You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.9 AVERAGE
3.9 AVERAGE
Oi! That was a doozy. I enjoyed the story, how it was start to finish. Called Steerforth and Emily; hated Dora; and thought he was an idiot for not seeing Agnes’ desires until the very end.
It was my new year's resolution to read David Copperfield. And over half the year slipped away with this huge volume looming on my nightstand. I didn't really want to read it. I like Dickens, but sometimes he grates on me (e.g. [b:Bleak House|31242|Bleak House|Charles Dickens|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1280113147s/31242.jpg|2960365]). But I didn't want to shirk. And now that it's done I know this book sits among the most marvelous. What a pleasure. The good were rewarded and the evil were punished (surprise!). I laughed and cried and was carried along. Very glad I resolved to read this.
Some things improve with age, and reading (or in this case, listening to) David Copperfield is one of them. It's been almost twenty years since I last read it, and like David, who understands so much more as he gets older, I have many years of knowledge gained that the book was much richer for it. It also helped that I listened to Nicholas Boulton's narration, and his performance of all of the characters brought each and every one of them to life, and I felt David's struggle to make sense of his life and himself. The audiobook is 36 hours long, and I began listening to it over a month ago, so when I think of David's youth, it really feels like a long time ago; this accentuated the passage of time in the novel. David's early years really feels like a long time ago for me.
What I love about DC is that it feels modern, and I think it is because it is essentially about what it means to be human, and we haven't changed much. Every human foible and grace is presented, from Peggerty's devotion, Betsey Trotwood's willingness to make right and her faith in Mr. Dick, Mr. Murdstone's using religion as a rod to cast down everyone, Agnes's goodness, Dora's simple mind but ability to see what David couldn't, Emily the fallen angel who makes poor choices, Mr. Peggerty's forgiveness and love of her, Mr. Micawber's redemption, Uriah Heep's deep-seated bitterness, and Thomas Trattle's never-ending hope. From David himself we learn how to grow into ourselves and the power of memory and reflection. I love the way Dickens' structures the narrative as the reader understands what David does not, but like everyone else who knows better, we have to wait and watch him figure it out for himself.
It also holds up because David's life is not a straight trajectory-- he experiences setbacks and heartbreak; no one around him is immune to the vagaries of Life. Yet everyone perseveres in one way or another. While those who do good are rewarded, they are not easy rewards, and those who do bad, like in life, do not always go punished. The book, like life, is complex.
What I love about DC is that it feels modern, and I think it is because it is essentially about what it means to be human, and we haven't changed much. Every human foible and grace is presented, from Peggerty's devotion, Betsey Trotwood's willingness to make right and her faith in Mr. Dick, Mr. Murdstone's using religion as a rod to cast down everyone, Agnes's goodness, Dora's simple mind but ability to see what David couldn't, Emily the fallen angel who makes poor choices, Mr. Peggerty's forgiveness and love of her, Mr. Micawber's redemption, Uriah Heep's deep-seated bitterness, and Thomas Trattle's never-ending hope. From David himself we learn how to grow into ourselves and the power of memory and reflection. I love the way Dickens' structures the narrative as the reader understands what David does not, but like everyone else who knows better, we have to wait and watch him figure it out for himself.
It also holds up because David's life is not a straight trajectory-- he experiences setbacks and heartbreak; no one around him is immune to the vagaries of Life. Yet everyone perseveres in one way or another. While those who do good are rewarded, they are not easy rewards, and those who do bad, like in life, do not always go punished. The book, like life, is complex.
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
funny
hopeful
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
Dickens is great. I agree with the criticism that the ending is too optimistic. Similarly, I agree that Dickens solves Copperfield's problems by sending all his troublesome or annoying friends to Australia (or making them die), whereas the book might have been more powerful, and Copperfield even more admirable, had he continued to tolerate and love his friends through their infirmities for the rest of his life. I don't think these flaws are fatal (I still gave the book 4 1/4 stars), but they certainly are present, especially as this book was Dickens first (only?) attempt at writing something more "realistic." He is basically telling the story of his life, so the beginning is quite realistic, which makes the optimistic ending more jarring. Still though, I really enjoyed this book and Dickens still slaps.
