This book wants to be a gritty, sentimental rags-to-riches tale, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that you’ve read this story before—and in a far better version with workhouses, pickpockets, and a Victorian author who truly committed to the melodrama. This is Oliver Twist with the serial numbers filed off, except the emotional beats land softer, the stakes feel thinner, and the pathos never quite gathers momentum.
Chipper is fine. Perfectly fine. But it never becomes more than that, and the echo of Oliver Twist only reminds you how much sharper, stranger, and more powerful this story could have been.