaps we shall never find out, or perhaps we shall." And there it was; that little word "shall" was a knife, straining to cut away until it hit enlightenment. Charlie's face stayed totally blank. "I wonder if any other gentleman was aware of the fact, and therefore, sir, here for you are your two shillings - plus one more, if you were to answer a few questions for me in the hope of getting to the bottom of this strange occurrence."

Dodger looked at the coins. "What sort of questions would they be, then?" Dodger lived in a world where nobody asked questions apart from: "How much?" and "What's in it for me?" And he knew, actually knew, that Charlie knew this too. Charlie continued. "Can you read and write, Mister Dodger?"

Excerpted from Dodger by Terry Pratchett. Copyright © 2012 by Terry Pratchett. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
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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Dodger 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 58 reviews.
Wordmistress More than 1 year ago
While it is different from Sir Terry's other fiction, this book enamored me from the first chapter. It is a most literate, fascinating, and wonderful! historical fantasy story, set in early Victorian London, with Charles Dickens as one of the main characters. I cannot recommend it highly enough. I admit to reading his acknowledgments at the end of the book first, which helped give the narrative much more meaning to me. One ought not let the fact that Dodger is not set in Discworld dissuade you from getting this book immediately. It is Fine Literature of the highest degree. Enjoy! ;-)
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is another if Terrys works where the leading characters have won me over with their mischevious personalities and sharp wit. Quitr happy to have this in my collection
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I am a relative newcomer to Sir Terry's catalogue, having consumed the Discworld ouevre in about six months a couple years ago. I was delighted with the other works later, but I would never have categorized any in the absolute top tier of literary work. Entirely enjoyable, yes - nearly, but not classic. Dodger, on the other hand, surpasses the rest of his previous output. This novel should be held up as one of the works taught in advanced high school literature classes. It has it all. It is a seminar in novel writing. You MUST read this book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Terry Pratchett once again charms and delights - this time with an historical fantasy that weaves Victorian London, Charles Dickens and Sweeney Todd (just to mention a few) all through the eyes of that charming rogue the Artful Dodger. Once again Mr. Pratchett comes through with a treet not to be missed. I know this is one I'll enjoy again and again.
MikeS More than 1 year ago
The idea about a work on the true Dodger of Dickens fame and the fact this was a period piece drew me to this work. Parts of it were interesting. Parts suspended belief. Parts were predictable. Parts were bizarre. The involvement of various historical characters was okay, added a little to the story, but added to the disbelief on some levels. The elements I liked were the description of Victorian England, the prose, and presentation of the different treatment and attitudes related to class. The parts that were difficult to accept, even knowing this was a work of fiction, involved the developing relationship between a sewer dweller and a "semi-royal", and the constant stream of "fortuitious" circumstances and successful outcomes based in part on the naievete of players.. If Mr. Dodger lived today he would be a consistent lottery winner given the luck described. The prose is quite good. The pace of the book is a little formal, consistent with the pace found in many novels of the era. It isn't high on my recommended list, but it isn't a bottom feeder either.
celda1997 More than 1 year ago
Very interesting, conceptually, and executed with the flair that i have come to expect from Sir Terry's work over the years. I have always enjoyed his young adult titles as much as his adult fiction.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Some of the slang gets you, but overall, a wonderfully witty read with smart characters you can care about.