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I had a hard time getting through this book. I think I kept expecting a little more of a plot, which it just didn't have. The themes of growth and change and marriage are well covered and it probably is a very good book, it just never grabbed me and I struggled through it. The books by Dickens that I really liked are A Tale Of Two Cities, and Barnaby Rudge. I realise now that they both have quite a bit of political backdrop in them, apparently I need that extra background story.
My audiobook version is read by David Armitage and is a great performance.
My audiobook version is read by David Armitage and is a great performance.
adventurous
lighthearted
You feel bad for the poor literature professors who have to try to pin down The Modern Novel, because whatever characteristics they try to tie to Modernism, the Victorians always got there first. Two Modern Novels I thought of while reading David Copperfield were, first, To the Lighthouse, which is notable for the way it handles the flow of time. The action in Woolf’s book takes place in two closely observed episodes, separated by a sudden rush of time in which much happens that we learn of only in telegraphic fragments. Copperfield has more episodes, they're more conventionally biographical, and the summarized gaps of time between them are less extreme, but the dilation of time is built into the story’s structure.
Then of course there’s Ulysses, and the first of the many quirky things you can learn about James Joyces’ tome is that it’s about a more or less ordinary guy going about his more or less ordinary life, with no immediately apparent traditional narrative arc. David Copperfield isn’t quite so free-form – it has several plot lines that progress through conflict to resolution, and has perhaps more denouement that is really good for it – but at the same time, it doesn’t really follow a traditional narrative arc. It’s difficult to say what the book is “about,” because it doesn’t have the central story line that most novels, of most periods, are built around. It’s really about a more or less ordinary guy going about his more or less ordinary life. It’s about David Copperfield.
The first thing to know about David Copperfield is that he’s a fellow who, like most men of sense, enjoys the company of women. Although he is not really aware of it, he is a guy with three girlfriends. And let’s be frank in our assessment: one of the girlfriends is toooo dumb, and one of the girlfriends is essentially toooo smart for her own good, as a Victorian woman; but, the third girlfriend is juuuust right! So you think you know what is going to happen, and then you get a bit of a shock when he goes and marries the numbskull. If you’ve read enough nineteenth century novels, you can recover from there and work out where things are heading. If you haven’t, or if you were one of Dickens’ original readers, you might be on tenterhooks to figure out how the situation would be resolved. Or, you might not even recognize that there was a situation that needed resolving, due to that lack of an immediately apparent traditional narrative arc I mentioned.
David Copperfield is written (by Charles Dickens) as a first person account written by its subject, David Copperfield. Dickens is clearly in great sympathy with Copperfield – in the forward, Dickens calls Copperfield his "favourite child" – but it’s not always crystal clear whether the two are in perfect accord. This stood out for me in the case of Uriah Heep, ostensibly one of the villains of the piece. Heep is oily, low, scheming, and thoroughly disagreeable, and I found that I had a great deal of sympathy for his motives and respect for his cunning.
Copperfield does not share my partiality. Copperfield loathes Heep from the very moment he sets eyes on him, and hasn’t a kind word to say for him throughout. So the interesting question to me is, how did Charles Dickens feel about Uriah Heep? Was he enough in sympathy with his character David Copperfield that we can assume that Copperfield’s repulsion mirrors his own, the repulsion we are “supposed to” feel for Heep? Or, did Dickens intend for me to feel sympathy for Heep, and for me to regard Copperfield’s malice towards him as a humanizing character flaw in his hero?
I’d like to think the latter, as Copperfield could use a little humanizing. Like other Dickens novels that focus on the adventures of a single character, David Copperfield suffers a bit from looking at the world from the perspective of someone less colorfully drawn then everyone else in the story. In a novel populated by people with exaggerated mannerisms, vivid personalities, and axes to grind, Copperfield himself is a bit of a cypher: decent, earnest, capable, and bland. He’d be a good chap to have in your corner, but he's the least interesting guy in his own book. His inhibiting presence in every scene is probably what separates this very good Dickens novel from the real masterpieces.
