Different versions of families appear as a motif throughout the novel. As early as Chapter 1, the novel describes family as something Oliver is missing, and something he may or may not be better off without:
Now, if during this brief period Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed [by suffocation] in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman [...] and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract, Oliver and nature fought out the point between them.
Oliver is born alone in the world. His mother dies immediately after giving birth to him, orphaning him. The narrator is certainly playing with verbal irony in this passage—having aunts, grandmothers, nurses, and doctors around would not literally have resulted in Oliver's suffocation and would likely have helped him from the moment of his birth. And yet, as Oliver ping-pongings into various family structures throughout his childhood, it becomes clear that not all families are life-sustaining.
The Sowerberry family, Fagin and his band of thieves, Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin, and the Maylies are all families Oliver joins at various points before the ultimate mystery of the novel—his family of origin—is solved. The reader discovers alongside Oliver that loving families generally seem to produce good people, whereas abusive families generally produce morally corrupt people. For instance, Noah Claypole and Charlotte spend long enough in the abusive Sowerberry house that they themselves become "sour." Mrs. Maylie, on the other hand, raises both Rose and Harry, who are kind and generous. After being brought back under Fagin's roof, Oliver strives to remain morally pure enough to return to Mr. Brownlow's doting fatherly care.
Oliver's ability to stay "good" no matter his circumstances is somewhat exceptional; the novel acknowledges that a family's wealth is a huge factor in whether or not it will have the resources to nurture people who do not "sour" and turn to crime to survive. Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Maylie, for instance, seem to be wealthier than Mr. Sowerberry. Fagin himself may have some money, but the rest of his "family" members are poor people who have banded together under him for survival. The novel critiques the idea that more marriage and family are a straightforward fix to poverty and crime. The people and the wealth a child is surrounded by from birth determine what kind of person that child will be, the novel seems to say through this motif of family. To produce better people, the state needs to develop better social systems to make sure newborns aren't left to fight for their own air in the workhouse.
One of the central ideas of Oliver Twist is that Oliver must fight again and again to be seen as a real human being and not as an animal. One instance of this motif occurs in Chapter 2, when Oliver infamously pleads for more gruel:
"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more." The master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with the ladle, pinioned him in his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
In this scene, Oliver's plea to have his basic need for food met garners the reader's sympathy. He turns from a character on the page into a human child with hunger pangs. But the man who is serving the food does not see this transformation, instead hitting Oliver, trapping him, and calling for someone to get rid of him like a rodent.
In Chapter 3, Oliver manages to escape being apprenticed to cruel Mr. Gamfield when his humanity becomes visible to someone in power. The magistrate, about to sign Oliver over to this new master, must look all over his desk for his pen, and as he does so, his "gaze encounter[s] the pale and terrified face of Oliver Twist." He is moved to ask Oliver what is wrong, and Oliver bursts into tears, pleading with the magistrate to do anything but apprentice him to Mr. Gamfield. In the 19th century, the image of a powerless person begging a judge to recognize them as human and treat them with kindness was commonplace. What's more, despite what the man in the white waistcoat says at the end of this chapter about Oliver's likelihood to become a criminal, Oliver's humanization contrasts with the anti-Semitic dehumanization of Fagin, the archetypal criminal of the novel. The somewhat problematic implication, then, is that Oliver is good and therefore deserves human rights, whereas Fagin does not.
Often, the reader is the only one who recognizes Oliver as human. Villainous characters' failure to see Oliver's humanity works again and again to call forth the reader's sympathy, fomenting outrage at Oliver's situation. In Chapter 4, after Mrs. Sowerberry feeds Oliver the bones rejected by the dog, the narrator remarks:
I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to gall within him, whose blood is ice, and whose heart is iron, could have seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had neglected[.]
