Reseña del libro "Great Expectations (en Inglés)"
My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip. I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister, -Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father's, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, "Also Georgiana Wife of the Above," I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine, -who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle, -I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence. Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dikes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip. "Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you little devil, or I'll cut your throat!" A fearful man, all in coarse gray, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin. "Oh! Don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror.
Charles Dickens (7 de febrero de 1812 - 9 de junio de 1870) nació en Portsmouth y era el primogénito varón de un funcionario de la Armada Real. A los doce años, el encarcelamiento de su padre por deudas lo obligó a ponerse a trabajar en una fábrica de betún. Su educación fue irregular: aprendió por su cuenta taquigrafía, trabajó como ayudante en el bufete de un abogado y finalmente fue corresponsal parlamentario del Morning Chronicle.
De familia humilde, el "bueno de Carlos" no recibió educación formal hasta los nueve años, siendo muy juzgado por la crítica de la época al considerar que Dickens era demasiado autodidacta. Su vida daría un giro inesperado con el encarcelamiento de su padre por las deudas, trasladándose su familia a vivir con él a la cárcel, permitido en ese momento por las leyes británicas. A la edad de 12 años ya es considerado apto para comenzar a trabajar en una fábrica de tintes. A pesar de que la situación de su familia había mejorado, su madre puso su empeño en que siguiera trabajando allí, inspirándole a escribir una de sus obras cumbre, David Copperfield.
Sus artículos, luego recogidos en Escenas de la vida de Londres por «Boz» (1836-1837), tuvieron gran éxito y, con la aparición en 1837 de Los papeles póstumos del Club Pickwick, Dickens se convirtió en un auténtico fenómeno editorial. Novelas como Oliver Twist (1837-1839), Nicholas Nickleby (1838-1839) o Barnaby Rudge (1841) alcanzaron enorme popularidad, así como algunas crónicas de viajes, como Estampas de Italia (1846). Con Dombey e hijo (1846-1848) inició su época de madurez, de la que son buenos ejemplos David Copperfield (1849-1850), su primera novela en primera persona y su favorita, en la que desarrolló algunos episodios autobiográficos; La Casa lúgubre (1852-1853); La pequeña Dorrit (1855-1857), Historia de dos ciudades (1859), Grandes esperanzas (1860-1861) y Nuestro amigo común (1864-1865). Murió en Gad's Hill, su casa de campo en Higham, en el condado de Kent.
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