Reseña del libro "Our Mutual Friend (en Inglés)"
In these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with two figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark bridge which is of iron, and London Bridge which is of stone, as an autumn evening was closing in. The figures in this boat were those of a strong man with ragged grizzled hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl of nineteen or twenty, sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter. The girl rowed, pulling a pair of sculls very easily; the man, with the rudder-lines slack in his hands, and his hands loose in his waistband, kept an eager look out. He had no net, hook, or line, and he could not be a fisherman; his boat had no cushion for a sitter, no paint, no inscription, no appliance beyond a rusty boathook and a coil of rope, and he could not be a waterman; his boat was too crazy and too small to take in cargo for delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or river-carrier; there was no clue to what he looked for, but he looked for something, with a most intent and searching gaze. The tide, which had turned an hour before, was running down, and his eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broad sweep, as the boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before it, according as he directed his daughter by a movement of his head. She watched his face as earnestly as he watched the river. But, in the intensity of her look there was a touch of dread or horror. Allied to the bottom of the river rather than the surface, by reason of the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and its sodden state, this boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that they often did, and were seeking what they often sought. Half savage as the man showed, with no covering on his matted head, with his brown arms bare to between the elbow and the shoulder, with the loose knot of a looser kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a wilderness of beard and whisker, with such dress as he wore seeming to be made out of the mud that begrimed his boat, still there was a business-like usage in his steady gaze. So with every lithe action of the girl, with every turn of her wrist, perhaps most of all with her look of dread or horror; they were things of usage. 'Keep her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the sweep of it.' Trusting to the girl's skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed the coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But, it happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it as though with diluted blood. This caught the girl's eye, and she shivered.
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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