Mrs. Sowerberry refuses to look at Oliver and see a little boy in need of care. The narrator forces the reader, on the other hand, to pause and imagine the image of Oliver holding the food that wasn't even good enough for a dog. This act of imagining not only humanizes Oliver, but is also supposed to provoke a human response from even the most iron-hearted and detached "philosopher." Since Adam Smith's influential Theory of Moral Sentiments had come out in the last quarter of the 18th century, people had been taken with the idea that society functioned harmoniously when people took the time to look at one another and allow themselves to be moved to sympathy. Books like Oliver Twist have been critiqued for being overly sentimental and failing to solve the problems they point out, but there was a robust school of thought backing up the idea that sympathy itself could solve social problems.
One of the central ideas of Oliver Twist is that Oliver must fight again and again to be seen as a real human being and not as an animal. One instance of this motif occurs in Chapter 2, when Oliver infamously pleads for more gruel:
"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more." The master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with the ladle, pinioned him in his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
In this scene, Oliver's plea to have his basic need for food met garners the reader's sympathy. He turns from a character on the page into a human child with hunger pangs. But the man who is serving the food does not see this transformation, instead hitting Oliver, trapping him, and calling for someone to get rid of him like a rodent.
In Chapter 3, Oliver manages to escape being apprenticed to cruel Mr. Gamfield when his humanity becomes visible to someone in power. The magistrate, about to sign Oliver over to this new master, must look all over his desk for his pen, and as he does so, his "gaze encounter[s] the pale and terrified face of Oliver Twist." He is moved to ask Oliver what is wrong, and Oliver bursts into tears, pleading with the magistrate to do anything but apprentice him to Mr. Gamfield. In the 19th century, the image of a powerless person begging a judge to recognize them as human and treat them with kindness was commonplace. What's more, despite what the man in the white waistcoat says at the end of this chapter about Oliver's likelihood to become a criminal, Oliver's humanization contrasts with the anti-Semitic dehumanization of Fagin, the archetypal criminal of the novel. The somewhat problematic implication, then, is that Oliver is good and therefore deserves human rights, whereas Fagin does not.
Often, the reader is the only one who recognizes Oliver as human. Villainous characters' failure to see Oliver's humanity works again and again to call forth the reader's sympathy, fomenting outrage at Oliver's situation. In Chapter 4, after Mrs. Sowerberry feeds Oliver the bones rejected by the dog, the narrator remarks:
I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to gall within him, whose blood is ice, and whose heart is iron, could have seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had neglected[.]
Mrs. Sowerberry refuses to look at Oliver and see a little boy in need of care. The narrator forces the reader, on the other hand, to pause and imagine the image of Oliver holding the food that wasn't even good enough for a dog. This act of imagining not only humanizes Oliver, but is also supposed to provoke a human response from even the most iron-hearted and detached "philosopher." Since Adam Smith's influential Theory of Moral Sentiments had come out in the last quarter of the 18th century, people had been taken with the idea that society functioned harmoniously when people took the time to look at one another and allow themselves to be moved to sympathy. Books like Oliver Twist have been critiqued for being overly sentimental and failing to solve the problems they point out, but there was a robust school of thought backing up the idea that sympathy itself could solve social problems.
Throughout the novel, there is a motif of strangers who seem—for good reason—oddly familiar. One instance of this motif occurs in Chapter 12, when Oliver is fascinated by a strange woman's portrait in Mr. Brownlow's house:
"[T]he eyes look so sorrowful, and where I sit they seem fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat," added Oliver in a low voice, "as it if was alive, and wanted to speak to me, but couldn't."
Mrs. Bedwin seems spooked by the idea that the portrait is alive and communicating with Oliver. This is not the reaction she would expect to a mundane portrait. The reader gets another clue that the woman in the portrait is significant when Mr. Brownlow comes into the room and exclaims at the resemblance between her and Oliver. In a dramatic scene, Oliver faints at the exclamation, and Mr. Brownlow determines that the portrait should be taken down so as not to disturb him. All this hubbub over an unremarkable portrait piques the reader's curiosity and sets up the later discovery that this is, in fact, a painting of Oliver's mother.