Then of course there’s Ulysses, and the first of the many quirky things you can learn about James Joyces’ tome is that it’s about a more or less ordinary guy going about his more or less ordinary life, with no immediately apparent traditional narrative arc. David Copperfield isn’t quite so free-form – it has several plot lines that progress through conflict to resolution, and has perhaps more denouement that is really good for it – but at the same time, it doesn’t really follow a traditional narrative arc. It’s difficult to say what the book is “about,” because it doesn’t have the central story line that most novels, of most periods, are built around. It’s really about a more or less ordinary guy going about his more or less ordinary life. It’s about David Copperfield.
The first thing to know about David Copperfield is that he’s a fellow who, like most men of sense, enjoys the company of women. Although he is not really aware of it, he is a guy with three girlfriends. And let’s be frank in our assessment: one of the girlfriends is toooo dumb, and one of the girlfriends is essentially toooo smart for her own good, as a Victorian woman; but, the third girlfriend is juuuust right! So you think you know what is going to happen, and then you get a bit of a shock when he goes and marries the numbskull. If you’ve read enough nineteenth century novels, you can recover from there and work out where things are heading. If you haven’t, or if you were one of Dickens’ original readers, you might be on tenterhooks to figure out how the situation would be resolved. Or, you might not even recognize that there was a situation that needed resolving, due to that lack of an immediately apparent traditional narrative arc I mentioned.
David Copperfield is written (by Charles Dickens) as a first person account written by its subject, David Copperfield. Dickens is clearly in great sympathy with Copperfield – in the forward, Dickens calls Copperfield his "favourite child" – but it’s not always crystal clear whether the two are in perfect accord. This stood out for me in the case of Uriah Heep, ostensibly one of the villains of the piece. Heep is oily, low, scheming, and thoroughly disagreeable, and I found that I had a great deal of sympathy for his motives and respect for his cunning.
Copperfield does not share my partiality. Copperfield loathes Heep from the very moment he sets eyes on him, and hasn’t a kind word to say for him throughout. So the interesting question to me is, how did Charles Dickens feel about Uriah Heep? Was he enough in sympathy with his character David Copperfield that we can assume that Copperfield’s repulsion mirrors his own, the repulsion we are “supposed to” feel for Heep? Or, did Dickens intend for me to feel sympathy for Heep, and for me to regard Copperfield’s malice towards him as a humanizing character flaw in his hero?
I’d like to think the latter, as Copperfield could use a little humanizing. Like other Dickens novels that focus on the adventures of a single character, David Copperfield suffers a bit from looking at the world from the perspective of someone less colorfully drawn then everyone else in the story. In a novel populated by people with exaggerated mannerisms, vivid personalities, and axes to grind, Copperfield himself is a bit of a cypher: decent, earnest, capable, and bland. He’d be a good chap to have in your corner, but he's the least interesting guy in his own book. His inhibiting presence in every scene is probably what separates this very good Dickens novel from the real masterpieces.
While making my way through this book, I kept thinking about how I wanted to write an essay entitled “In Defense of Uriah Heep.” The urge to redeem that most unctuous of men was gnawing at me. Of course, what could I say on behalf of the “very umble” Mr. Heep? Scouring the book for a sign that he was not simply and always a creepy sniveling snake, I came up empty-handed. That failure says a lot about my problem with this novel. Whether major or minor characters, Dickens leaves no room for readers to make our own judgements; he dictates the feelings we are to have about them. It’s not a question of “telling, not showing,” but rather that Dickens only shows that which insistently requires the reader to have the highly specific emotional response that he has chosen for us. I resent it.
Contrast this with, say, Tolstoy. In War and Peace, Pierre, Andrei, Natasha, and Maria among others are sympathetic characters, but we are still free to see them in a wide variety of ways. When we discussed War and Peace in my reading group, there were those who felt a strong and affectionate connection with Pierre’s at-times confused search for some meaning in his life, while others were utterly impatient with him and wrote him off as mostly an overgrown bumbler with too much money. Tolstoy’s compelling portrayals allow each of us to respond to his characters in our own way, the way we do with most people in our lives.
