Charles Dickens, like many of the great authors who lived in his generation, wrote rather dark fiction, conjuring the image of- as stated by the second resource- ‘plum pudding and Christmas punch, quaint coaching inns and cozy firesides, but also of orphaned and starving children, misers, murderers, and abusive schoolmasters.’ Quite a transition between the two, so let us go on a mystical quest of writing a paper, to figure out what exactly made him so screwed up, although, given, that’s the best state of mind to have when writing. Aside from that, to begin.
Charles Dickens was born to a clerk at the Navy Pay Office and a woman named Elizabeth on February 7, 1812, over two hundred years ago. His father was taken and imprisoned for debt in a penitentiary that was near the Thames river known as Marshalsea (which is no longer standing). So, little twelve-year-old Charles was taken from school to earn six shillings a week fixing labels to bottle of blacking at a boot-blacking factory to help support the Dickens’ family. This experience of being cast away at such a young age made him truly scarred for life, from the clever, sensitive boy he was mere years before to a rather… Gothic preteen. Even before gothic was goth. He had dreams of being a true gentleman when he became older, then was humiliated working with much rougher, much older men and the younger boys at the factor. Anyways, when his father was released as the family finances slowly turned to rights, the twelve-year-old Charles was further stomped on (figuratively) by his mother by her insistence that he continue at the factory. Luckily, his father prevented this and sent his son to a school in London as a day pupil. At fifteen, he found work as a office boy at an attor…
… would later be his closest friend and confident along with biographer. All of his work afterwards, slowly laced with death and abandonment, became great successes also. He would go on to write fifteen major novels, numerous short stories, and even more articles until his death on June 9, 1870. He currently resides in Poet’s Corner, Westminster Abbey, a grave that once was overflowing with mourner’s flowers. “Among the more beautiful bouquets were many simple clusters of wildflowers, wrapped in rags.” was my favorite part of the biography, but to finish off.
Alas, I close. Charles Dickens, no matter how happy his stories seem occasionally, experienced great hardships in his life. Even if they were mentally scarring, they made great creative material many people today enjoy (although sometimes they have no idea what it means) his work, over two hundred years later.