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David Copperfield: The Personal History of David Copperfield (Penguin Classics) by [Charles Dickens, H.K. Browne, Jeremy Tambling]

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Charles Dickens

David Copperfield: The Personal History of David Copperfield (Penguin Classics) Kindle Edition

by Charles Dickens (Author), H.K. Browne (Illustrator), Jeremy Tambling (Editor, Introduction) Format: Kindle Edition

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Now a major film directed by Armando Iannucci, starring Dev Patel, Tilda Swinton, Hugh Laurie, Peter Capaldi and Ben Whishaw

'The greatest achievement of the greatest of all novelists' Leo Tolstoy

In David Copperfield - the novel he described as his 'favourite child' - Dickens drew on his own experiences to create one of his most moving and enduringly popular works, filled with tragedy and comedy in equal measure. It is the story of a young man's adventures on his journey from an unhappy childhood to the discovery of his vocation as a novelist. Among the gloriously vivid cast of characters he encounters are his tyrannical stepfather, Mr Murdstone; his brilliant but unworthy school-friend Steerforth; his formidable aunt, Betsey Trotwood; the eternally humble yet treacherous Uriah Heep; frivolous, enchanting Dora; and the magnificently impecunious Micawber, one of literature's great comic creations.

Edited with an Introduction and Notes by Jeremy Tambling

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1028 pages
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English
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Penguin
Publication date

October 25, 2007
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Baby and up
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Editorial Reviews

Review

"The most perfect of all the Dickens novels."
--Virginia Woolf --This text refers to the paperback edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simultaneously.

In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was declared by the nurse, and by some sage women in the neighbourhood who had taken a lively interest in me several months before there was any possibility of our becoming personally acquainted, first, that I was destined to be unlucky in life; and secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and spirits; both these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to all unlucky infants of either gender, born towards the small hours on a Friday night.

I need say nothing here on the first head, because nothing can show better than my history whether that prediction was verified or falsified by the result. On the second branch of the question, I will only remark, that unless I ran through that part of my inheritance while I was still a baby, I have not come into it yet. But I do not at all complain of having been kept out of this property; and if anybody else should be in the present enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to keep it.

I was born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in the newspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether seagoing people were short of money about that time, or were short of faith and preferred cork jackets, I don't know; all I know is, that there was but one solitary bidding, and that was from an attorney connected with the bill-broking business, who offered two pounds in cash, and the balance in sherry, but declined to be guaranteed from drowning on any higher bargain. Consequently the advertisement was withdrawn at a dead loss—for as to sherry, my poor dear mother's own sherry was in the market then—and ten years afterwards the caul was put up in a raffle down in our part of the country, to fifty members at half a crown a head, the winner to spend five shillings. I was present myself, and I remember to have felt quite uncomfortable and confused, at a part of myself being disposed of in that way. The caul was won, I recollect, by an old lady with a hand-basket, who, very reluctantly, produced from it the stipulated five shillings, all in halfpence, and twopence halfpenny short—as it took an immense time and a great waste of arithmetic, to endeavour without any effect to prove to her. It is a fact which will be long remembered as remarkable down there, that she was never drowned, but died triumphantly in bed, at ninety-two. I have understood that it was, to the last, her proudest boast, that she never had been on the water in her life, except upon a bridge; and that over her tea (to which she was extremely partial) she, to the last, expressed her indignation at the impiety of mariners and others, who had the presumption to go 'meandering' about the world. It was in vain to represent to her that some conveniences, tea perhaps included, resulted from this objectionable practice. She always returned, with greater emphasis and with an instinctive knowl-edge of the strength of her objection, 'Let us have no meandering.'

Not to meander myself, at present, I will go back to my birth.

I was born at Blunderstone, in Suffolk, or 'thereby,' as they say in Scotland. I was a posthumous child. My father's eyes had closed upon the light of this world six months, when mine opened on it. There is something strange to me, even now, in the reflection that he never saw me; and something stranger yet in the shadowy remembrance that I have of my first childish associations with his white gravestone in the churchyard, and of the indefinable compassion I used to feel for it lying out alone there in the dark night, when our little parlour was warm and bright with fire and candle, and the doors of our house were—almost cruelly, it seemed to me sometimes—bolted and locked against it.