True, not all real people are complicated, a varying mix of good and bad, with likable and unlikable characteristics and a bunch of ambiguities as well. There are some in the world who appear to be essentially one dimensional, possessing only qualities in one direction or the other – on the negative side, the 45th president of the US comes to mind – Trump is truly a villainous over-the-top character who would be fair game for treatment in the Dickensian mode. (I’m harder pressed to identify real life well-known individuals who are simply completely and utterly wonderful – Meryl Streep?)
My three-star rating for this work is a good example of the problem that can arise from relying on averages. When the individual category scores are wildly discrepant, their average can seriously misrepresent the response to the work. For quality of writing Dickens is a great master! His use of language kept me in such wonder that, despite my qualms, I was always eager to continue with his story.
Yet while engaged by the storytelling, I was despising the story, or rather its characters, including Master Davey himself. It’s true that he does come closest to having a full-blooded human being quality about him, albeit without blemishes. Yet it is Copperfield himself, a surrogate for Dickens in this his most autobiographical novel, who while always-thoughtful, always generous-of-spirit, kind-of-heart, and well-intentioned, is unable to paint anything but gross cartoon portraits of everyone he ever encountered. And he is so full of his own self-love that, rather than show us any of his own weaknesses or unattractive features, via his creator – Dickens, he assigns the telling of those harder truths to others. After all, owning up to more dark, selfish, petty, or otherwise unworthy feelings might make him less than the complete “hero of his life.”
David’s “child-wife” Dora, whose only interests in life are her little dog and not being scolded, suddenly on her deathbed makes an uncharacteristically insightful speech about her inability to be a grownup person and the likelihood that David would have grown tired of her in time. We readers knew this already. From early on, Dickens has clobbered us with details showing that Dora is an airhead and not “worthy” of David, even as he keeps David blind to this during their courtship. When after their marriage and the two of them are now very much in each other’s company, beyond a comment about mismatched couples from Mr. Dick that flits through his mind, he is far too good and gracious a soul to acknowledge this to us or to himself. Dora’s deathbed speech spares David from having to fully express this obvious truth. Had it originally come from him it would have put David in an unflattering light.
Similarly, the reader is only permitted to feel tremendous sympathy for the continuing heartbreak and mourning that noble and loving David has been going through following his many losses—Dora, Ham, and Steerforth—as he drifts across the European continent for several years. Again, permission for David to let go of his noble despair comes from the outside. In a letter, Dickens has the always-wise, always-devoted Agnes advise David to turn his sorrow into strength and to rise above these losses to achieve the great heights that are so obviously his destiny if only he would opt for them. To have such thoughts come from him directly would be a tad unseemly as it might call into question the true depths of David’s sorrow and reveal the extent of his overriding ambition and sense of entitlement.
Am I being too harsh? Can’t I just appreciate Dickens for what he is—a caricaturist, and a very great one at that—a William Hogarth of literature (a painter I admire without such reservations). Shouldn’t writers be allowed to create their characters as they like, especially if done as artfully as Dickens? Doesn’t satire have its value? And anyway, aren’t there many literary works by others that I am far more ready to accept and enjoy even while they might be peopled with artificial one-trait characters created with a sledgehammer (and typically not handled nearly as deftly as Dickens)? Yes, yes, but with the author so closely identifying with his narrator, I feel that Dickens is basking in his own self-aggrandizement; David Copperfield (Charles Dickens) is a narcissist, and his book is a giant monument to himself. It’s no wonder Dickens called this his “favourite child.” From the first sentence of the book, Master Davey suggests to us that in the pages that follow we must decide whether he is indeed the hero of his own life. From his telling, how could it possibly be anyone else?
Well, dammit, in what I acknowledge is only an angry and ornery protest, I nominate Uriah Heep!