Another noteworthy stranger turns out to be significant to the plot in Chapter 34, when Oliver is sure he sees Fagin and the man who turns out to be Monks outside his window at the Maylie cottage:
[B]eside [Fagin], white with rage, or fear, or both, were the scowling features of the very man who had accosted him at the inn yard!
Oliver still does not know who the second man is, but the fact that he has now taken notice of him twice suggests that he is going to turn up again. In fact, once again, this stranger will turn out to be a long-lost family member of Oliver's.
Coincidental run-ins with strangers who turn out to be family members or important characters were a fixture of many novels in the early 19th century. Even in the 1830s, London was a big city, so it was not necessarily realistic to have so many unwitting coincidental encounters. Nonetheless, this plot device was fun for readers and was accepted as part of the gothic genre and the serial form especially. The suspense it created was important for Dickens's sales. Readers who followed Oliver's story in the newspaper would come back to buy the next issue to find out who the stranger was. A loyal reader could turn into a detective, collecting clues and racing the characters to piece together the mystery. For example, in Chapter 37, the reader experiences a satisfying sense of dramatic irony when the stranger Bumble meets with turns out to be a known quantity:
On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary observed that it contained no name. The stranger had not gone far, so he made after him to ask it. [...] "Monks!" rejoined the man, and strode hastily away.
This moment in the text places the reader one step ahead of Bumble in solving the mystery of how all the characters fit together, but it does not yet reveal everything. When the novel was first published, this moment occurred at the end of a serial installment. When Dickens republished Oliver Twist in three bound volumes, he once again placed it at the end of the second volume: this unmasking of a stranger is a true cliffhanger that pulls the reader through the novel.
Sikes's dog is a motif that comes to symbolize the idea of loyalty and the dangers of unquestioningly following powerful leaders. This motif occurs in Chapter 16, when Sikes and Nancy have taken Oliver away from Mr. Brownlow's house. Sikes has just told his dog to lunge at Oliver's throat if he says anything to prevent his being taken back to Fagin:
The dog growled again, and, licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were anxious to attach himself to his windpipe without any unnecessary delay.
"He's as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he isn't," said Sikes, regarding the animal with a kind of grim and ferocious approval.
The dog wants to attack Oliver. The fact that he does not simply lunge indicates that pleasing Sikes is even more important to him. The ideal situation for the dog, it seems, would be if Sikes gave him the go-ahead to attack. The dog's eagerness to please Sikes through violence thus represents the way Fagin's crew behaves toward him, carrying out reprehensible acts in his service. For instance, kidnapping Oliver is not necessarily consistent with Nancy's own character—once her loyalty to Fagin begins to crumble later in the novel, she comes to see herself as Oliver's protector. Here, though, she acts against his best interest by kidnapping him from Mr. Brownlow because this is what Fagin has told her to do. What's more, Fagin has created a hierarchy among his crew members. Just as obedience to Sikes might "reward" the dog with the chance to hurt Oliver, Nancy and Sikes receive the reward of power over Oliver for their obedience to Fagin.
Furthermore, the simile that Sikes uses to compare the dog to a Christian underscores how devoted Fagin's followers are to him, and also how much power he has over them. Nancy and Sikes are essentially Fagin's disciples. They will do whatever he says without question, much as a good Victorian Christian tries to carry out God's will. But neither Sikes nor Fagin is God. They do not deserve such loyalty because they are simply using their followers for their personal gain and do not care much what happens to them.
This idea appears again at the end of the novel, when—in Chapter 50—the dog jumps off a roof after Sikes, following him to his death. Sikes, Nancy, and the Artful Dodger are all examples of people whose loyalty to Fagin got them killed or arrested. The dog's loyalty to Sikes gets him killed, too. But there is another facet to this motif. When he is on the run after killing Nancy, Sikes comes to see the dog as a liability. At first this is because having a dog at his side makes him more recognizable. The dog even gets blood on his paws during the murder, so he is literal evidence of Sikes's law-breaking. By the time of Sikes's death, he sees the dog more as a witness holding him accountable for his terrible crime against morality:
"The eyes again!" he cried in an unearthly screech. Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled over the parapet [...].