An aunt of my father's, and consequently a great-aunt of mine, of whom I shall have more to relate by-and-by, was the principal magnate of our family. Miss Trotwood, or Miss Betsey, as my poor mother always called her, when she sufficiently overcame her dread of this formidable personage to mention her at all (which was seldom), had been married to a husband younger than herself, who was very handsome, except in the sense of the homely adage, 'handsome is, that handsome does'—for he was strongly suspected of having beaten Miss Betsey, and even of having once, on a disputed question of supplies, made some hasty but determined arrangements to throw her out of a two pair of stairs' window. These evidences of an incompatibility of temper induced Miss Betsey to pay him off, and effect a separation by mutual consent. He went to India with his capital, and there, according to a wild legend in our family, he was once seen riding on an elephant, in company with a Baboon; but I think it must have been a Baboo—or a Begum. Anyhow, from India tidings of his death reached home, within ten years. How they affected my aunt, nobody knew; for immediately upon the separation she took her maiden name again, bought a cottage in a hamlet on the sea-coast a long way off, established herself there as a single woman with one servant, and was understood to live secluded, ever afterwards, in an inflexible retirement.
My father had once been a favourite of hers, I believe; but she was mortally affronted by his marriage, on the ground that my mother was 'a wax doll.' She had never seen my mother, but she knew her to be not yet twenty. My father and Miss Betsey never met again. He was double my mother's age when he married, and of but a delicate constitution. He died a year afterwards, and, as I have said, six months before I came into the world.

This was the state of matters on the afternoon of, what I may be excused for calling, that eventful and important Friday. I can make no claim, therefore, to have known, at that time, how matters stood; or to have any remembrance, founded on the evidence of my own senses, of what follows.

My mother was sitting by the fire, but poorly in health, and very low in spirits, looking at it through her tears, and desponding heavily about herself and the fatherless little stranger, who was already welcomed by some grosses of prophetic pins in a drawer upstairs, to a world not at all excited on the subject of his arrival; my mother, I say, was sitting by the fire, that bright, windy March afternoon, very timid and sad, and very doubtful of ever coming alive out of the trial that was before her, when, lifting her eyes as she dried them, to the window opposite, she saw a strange lady coming up the garden.

My mother had a sure foreboding at the second glance, that it was Miss Betsey. The setting sun was glowing on the strange lady, over the garden fence, and she came walking up to the door with a fell rigidity of figure and composure of countenance that could have belonged to nobody else.

When she reached the house, she gave another proof of her identity. My father had often hinted that she seldom conducted herself like any ordinary Christian; and now, instead of ringing the bell, she came and looked in at that identical window, pressing the end of her nose against the glass to that extent that my poor dear mother used to say it became perfectly flat and white in a moment.
She gave my mother such a turn, that I have always been convinced I am indebted to Miss Betsey for having been born on a Friday.

My mother had left her chair in her agitation, and gone behind it in the corner. Miss Betsey, looking round the room, slowly and inquiringly, began on the other side, and carried her eyes on, like a Saracen's head in a Dutch clock, until they reached my mother. Then she made a frown and a gesture to my mother, like one who was accustomed to be obeyed, to come and open the door. My mother went.
'Mrs. David Copperfield, I think,' said Miss Betsey; the emphasis referring, perhaps, to my mother's mourning weeds, and her condition.

'Yes,' said my mother, faintly.

'Miss Trotwood,' said the visitor. 'You have heard of her, I dare say?'

My mother answered she had had that pleasure. And she had a disagreeable consciousness of not appearing to imply that it had been an overpowering pleasure.

'Now you see her,' said Miss Betsey. My mother bent her head, and begged her to walk in.

They went into the parlour my mother had come from, the fire in the best room on the other side of the passage not being lighted—not having been lighted, indeed, since my father's funeral; and when they were both seated, and Miss Betsey said nothing, my mother, after vainly trying to restrain herself, began to cry.

'Oh, tut, tut, tut!' said Miss Betsey, in a hurry. 'Don't do that! Come, come!'

My mother couldn't help it notwithstanding, so she cried until she had had her cry out.

'Take off your cap, child,' said Miss Betsey, 'and let me see you.'

My mother was too much afraid of her to refuse compliance with this odd request, if she had any disposition to do so. Therefore she did as she was told, and did it with such nervous hands that her hair (which was luxuriant and beautiful) fell all about her face.

'Why, bless my heart!' exclaimed Miss Betsey. 'You are a very baby!'

My mother was, no doubt, unusually youthful in appearance even for her years; she hung her head, as if it were her fault, poor thing, and said, sobbing, that indeed she was afraid she was but a childish widow, and would be but a childish mother if she lived. In a short pause which ensued, she had a fancy that she felt Miss Betsey touch her hair, and that with no ungentle hand; but, looking at her, in her timid hope, she found that lady sitting with the skirt of her dress tucked up, her hands folded on one knee, and her feet upon the fender, frowning at the fire.

'In the name of Heaven,' said Miss Betsey, suddenly, 'why Rookery?'

'Do you mean the house, ma'm?' asked my mother.

