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3.65 AVERAGE
3.65 AVERAGE
A very tedious and long book. I honestly don't understand the raves over this book unless you enjoy reading melodramatic Victorian era drama. The story could have been written in a dozen pages (exaggerating). The excessive prose is unnecessary in my view although you could disagree.
At the end, what do we have? A story about two very vain people and a list of unsavoury supporting characters, although Dobbins was perhaps the only candidate worthy of rooting for but ultimately was a disappointment.
At the end, what do we have? A story about two very vain people and a list of unsavoury supporting characters, although Dobbins was perhaps the only candidate worthy of rooting for but ultimately was a disappointment.
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I tried. But the fact that I'm a fast reader and this STILL took me 8 (eight!) months to read says a lot.
The narrator has a unique voice and a good sense of snark, which is really fun. I also think it's an interesting story with a lot to say about early Regency (?) court society.
That said, it's a slog. Especially in the middle. Because it was originally published serially, there's a lot of repetitive catch up. There's also full chapters on side characters and devoted to very technical court proceedings. It gets confusing and boring around the middle.
I really wanted to like this because I LOVED Kate Hamill's play adaptation, but it was just too meh.
The narrator has a unique voice and a good sense of snark, which is really fun. I also think it's an interesting story with a lot to say about early Regency (?) court society.
That said, it's a slog. Especially in the middle. Because it was originally published serially, there's a lot of repetitive catch up. There's also full chapters on side characters and devoted to very technical court proceedings. It gets confusing and boring around the middle.
I really wanted to like this because I LOVED Kate Hamill's play adaptation, but it was just too meh.
I haven't had an experience quite like that since I first read Les Miserables in eighth grade. It took me just over a month of steady, dogged reading, and I carried that book with me everywhere--to every class in school, every time I was sitting in the backseat of the car while running errands with my parents, every time I read before bed.
Vanity Fair reminds me a lot of Les Mis, not in tone or subject matter, but in my sheer determination to get through it, even when it's slow going. Because I started this book in February. The wit and charm and lively characters carried me through the first two hundred pages fairly easily, but then I began to lose steam. I took what I thought was a short break to read something else before going on, and when I went back, suddenly it was hard to read more than a chapter or two at a time. I told myself to keep going. After all, I was still enjoying it--it wasn't the same feeling of epic struggle to stay interested that I had with War and Peace last year. I liked this book, yet somehow, I couldn't motivate myself to read it.
Pretty soon it became clear the problem wasn't Vanity Fair itself, or at least, not mostly. I was just in the worst reading slump of my adult life, because nothing I read could hold my attention long. I took almost an entire month off reading, but when the mood struck to try again, I'd either try a new book and set it down after five pages, or nibble at the edges of Vanity Fair. When I declared (to myself) that my reading slump was over, I was just past 400 pages in.
Like magic, once I'd warmed up with a few light reads, the pages began to fly by again. I could finish several chapters in a sitting, and genuinely want to read more.
But this is a book review, right? Not the story of my reading slump. So what was it that was giving me difficulty, specifically, about this work?
The names. Formal name etiquette in British high society is just the pits. Our main character, Rebecca, probably showed up in the text under about a dozen different names or epithets throughout the course of the story, because she's got her first name, her full name, her nickname, her married name both formally as Mrs. Husband's Name and Becky/Rebecca Husband's Name, and of course any given description posing as a person that Thackeray wanted to attach to her. Eventually at the very end she's mostly Mrs. Becky, which I didn't recall being used much before. On top of that, there were other instances when a change of status caused me some confusion, because first we have Pitt Crawley, no title attached, son of Sir Pitt Crawley, but when the elder Crawley dies, of course Pitt becomes Sir Pitt because the title passes on, even though that's also the name of the now-dead character. Any male character in the military might be referred to by his rank rather than his name, and when multiple military figures are in the same paragraph (as they often are) they are all referred to by an inconsistent mix of their names and ranks.
And all of this is happening constantly through the entire nearly-700-pages of the novel. It's exhausting.
When this was published, I have no doubt this was common enough that readers had little issue with it. Now? I often had to stop to parse who was who because of the constant flux of designations.
If I could strip that stylistic inconsistency out, that would fix a lot of my problems with reading this right away. However, there were still others. While the core cast of characters is relatively small compared to some epic classics of this length, Thackeray does like to veer off on tangents frequently and spend a chapter or three detailing the life and situation of a minor character. That's something I remember loving in Les Mis, which, again, is the thing I have read that is most like this book; but here, somehow I was never as fascinated by these little portraits as I was when Hugo did it. Here I was invested in Becky and Amelia and William Dobbin (in fact, the resolution of his story is the primary reason I finished this book at all--I was hanging on for that happy ending.) But I did not find myself particularly interested in Lord Steyne or Mrs. Major O'Dowd or the Gaunt family. The minor characters were not completely without charm to me, as I particularly liked the single-page tale of Becky's little French maid abandoning her. What the girl took, what became of her, how she fared after Becky's tyranny, that was all grand. But it was also short, and seeing as it came immediately after we read of Becky's downfall, it felt timely and appropriate. Many of the other, larger tangents from the main story line left me scratching my head about why I was suddenly learning new names or jumping to a different country. I admit to skimming some of the side bits that seemed less relevant or interesting, in order to get back to the "good" parts.
