Mr. Dombey is the proud father of a son born to greatness—until little Paul Dombey dies.  Then he’s only a proud man who happens to have a daughter.  Florence Dombey grows up unloved and unappreciated—but not being there when she needed him will come back to haunt Mr. Dombey when he needs her.

Dombey and Son is a longish book, a little shorter than Bleak House or Our Mutual Friend.  Almost twice as long as something like Pride and Prejudice or Little Women.

The book largely revolves around humbling Mr. Dombey—not an easy thing to do.  His pride resists every fall, and he really has to come desperately low.  Besides that, the explanation and illustration(s) of his pride itself are a little complex and likely to go over a young reader’s head.  Usually, that kind of complexity is second layer in a book and a reader can enjoy the plot without it, but in this case it’s pretty central.  I would give Dombey and Son a 17 or even 18+ rating; I’m not sure a younger teen would really be able to appreciate it.

As usual, you can jump straight to the bottom for my brief concluding opinion, or read straight through for all the spoiler-laden details.

What kind of life would you lead if you could do anything without having to worry about what toll it would take on your health and life?  The Picture of Dorian Grey explores the psychology of a young man who suddenly finds himself in this kind of situation—and shows how in the end, though he can mask the symptoms of his sins, he can’t escape the final consequences.

The book isn’t that long or that short—probably shorter than Jane Eyre, for instance.

The Picture of Dorian Grey is not a book I recommend; although the main gist of the book is a true one (that killing one’s conscience leads to crime and death), there are ambiguities remaining, and one of the character’s conversational wit verges on the diabolically clever.  I certainly discourage it being read by anyone not 18+.

Read straight on for an explanation of my criticism or skip to the end for a brief conclusion!

An intelligent, hardworking governess gets thrown into a few complicated situations involving an insane murderess, a little French girl, a determined missionary—and Mr. Rochester.  What is right and what is wrong?  Jane Eyre tries to keep her wits and her integrity as she makes some big decisions.

Jane Eyre: An Autobiography is not a short book—it’s comparable to Pride and Prejudice or Hard Times for length.

The book does have some excitement (insane murderess and all), but its focus is introspective and the plot rides on the rather complex relationship between Jane and Mr. Rochester, so I don’t expect it to be very intelligible to a young audience.  I’ll rank it at a hesitant 15+; 17+ might be more reasonable.

As always, you can jump to the bottom for a brief conclusion or read through for more details.