Oliver Twist: Always A Legend

Today I decided to walk down the memory lane. The last time I read Oliver Twist was 2009. That's a long time and I enjoyed reading it. Today I decided to flip through those pages again.

You know, reading Oliver Twist felt less like flipping through a classic novel and more like getting punched in the stomach by reality, wrapped in the voice of Charles Dickens. What really struck me is how unapologetically raw it is—there’s no softening of the edges. Right from the start, when Oliver is born into this grim world of workhouses, you feel this heaviness, like life has already stacked the odds against him before he even gets to cry for the first time. And when he dares to ask for “more” food, that moment—simple, almost innocent—becomes this defiant spark. That scene has stayed in my head because it’s not just about a boy asking for porridge; it’s about a kid demanding dignity in a world designed to strip it away.

There were some bits that I laughed at, not because the scenes were funny but because there is this devilish way that Dickens has of making pain and satire go hand in hand. The incongruousness of adults, who are supposed to be the caretakers, treating children like a burden or chattel is so keen, sometimes the only response you can have is that bitter laugh. And yet, just after that, the darkness comes down again.

Meeting Fagin and his gang was one of those stomach-punch moments to me. On the face of it, it is almost light-minded- this gang of pickpocketers with their hijinks and street-wise charisma. However, when you sit down with it, you immediately understand how sad it is: children who live by crime because society did not leave them any choice. And Fagin himself.. wow He is one of these characters who is difficult to decide upon--part comic, part monstrous. I even found myself oddly fascinated by his deviousness, then ashamed of myself at being even interested. Dickens created him to make you squirm that way.

And Nancy. Oh, Nancy. So I will be frank with you--she crushed me. She is one of those characters which attracted me the most. Constrained by this savage, harsh life and yet she still holds onto these pieces of love and devotion. Her attachment to Bill Sikes is exasperating, since you want to tell her to get out of there, but it is also all too human.

When she feels pity towards Oliver, attempting in her imperfect manner to save him, it is one of the most humane moments throughout the entire book. And what became of her--that gave me a sucker punch When you read it there is a sort of empty silence that follows it, as though the air were taken out of the room. I was left with that kind of sadness even after I put the book down.

Oliver himself-what is interesting is the fact that he is not nearly a character but more of a symbol of innocence. He makes no bending or hardening. Surrounded by corruption and cruelty, Oliver remains soft, and in that softness there is the power. People may say he is unrealistic, but in my eyes he is a very delicate candle that never goes to extinction, even at the darkest point of the winds. Following him through the abuse, the thieves, the workhouses, it is impossible not to wish him to hold on to that light.

And Dickens London- it is virtually a character. Grubby, filthy, filled with danger and corruption. You can feel the dirt, smell the stench of it, hear the noise of the carts, the wetness of those alleys. It is the best location, as the city is a parallel of Oliver and its growth: intimidating, oppressing and yet full of those kind nooks.

Dickens wanted us to look at how society treated its poor, its children, its forgotten. And honestly? It’s haunting how relevant it still feels. Replace the workhouses with broken foster systems or child labor in sweatshops, and the message still stings. That’s why it stayed with me. Because beyond the Victorian setting, it’s asking us: are we any better today?

I think the part that warmed me the most was the contrast—moments of kindness shining like little lanterns in the dark. People who showed Oliver care, however small, reminded me how even the briefest acts of goodness can shape someone’s life. It made me think of times in my own life when kindness came unexpectedly, from people I barely knew, and how much it mattered.

Closing Oliver Twist felt like waking from a dream you’re not ready to leave. It’s heavy, yes, but also strangely hopeful. Because even though the world chewed Oliver up and spat him out again and again, he survived with his humanity intact. And maybe that’s Dickens whispering to us across time—that no matter how dark things get, innocence and goodness still matter. They still endure.

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