Sikes is running not just from the law at the end of his life, but from his dog's eyes. Similarly, Fagin is brought down and held accountable by people like Oliver, whom he once groomed into submission.
As much as the plot of the novel is driven by dramatic irony, it is also driven by the resolution of irony through the motif of discovery and disclosure. One example of this motif occurs in Chapter 24, when Old Sally reveals to Mrs. Corney that she has a secret about Oliver's family history:
"Now listen to me!" said the dying woman aloud, as if making a great effort to revive one latent spark of energy. "In this very room—in this very bed—I once nursed a pretty young creetur’, that was brought into the house with her feet cut and bruised with walking, and all soiled with dust and blood. She gave birth to a boy, and died. [...]"
Old Sally goes on to reveal that she has a locket and wedding ring that belonged to Oliver's mother. This moment of disclosure has the air of a discovery because it resolves the reader's question of whether there is more to know about Oliver's past. It also creates further suspense because it is unclear how Mrs. Corney is going to do anything useful with the locket and ring, or with the information she now has about them.
Throughout the novel, many characters turn out to have or stumble upon little pieces of Oliver's history. They all must confess to the right people before the puzzle can come together at the novel's resolution. What characters do with the information they have reveals much about their morality and also about their function in the novel. The reader sits in suspense about the locket and ring until Chapter 37, when Mrs. Corney (now Mrs. Bumble) passes them on to Monks:
"[The locket] has the word 'Agnes' engraved on the inside," said the woman. "There is a blank left for the surname, and then follows the date, which is within a year before the child was born; I found out that."
In Gothic fiction, popular in the 18th and early-19th centuries, discovering a family heirloom often results in an estate being restored to a long-lost heir. The locket and ring promise to do exactly this for Oliver, so Monks's decision in this scene to drop the evidence down a trapdoor (another Gothic trope) and into a turbulent river cements him as a Gothic stock character: the villain trying to conceal the protagonist's identity and steal his fortune.
Disclosure, on the other hand, as opposed to concealment, can lead to redemption. An example of this is in Chapter 38, when Nancy discloses to Rose both her own identity and the information she has overheard about Monks and Oliver:
"I am the infamous creature you have heard of, that lives among the thieves, and that never from the first moment I can recollect my eyes and senses opening on London streets have known any better life, or kinder words than they have given me, so help me God![...]"
Nancy's confession of her own wrongdoing demonstrates that she is honest and possibly morally redeemable. When she goes on to deliver the truth that Oliver and Monks are brothers, and that Monks is trying to conceal this fact, she becomes a hero: without her disclosure, the novel literally could not work because it would not reach its resolution.
Throughout the novel, there is a motif of strangers who seem—for good reason—oddly familiar. One instance of this motif occurs in Chapter 12, when Oliver is fascinated by a strange woman's portrait in Mr. Brownlow's house:
"[T]he eyes look so sorrowful, and where I sit they seem fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat," added Oliver in a low voice, "as it if was alive, and wanted to speak to me, but couldn't."
Mrs. Bedwin seems spooked by the idea that the portrait is alive and communicating with Oliver. This is not the reaction she would expect to a mundane portrait. The reader gets another clue that the woman in the portrait is significant when Mr. Brownlow comes into the room and exclaims at the resemblance between her and Oliver. In a dramatic scene, Oliver faints at the exclamation, and Mr. Brownlow determines that the portrait should be taken down so as not to disturb him. All this hubbub over an unremarkable portrait piques the reader's curiosity and sets up the later discovery that this is, in fact, a painting of Oliver's mother.