'Why Rookery?' said Miss Betsey. 'Cookery would have been more to the purpose, if you had had any practical ideas of life, either of you.'

'The name was Mr. Copperfield's choice,' returned my mother. 'When he bought the house, he liked to think that there were rooks about it.'

The evening wind made such a disturbance just now, among some tall old elm-trees at the bottom of the garden, that neither my mother nor Miss Betsey could forbear glancing that way. As the elms bent to one another, like giants who were whispering secrets, and after a few seconds of such repose, fell into a violent flurry, tossing their wild arms about, as if their late confidences were really too wicked for their peace of mind, some weatherbeaten ragged old rooks'-nests burdening their higher branches, swung like wrecks upon a stormy sea. --This text refers to the paperback edition.

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B002XHNO6K
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Penguin; New Ed edition (October 25, 2007)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ October 25, 2007
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 11509 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Print length ‏ : ‎ 1028 pages
Lending ‏ : ‎ Not Enabled

Best Sellers Rank: #141,197 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #147 in Classic Coming of Age Fiction
- #192 in Classic British & Irish Fiction
- #477 in Classic Literary Fiction

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Charles Dickens

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Charles Dickens was born in 1812 near Portsmouth where his father was a clerk in the navy pay office. The family moved to London in 1823, but their fortunes were severely impaired. Dickens was sent to work in a blacking-warehouse when his father was imprisoned for debt. Both experiences deeply affected the future novelist. In 1833 he began contributing stories to newspapers and magazines, and in 1836 started the serial publication of Pickwick Papers. Thereafter, Dickens published his major novels over the course of the next twenty years, from Nicholas Nickleby to Little Dorrit. He also edited the journals Household Words and All the Year Round. Dickens died in June 1870.

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Barry J. Miller

Wonderful classic

Reviewed in the United States on November 16, 2017

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One of the best books ever written. You will never forget David C! I don't know how I missed it growing up but a book reviewer in the WSJ alluded to it and said that the main character in his book was much like David: you are sad at the end that you will never get more of him. I broke with my "best seller" policy, and love of spy novels and action books, and ordered it. I can't wait for bedtime to get another hour of reading in of this 1000 page paperback I got fro m Amazon. yes, the start is a little slow until one becomes accustomed to the language and phrasing of the time, but by page 50 the book owns you. Dickens really rocks~!

36 people found this helpful

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Annie

Praise for Charles Dickens.

Reviewed in the United States on January 2, 2017

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My Grandfather introduced me to Dickens on my tenth birthday, giving me Oliver Twist and stating, (as I was a voracious reader even then) "If you haven't read Dickens, you haven't read." Well... I cannot comment on that but I had read most of Dicken's before I was twelve and in my second (or third) reading of some of his books I have just finished re-reading David Copperfield. A very large book...coming in at eight hundred odd pages in my edition (which also has the most delightful pen and ink illustrations) be ready for a long but satisfying journey into the life and times of Dickens.
Dickens stated David Copperfield was his 'favourite child' .... he was well pleased with the result and many claim it was largely autobiographical.
Yes.... I love it...although very wordy and descriptive... but not my favourite. I much prefer Great Expectations or Tale of Two Cities.
However once again the reader is treated to a bevy of unforgettable characters. Apart from David Copperfield, there is his austere but warm and giving Aunt, Betsy Trotwood.... the charming and loquacious Micawber and his doting wife, the dreadful Murdstone siblings, the vile and undulating Uriah Heep and the simple but loveable character of Mr Dick. Dickens somehow manages to name his characters in such a way the name befits the character.... like the loving Peggotty... David's childhood nurse. Long before a descriptive word was read I could picture this warm and loving woman.
Sadly Charles Dickens died early in life at the age of fifty eight. Nonetheless he was incredibly prolific, and in an era where the production of a novel must have been quite a task, this in itself is remarkable. I salute Charles Dickens.... who wrote many masterpieces and is still being read almost two hundred years later and perhaps for many years to come.

25 people found this helpful

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TONY1974

Must Read Classic!

Reviewed in the United States on July 3, 2019

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Been on my bucket list for years; always overwhelmed by the sheer volume but finally took a couple of weeks to read this all-time classic, highly regarded as Dickens best and it did not disappoint. At times both moving and surprisingly witty, never dull - David Copperfield delivers on all levels. A must read and addition to your classic library.

