David Copperfield

David Copperfield[N 1] is a novel by English author Charles Dickens, narrated by the eponymous David Copperfield, detailing his adventures in his journey from infancy to maturity. As such, it is typically categorized in the bildungsroman genre. It was published as a serial in 1849 and 1850 and then as a book in 1850.

David Copperfield is also a partially autobiographical novel:[2] “a very complicated weaving of truth and invention”,[3] with events following Dickens’s own life.[4] Of the books he wrote, it was his favourite.[5] It is called “the triumph of the art of Dickens”[6][7] and marks a turning point in his work, separating the novels of youth and those of maturity.[8]

At first glance, the work is modelled on 18th-century “personal histories” that were very popular, like Henry Fielding’s Joseph Andrews or Tom Jones, but David Copperfield is a more carefully structured work. It begins, like other novels by Dickens, with a bleak picture of childhood in Victorian England, followed by young Copperfield’s slow social ascent, as he painfully provides for his aunt, while continuing his studies.[9]

Dickens wrote without an outline, unlike his previous novel, Dombey and Son. Some aspects of the story were fixed in his mind from the start, but others were undecided until the serial publications were underway.[10] The novel has a primary theme of growth and change, but Dickens also satirises many aspects of Victorian life. These include the plight of prostitutes, the status of women in marriage, class structure, the criminal justice system, legal record keeping, the quality of schools, and the employment of children in factories.[11]

/ 1307
Download free eBooks of classic literature, books and
novels at Planet eBook. Subscribe to our free eBooks blog
and email newsletter.
David Copperfield
By Charles Dickens
D C
PREFACE TO 1850 EDITION
I
do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this
Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer
to it with the composure which this formal heading would
seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong;
and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret -
pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the
separation from many companions - that I am in danger of
wearying the reader whom I love, with personal confidenc-
es, and private emotions.
Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any
purpose, I have endeavoured to say in it.
It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how
sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two-years’
imaginative task; or how an Author feels as if he were dis-
missing some portion of himself into the shadowy world,
when a crowd of the creatures of his brain are going from
him for ever. Yet, I have nothing else to tell; unless, indeed,
I were to confess (which might be of less moment still) that
no one can ever believe this Narrative, in the reading, more
than I have believed it in the writing.
Instead of looking back, therefore, I will look forward. I
cannot close this Volume more agreeably to myself, than
with a hopeful glance towards the time when I shall again
put forth my two green leaves once a month, and with a
F B  P B.
faithful remembrance of the genial sun and showers that
have fallen on these leaves of David Copperfield, and made
me happy.
London, October, 1850.
/ 1307