Another noteworthy stranger turns out to be significant to the plot in Chapter 34, when Oliver is sure he sees Fagin and the man who turns out to be Monks outside his window at the Maylie cottage:
[B]eside [Fagin], white with rage, or fear, or both, were the scowling features of the very man who had accosted him at the inn yard!
Oliver still does not know who the second man is, but the fact that he has now taken notice of him twice suggests that he is going to turn up again. In fact, once again, this stranger will turn out to be a long-lost family member of Oliver's.
Coincidental run-ins with strangers who turn out to be family members or important characters were a fixture of many novels in the early 19th century. Even in the 1830s, London was a big city, so it was not necessarily realistic to have so many unwitting coincidental encounters. Nonetheless, this plot device was fun for readers and was accepted as part of the gothic genre and the serial form especially. The suspense it created was important for Dickens's sales. Readers who followed Oliver's story in the newspaper would come back to buy the next issue to find out who the stranger was. A loyal reader could turn into a detective, collecting clues and racing the characters to piece together the mystery. For example, in Chapter 37, the reader experiences a satisfying sense of dramatic irony when the stranger Bumble meets with turns out to be a known quantity:
On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary observed that it contained no name. The stranger had not gone far, so he made after him to ask it. [...] "Monks!" rejoined the man, and strode hastily away.
This moment in the text places the reader one step ahead of Bumble in solving the mystery of how all the characters fit together, but it does not yet reveal everything. When the novel was first published, this moment occurred at the end of a serial installment. When Dickens republished Oliver Twist in three bound volumes, he once again placed it at the end of the second volume: this unmasking of a stranger is a true cliffhanger that pulls the reader through the novel.
Throughout the novel, there is a motif of strangers who seem—for good reason—oddly familiar. One instance of this motif occurs in Chapter 12, when Oliver is fascinated by a strange woman's portrait in Mr. Brownlow's house:
"[T]he eyes look so sorrowful, and where I sit they seem fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat," added Oliver in a low voice, "as it if was alive, and wanted to speak to me, but couldn't."
Mrs. Bedwin seems spooked by the idea that the portrait is alive and communicating with Oliver. This is not the reaction she would expect to a mundane portrait. The reader gets another clue that the woman in the portrait is significant when Mr. Brownlow comes into the room and exclaims at the resemblance between her and Oliver. In a dramatic scene, Oliver faints at the exclamation, and Mr. Brownlow determines that the portrait should be taken down so as not to disturb him. All this hubbub over an unremarkable portrait piques the reader's curiosity and sets up the later discovery that this is, in fact, a painting of Oliver's mother.
Another noteworthy stranger turns out to be significant to the plot in Chapter 34, when Oliver is sure he sees Fagin and the man who turns out to be Monks outside his window at the Maylie cottage:
[B]eside [Fagin], white with rage, or fear, or both, were the scowling features of the very man who had accosted him at the inn yard!
Oliver still does not know who the second man is, but the fact that he has now taken notice of him twice suggests that he is going to turn up again. In fact, once again, this stranger will turn out to be a long-lost family member of Oliver's.
Coincidental run-ins with strangers who turn out to be family members or important characters were a fixture of many novels in the early 19th century. Even in the 1830s, London was a big city, so it was not necessarily realistic to have so many unwitting coincidental encounters. Nonetheless, this plot device was fun for readers and was accepted as part of the gothic genre and the serial form especially. The suspense it created was important for Dickens's sales. Readers who followed Oliver's story in the newspaper would come back to buy the next issue to find out who the stranger was. A loyal reader could turn into a detective, collecting clues and racing the characters to piece together the mystery. For example, in Chapter 37, the reader experiences a satisfying sense of dramatic irony when the stranger Bumble meets with turns out to be a known quantity:
On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary observed that it contained no name. The stranger had not gone far, so he made after him to ask it. [...] "Monks!" rejoined the man, and strode hastily away.