8 people found this helpful

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Roger Alvarez

Amazing semi-autobiographical work from one of the best English language novelists

Reviewed in the United States on October 19, 2020

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Was brought to the book by the lovely film adaptation made in 2020. While I adored the film as a remarkable adaptation of this epic behemoth of a novel, and think that made good choices where they wandered astray of the original manuscript, the reality is that it is simply not possible to compress the nuance, intrigue, drama, and character development of this work. To truly and deeply enjoy it, you must read this book. I highly recommend the audiobook narrated in spectacular and vivid (dare I say Dickensian) detail by the inimitable Richard Armitage. It is often difficult to believe that there is but one actor reading the piece, given the various accents, tonalities, cadences, and ultimately personalities that Armitage portrays with his singular voice. The perfect choice for a Whispersync Kindle/Audible experience. Bravo.

3 people found this helpful

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Michael Rosen-Pyros

Gotta love it!

Reviewed in the United States on December 26, 2021

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It’s not called a classic for nothing! It’s one of the books I read early in life. (I had seen the Freddy Bartholomew/WC Fields version-yet another movie classic. Dickens is a not so subtle critic of the oppressed status of women, children and the underserved social classes in a horrendously ‘classy’ social structure. David is a most delightful character. Enjoy!

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Steven M. AnthonyTop Contributor: Fantasy Books

The Greatest Example of Victorian Era British Literature

Reviewed in the United States on May 11, 2011

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Having recently read and enjoyed Charles Dickens's Great Expectations, I decided to up the ante by taking on his somewhat longer and more challenging David Copperfield. Already having sampled the writing style in Great Expectations, I found it somewhat easier to get into the flow of the story, and what a story it is.

Young David Copperfield is raised by his widowed mother Clara and their devoted servant Peggotty, both of whom care for and love him very much. His life rapidly changes however, with the marriage of his mother to the loathsome Mr. Murdstone and his sister Miss Murdstone, who move in and take over the household, including the care and instruction of young Davey.

From this point, we are introduced to a wide variety of richly drawn characters as Davey makes his way in the world. This novel is quite simply one of the greatest works of literature ever penned, widely acclaimed to be Dickens's finest. I found it to be fascinating, both with respect to the characters, the story and the historical underpinnings.

There is really no "story" here, as the book simply follows young David from his earliest years, through adolescence and into young adulthood. Along the way, he experiences great joy, heartbreaking loss and countless adventures set against the rich and detailed backdrop of Victorian England. Such characters as Uriah Heep, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, Steerforth, Emily, Ham, Agnes Wickfield, Dr. and Annie Strong, Dora Spenlow, Thomas Traddles, Mr. Peggotty, Miss Dartle and countless others create an indelible impression on the reader as they drift into and out of the tale.

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Wendy Turvey

Charles Dickens

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on January 14, 2022

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This was the book that I studied for my School Certificate more than 70 years ago; it has lost none of its charm for me. Dickens has to be acknowledged as one of our greatest writers, but also as a wonderful story teller. He was responsible for making his readers aware of the social differences of his time, and making policy makers have a change of attitude. He really is to be applauded on many fronts.

Amazon Customer

This a brilliant work of literature

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on March 21, 2021

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Reading this book is a delight. I just couldn't put it down. I went through it in a few days. One of my favourites from Dickens.

Eli

Un bel volume ma non all'altezza delle vecchie edizioni Wordsworth! Giudizio puramente estetico.

Reviewed in Italy on August 10, 2020

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Al mio adorato Dickens do cinque stelle con lode sulla fiducia, perché, pur amandolo alla follia e avendo tutti i suoi romanzi (e racconti), di lui devo ancora leggere molto e anche David Copperfield manca all'appello. Il mio è un giudizio puramente estedico, dunque. Ho collezionato Dickens nelle edizioni Wordsworth perché, a quanto ne so, sono le uniche ad avere le illustrazioni originali in bianco e nero. Rispetto ai volumi acquistati ormai diversi anni fa, ho notato che la qualità è un po' peggiorata, sia nella carta (che è più bianca) che nella copertina (che è meno cartonata). Questi sono dettagli da appassionati bibliofili, naturalmente, ma io sono parecchio pignola sulle edizioni in commercio. Comunque un buon volume da recuperare assolutamente, anche perché le nuove copertine Wordsworth sono davvero inguardabili. :-(

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Pooja Bawa

5 stars for the book -4 for the copy :(

Reviewed in India on August 1, 2020

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The book itself is marvellous but the copy is really cheap! The pages are thin and the feel overall is obviously of an unoriginal product. In this lockdown when you have no other option but to stick with online delivery i feel a little helpless. Thank god the binding is not coming off otherwise it would have been an utter disappointment.

2 people found this helpful

koala

Story is great, but paper quality is VERY poor

Reviewed in India on December 5, 2020

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Even though Penguin Classics books are priced higher than the competition, I still buy them because they provide a scholarly Introduction and Notes, which are immensely helpful to a layman like me.
But given their rapidly falling paper quality, I may now have to make a switch to other publishers.

2 people found this helpful

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