discworldfan More than 1 year ago
I have loved all of T Pratchett's work. This one set in England during the time of Charles Dickens is no exception. It abounds in wit, colorful characters and dialect, twist and turns. The plot is an old one, boy saves girl and finds out he is a better man for it. But it is fresh told with Pratchet's style and humor. Sutiable for all ages. Loved it. Hazar
MellowD More than 1 year ago
Pratchett is my all-time-ever favorite author and this book did not disappoint. I simply love Dodger and hope to read more of his life in the future.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Enjoyable read
TheLiteraryPhoenix More than 1 year ago
Dodger isn't a hero, but sometimes a young man finds himself in a circumstance where he must act heroically. This is case when he comes across a young woman being beaten in the streets of London. Chasing off the villains with a trusty crowbar, Dodger not only saves the young lady's life, but becomes entangled in a rescue and plot to protect this nameless noblewoman from her evil husband and avoid starting a war. He is joined by a cast of characters (both historical and fiction), including Charles Dickens, or "Charlie". To be honest? I was a bit bored with this book. Dodger takes everything easily, with a grain of salt, and thus nothing seems very exciting. He's the sort of person you'd really like in a tough situation, but as a protagonist, things seemed to dawdle on. I think his strongest moment was near the end of the book in the sewers while he was preparing the cover-up. As for the supporting characters, they're hit-or-miss. I find Charlie and Simplicity boring as well, but Solomon was an interesting character. I do believe it is worth mentioning that Solomon is Jewish, but not the best practitioner. He is a kind person, and a strict negotiator... which is not an insult, but it is a stereotype. I was a bit disappointed that Pratchett decided to use this character trait for him. Terry Pratchett is known for his Discworld novels (which are loads of fun) and his stand-alones don't get a lot of attention. Dodger is historical fiction, and as such, is not as funny, remarkable, or magical as some of her other books. I found that this particular novel was reminiscent of the Night's Watch line of his Discworld novels. The beginning of the book is written in a similar way to a collection of related short stories as we follow Dodger around the city. There is a scene with Sweeney Todd in the middle of the book, which I thought was a really good interpretation of the character. Pratchett takes a good twist on the character's murderous instincts, one which has nothing to do with meat pies. I won't spoil it! It ends up being a turning point in the story and in Dodger as a character, not to mention a fun tidbit. While I will still read Pratchett's books, Dodger wasn't for me, even though I like historical fiction. I felt like it was very flat. His writing style can feel a bit flat in the Discworld novels as well, except there is a lot more humor in those and I remember them more fondly. That said, I do think that most fans of Pratchett would really enjoy this book, because it is another piece of his work, and he was extremely well-loved. I also have to confess I've read very little of Dickens, but the storytelling style was reminiscent of The Chimes or A Christmas Carol. That, I'm sure, was intentional, and should be commended. Pratchett does a very good job of tying up a story. He leaves questions, but not anxiety, and I like it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great standalone book by pratchett. Good introduction to his style to entice people to his discworld series.
SecondRunReviews More than 1 year ago
I’ll admit I was skeptical of Dodger from the point I downloaded it last year via SYNC. It was paired with Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. I loathe Great Expectations. I’ve been forced to read it twice; once in high school and once in college. And like a fool, I attempted to listen to it after downloading it via the SYNC program last year thinking that perhaps in my older wiser adulthood I would finally understand why Great Expectations was a classic. Dodger was a delightful listen. I will admit that I did struggle with Stephen Briggs’ narration as it was a bit too British for me at times and I had to re-listen to sections of the book to understand what was going on. I do believe that would not have occurred if a) I could listen to books while NOT doing something else and b) I was reading a physical copy of the book. Dodger is full of twists and turns. And in the fashion of any good historical fiction novel, the reader encounters a variety of known historical characters. I had always imagined Dickens to be this curmudgeonly old man, but Prachett brings him to life as a curious reporter with keen observation skills and a sense of humor. Whether Dickens was truly like this in real life, I don’t know, but this caricature of him endeared him to me. The story shines through the main character, Dodger, who has all the skills of a street rat and the ambition to match. There’s a curious mystery that is threaded through the story that develops into a shy romance. I enjoyed how Dodger made the use of the world he knew to solve the mystery, improve his conditions and make the best of what he had. If Dickens’ stories of Victorian London are a bit heavy for you, I would definitely recommend giving Dodger a shot. As it takes the best aspects of Oliver and Great Expectations puts a bit of shine on them with a twist of humor and mystery and presents them in a new light.
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It was full of excitement and whimsy. The characters were charismatic and the antics hilarious. Another great book was The Wee Free Men, although they don't seem similar they are both well written.
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Pratchett's a treasure!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A rollicking good time. The only criticism I have is that the climax feels *slightly* anti-climatic. A wonderful read regardless and definitely recommended.
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