This moment in the text places the reader one step ahead of Bumble in solving the mystery of how all the characters fit together, but it does not yet reveal everything. When the novel was first published, this moment occurred at the end of a serial installment. When Dickens republished Oliver Twist in three bound volumes, he once again placed it at the end of the second volume: this unmasking of a stranger is a true cliffhanger that pulls the reader through the novel.
As much as the plot of the novel is driven by dramatic irony, it is also driven by the resolution of irony through the motif of discovery and disclosure. One example of this motif occurs in Chapter 24, when Old Sally reveals to Mrs. Corney that she has a secret about Oliver's family history:
"Now listen to me!" said the dying woman aloud, as if making a great effort to revive one latent spark of energy. "In this very room—in this very bed—I once nursed a pretty young creetur’, that was brought into the house with her feet cut and bruised with walking, and all soiled with dust and blood. She gave birth to a boy, and died. [...]"
Old Sally goes on to reveal that she has a locket and wedding ring that belonged to Oliver's mother. This moment of disclosure has the air of a discovery because it resolves the reader's question of whether there is more to know about Oliver's past. It also creates further suspense because it is unclear how Mrs. Corney is going to do anything useful with the locket and ring, or with the information she now has about them.
Throughout the novel, many characters turn out to have or stumble upon little pieces of Oliver's history. They all must confess to the right people before the puzzle can come together at the novel's resolution. What characters do with the information they have reveals much about their morality and also about their function in the novel. The reader sits in suspense about the locket and ring until Chapter 37, when Mrs. Corney (now Mrs. Bumble) passes them on to Monks:
"[The locket] has the word 'Agnes' engraved on the inside," said the woman. "There is a blank left for the surname, and then follows the date, which is within a year before the child was born; I found out that."
In Gothic fiction, popular in the 18th and early-19th centuries, discovering a family heirloom often results in an estate being restored to a long-lost heir. The locket and ring promise to do exactly this for Oliver, so Monks's decision in this scene to drop the evidence down a trapdoor (another Gothic trope) and into a turbulent river cements him as a Gothic stock character: the villain trying to conceal the protagonist's identity and steal his fortune.
Disclosure, on the other hand, as opposed to concealment, can lead to redemption. An example of this is in Chapter 38, when Nancy discloses to Rose both her own identity and the information she has overheard about Monks and Oliver:
"I am the infamous creature you have heard of, that lives among the thieves, and that never from the first moment I can recollect my eyes and senses opening on London streets have known any better life, or kinder words than they have given me, so help me God![...]"
Nancy's confession of her own wrongdoing demonstrates that she is honest and possibly morally redeemable. When she goes on to deliver the truth that Oliver and Monks are brothers, and that Monks is trying to conceal this fact, she becomes a hero: without her disclosure, the novel literally could not work because it would not reach its resolution.
As much as the plot of the novel is driven by dramatic irony, it is also driven by the resolution of irony through the motif of discovery and disclosure. One example of this motif occurs in Chapter 24, when Old Sally reveals to Mrs. Corney that she has a secret about Oliver's family history:
"Now listen to me!" said the dying woman aloud, as if making a great effort to revive one latent spark of energy. "In this very room—in this very bed—I once nursed a pretty young creetur’, that was brought into the house with her feet cut and bruised with walking, and all soiled with dust and blood. She gave birth to a boy, and died. [...]"
Old Sally goes on to reveal that she has a locket and wedding ring that belonged to Oliver's mother. This moment of disclosure has the air of a discovery because it resolves the reader's question of whether there is more to know about Oliver's past. It also creates further suspense because it is unclear how Mrs. Corney is going to do anything useful with the locket and ring, or with the information she now has about them.
Throughout the novel, many characters turn out to have or stumble upon little pieces of Oliver's history. They all must confess to the right people before the puzzle can come together at the novel's resolution. What characters do with the information they have reveals much about their morality and also about their function in the novel. The reader sits in suspense about the locket and ring until Chapter 37, when Mrs. Corney (now Mrs. Bumble) passes them on to Monks:
"[The locket] has the word 'Agnes' engraved on the inside," said the woman. "There is a blank left for the surname, and then follows the date, which is within a year before the child was born; I found out that."