Contrast this with, say, Tolstoy. In War and Peace, Pierre, Andrei, Natasha, and Maria among others are sympathetic characters, but we are still free to see them in a wide variety of ways. When we discussed War and Peace in my reading group, there were those who felt a strong and affectionate connection with Pierre’s at-times confused search for some meaning in his life, while others were utterly impatient with him and wrote him off as mostly an overgrown bumbler with too much money. Tolstoy’s compelling portrayals allow each of us to respond to his characters in our own way, the way we do with most people in our lives.
True, not all real people are complicated, a varying mix of good and bad, with likable and unlikable characteristics and a bunch of ambiguities as well. There are some in the world who appear to be essentially one dimensional, possessing only qualities in one direction or the other – on the negative side, the 45th president of the US comes to mind – Trump is truly a villainous over-the-top character who would be fair game for treatment in the Dickensian mode. (I’m harder pressed to identify real life well-known individuals who are simply completely and utterly wonderful – Meryl Streep?)
My three-star rating for this work is a good example of the problem that can arise from relying on averages. When the individual category scores are wildly discrepant, their average can seriously misrepresent the response to the work. For quality of writing Dickens is a great master! His use of language kept me in such wonder that, despite my qualms, I was always eager to continue with his story.
Yet while engaged by the storytelling, I was despising the story, or rather its characters, including Master Davey himself. It’s true that he does come closest to having a full-blooded human being quality about him, albeit without blemishes. Yet it is Copperfield himself, a surrogate for Dickens in this his most autobiographical novel, who while always-thoughtful, always generous-of-spirit, kind-of-heart, and well-intentioned, is unable to paint anything but gross cartoon portraits of everyone he ever encountered. And he is so full of his own self-love that, rather than show us any of his own weaknesses or unattractive features, via his creator – Dickens, he assigns the telling of those harder truths to others. After all, owning up to more dark, selfish, petty, or otherwise unworthy feelings might make him less than the complete “hero of his life.”
David’s “child-wife” Dora, whose only interests in life are her little dog and not being scolded, suddenly on her deathbed makes an uncharacteristically insightful speech about her inability to be a grownup person and the likelihood that David would have grown tired of her in time. We readers knew this already. From early on, Dickens has clobbered us with details showing that Dora is an airhead and not “worthy” of David, even as he keeps David blind to this during their courtship. When after their marriage and the two of them are now very much in each other’s company, beyond a comment about mismatched couples from Mr. Dick that flits through his mind, he is far too good and gracious a soul to acknowledge this to us or to himself. Dora’s deathbed speech spares David from having to fully express this obvious truth. Had it originally come from him it would have put David in an unflattering light.
Similarly, the reader is only permitted to feel tremendous sympathy for the continuing heartbreak and mourning that noble and loving David has been going through following his many losses—Dora, Ham, and Steerforth—as he drifts across the European continent for several years. Again, permission for David to let go of his noble despair comes from the outside. In a letter, Dickens has the always-wise, always-devoted Agnes advise David to turn his sorrow into strength and to rise above these losses to achieve the great heights that are so obviously his destiny if only he would opt for them. To have such thoughts come from him directly would be a tad unseemly as it might call into question the true depths of David’s sorrow and reveal the extent of his overriding ambition and sense of entitlement.
Am I being too harsh? Can’t I just appreciate Dickens for what he is—a caricaturist, and a very great one at that—a William Hogarth of literature (a painter I admire without such reservations). Shouldn’t writers be allowed to create their characters as they like, especially if done as artfully as Dickens? Doesn’t satire have its value? And anyway, aren’t there many literary works by others that I am far more ready to accept and enjoy even while they might be peopled with artificial one-trait characters created with a sledgehammer (and typically not handled nearly as deftly as Dickens)? Yes, yes, but with the author so closely identifying with his narrator, I feel that Dickens is basking in his own self-aggrandizement; David Copperfield (Charles Dickens) is a narcissist, and his book is a giant monument to himself. It’s no wonder Dickens called this his “favourite child.” From the first sentence of the book, Master Davey suggests to us that in the pages that follow we must decide whether he is indeed the hero of his own life. From his telling, how could it possibly be anyone else?
Well, dammit, in what I acknowledge is only an angry and ornery protest, I nominate Uriah Heep!