Great Expectations (Wordsworth Classics)

Charles Dickens; Marcus Stone [Illustrator]; John Bowen [Introduction];

ISBN 10: 1853260045 / ISBN 13: 9781853260049

Edité par Wordsworth Editions Ltd, 2000

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N° de réf. du vendeur 1853260045-4-18357852

Détails bibliographiques

• Titre: Great Expectations (Wordsworth Classics)
• Éditeur: Wordsworth Editions Ltd
• Date de parution: 2000
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN à 10 chiffres: 1853260045
• ISBN à 13 chiffres: 9781853260049
• Reliure: Paperback
• Illustrateur: Marcus Stone
• Édition: 2ème Édition
• État de l'article: Fair
• Poids: 10 onces

A propos de ce titre

Synopsis

Considered By Many To Be Dickens' Finest Novel, Great Expectations Traces The Growth Of The Book'S Narrator, Philip Pirrip Pip, From A Boy Of Shallow Dreams To A Man With Depth Of Character. From Its Famous Dramatic Opening On The Bleak Kentish Marshes, The Story Abounds With Some Of Dickens' Most Memorable Characters. Among Them Are The Kindly Blacksmith Joe Gargery, The Mysterious Convict Abel Magwitch, The Eccentric Miss Haversham And Her Beautiful Ward Estella, Pip'S Good-Hearted Room-Mate Herbert Pocket And The Pompous Pumblechook. As Pip Unravels The Truth Behind His Own 'Great Expectations' In His Quest To Become A Gentleman, The Mysteries Of The Past And The Convolutions Of Fate Through A Series Of Thrilling Adventures Serve To Steer Him Towards Maturity And His Most Important Discovery Of All - The Truth About Himself.

Extrait

Chapter I.
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 dykes 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 grey, 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. "Pray don't do it, sir."

"Tell us your name!" said the man. "Quick!"

"Pip, sir."

"Once more," said the man, staring at me. "Give it mouth!"