In Gothic fiction, popular in the 18th and early-19th centuries, discovering a family heirloom often results in an estate being restored to a long-lost heir. The locket and ring promise to do exactly this for Oliver, so Monks's decision in this scene to drop the evidence down a trapdoor (another Gothic trope) and into a turbulent river cements him as a Gothic stock character: the villain trying to conceal the protagonist's identity and steal his fortune.
Disclosure, on the other hand, as opposed to concealment, can lead to redemption. An example of this is in Chapter 38, when Nancy discloses to Rose both her own identity and the information she has overheard about Monks and Oliver:
"I am the infamous creature you have heard of, that lives among the thieves, and that never from the first moment I can recollect my eyes and senses opening on London streets have known any better life, or kinder words than they have given me, so help me God![...]"
Nancy's confession of her own wrongdoing demonstrates that she is honest and possibly morally redeemable. When she goes on to deliver the truth that Oliver and Monks are brothers, and that Monks is trying to conceal this fact, she becomes a hero: without her disclosure, the novel literally could not work because it would not reach its resolution.
Sikes's dog is a motif that comes to symbolize the idea of loyalty and the dangers of unquestioningly following powerful leaders. This motif occurs in Chapter 16, when Sikes and Nancy have taken Oliver away from Mr. Brownlow's house. Sikes has just told his dog to lunge at Oliver's throat if he says anything to prevent his being taken back to Fagin:
The dog growled again, and, licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were anxious to attach himself to his windpipe without any unnecessary delay.
"He's as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he isn't," said Sikes, regarding the animal with a kind of grim and ferocious approval.
The dog wants to attack Oliver. The fact that he does not simply lunge indicates that pleasing Sikes is even more important to him. The ideal situation for the dog, it seems, would be if Sikes gave him the go-ahead to attack. The dog's eagerness to please Sikes through violence thus represents the way Fagin's crew behaves toward him, carrying out reprehensible acts in his service. For instance, kidnapping Oliver is not necessarily consistent with Nancy's own character—once her loyalty to Fagin begins to crumble later in the novel, she comes to see herself as Oliver's protector. Here, though, she acts against his best interest by kidnapping him from Mr. Brownlow because this is what Fagin has told her to do. What's more, Fagin has created a hierarchy among his crew members. Just as obedience to Sikes might "reward" the dog with the chance to hurt Oliver, Nancy and Sikes receive the reward of power over Oliver for their obedience to Fagin.
Furthermore, the simile that Sikes uses to compare the dog to a Christian underscores how devoted Fagin's followers are to him, and also how much power he has over them. Nancy and Sikes are essentially Fagin's disciples. They will do whatever he says without question, much as a good Victorian Christian tries to carry out God's will. But neither Sikes nor Fagin is God. They do not deserve such loyalty because they are simply using their followers for their personal gain and do not care much what happens to them.
This idea appears again at the end of the novel, when—in Chapter 50—the dog jumps off a roof after Sikes, following him to his death. Sikes, Nancy, and the Artful Dodger are all examples of people whose loyalty to Fagin got them killed or arrested. The dog's loyalty to Sikes gets him killed, too. But there is another facet to this motif. When he is on the run after killing Nancy, Sikes comes to see the dog as a liability. At first this is because having a dog at his side makes him more recognizable. The dog even gets blood on his paws during the murder, so he is literal evidence of Sikes's law-breaking. By the time of Sikes's death, he sees the dog more as a witness holding him accountable for his terrible crime against morality:
"The eyes again!" he cried in an unearthly screech. Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled over the parapet [...].
Sikes is running not just from the law at the end of his life, but from his dog's eyes. Similarly, Fagin is brought down and held accountable by people like Oliver, whom he once groomed into submission.