How do I feel three months later now that I'm finally done? It was a long walk to that happy ending I was 95% sure was coming. I'm pleased to be finished but not particularly eager to try any other Thackeray works, because while I liked many things about his style--the wit and humor, the insertion of himself as narrator into the story (occasionally) as a character, the biting satire--there's also simply too much dead weight to carry in order to get to all of that. I'm glad I read it, but I never need to reread it. It's rare for me to find myself finishing a classic novel without either loving it to pieces (My Antonia, Les Mis, Jane Eyre) or hating it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns (too many to name.) But I found this book simply good--not great, not terrible.
Vanity Fair reminds me a lot of Les Mis, not in tone or subject matter, but in my sheer determination to get through it, even when it's slow going. Because I started this book in February. The wit and charm and lively characters carried me through the first two hundred pages fairly easily, but then I began to lose steam. I took what I thought was a short break to read something else before going on, and when I went back, suddenly it was hard to read more than a chapter or two at a time. I told myself to keep going. After all, I was still enjoying it--it wasn't the same feeling of epic struggle to stay interested that I had with War and Peace last year. I liked this book, yet somehow, I couldn't motivate myself to read it.
Pretty soon it became clear the problem wasn't Vanity Fair itself, or at least, not mostly. I was just in the worst reading slump of my adult life, because nothing I read could hold my attention long. I took almost an entire month off reading, but when the mood struck to try again, I'd either try a new book and set it down after five pages, or nibble at the edges of Vanity Fair. When I declared (to myself) that my reading slump was over, I was just past 400 pages in.
Like magic, once I'd warmed up with a few light reads, the pages began to fly by again. I could finish several chapters in a sitting, and genuinely want to read more.
But this is a book review, right? Not the story of my reading slump. So what was it that was giving me difficulty, specifically, about this work?
The names. Formal name etiquette in British high society is just the pits. Our main character, Rebecca, probably showed up in the text under about a dozen different names or epithets throughout the course of the story, because she's got her first name, her full name, her nickname, her married name both formally as Mrs. Husband's Name and Becky/Rebecca Husband's Name, and of course any given description posing as a person that Thackeray wanted to attach to her. Eventually at the very end she's mostly Mrs. Becky, which I didn't recall being used much before. On top of that, there were other instances when a change of status caused me some confusion, because first we have Pitt Crawley, no title attached, son of Sir Pitt Crawley, but when the elder Crawley dies, of course Pitt becomes Sir Pitt because the title passes on, even though that's also the name of the now-dead character. Any male character in the military might be referred to by his rank rather than his name, and when multiple military figures are in the same paragraph (as they often are) they are all referred to by an inconsistent mix of their names and ranks.
And all of this is happening constantly through the entire nearly-700-pages of the novel. It's exhausting.
When this was published, I have no doubt this was common enough that readers had little issue with it. Now? I often had to stop to parse who was who because of the constant flux of designations.
If I could strip that stylistic inconsistency out, that would fix a lot of my problems with reading this right away. However, there were still others. While the core cast of characters is relatively small compared to some epic classics of this length, Thackeray does like to veer off on tangents frequently and spend a chapter or three detailing the life and situation of a minor character. That's something I remember loving in Les Mis, which, again, is the thing I have read that is most like this book; but here, somehow I was never as fascinated by these little portraits as I was when Hugo did it. Here I was invested in Becky and Amelia and William Dobbin (in fact, the resolution of his story is the primary reason I finished this book at all--I was hanging on for that happy ending.) But I did not find myself particularly interested in Lord Steyne or Mrs. Major O'Dowd or the Gaunt family. The minor characters were not completely without charm to me, as I particularly liked the single-page tale of Becky's little French maid abandoning her. What the girl took, what became of her, how she fared after Becky's tyranny, that was all grand. But it was also short, and seeing as it came immediately after we read of Becky's downfall, it felt timely and appropriate. Many of the other, larger tangents from the main story line left me scratching my head about why I was suddenly learning new names or jumping to a different country. I admit to skimming some of the side bits that seemed less relevant or interesting, in order to get back to the "good" parts.
How do I feel three months later now that I'm finally done? It was a long walk to that happy ending I was 95% sure was coming. I'm pleased to be finished but not particularly eager to try any other Thackeray works, because while I liked many things about his style--the wit and humor, the insertion of himself as narrator into the story (occasionally) as a character, the biting satire--there's also simply too much dead weight to carry in order to get to all of that. I'm glad I read it, but I never need to reread it. It's rare for me to find myself finishing a classic novel without either loving it to pieces (My Antonia, Les Mis, Jane Eyre) or hating it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns (too many to name.) But I found this book simply good--not great, not terrible.
A fun study of the ridiculousness of class in early 19th century England. The characters all seem to have the classic fault of thinking well of themselves and pretty poorly of anyone else. The last fourth of the book dragged a bit, but it was an engaging read until then.
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
How I WISH editing was more common back then. This is a true example of how editors can save authors from themselves. I would go from completely bored and skimming the pages to alighting on a passage and laughing out loud. I think I love Thackeray but damn it, if he didn't need somebody with a red pen crossing out a good 300 pages or so.
funny
lighthearted
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
funny
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death of parent, Toxic friendship, Classism
Moderate: Infidelity, Racism, Sexism, Abandonment, Colonisation, War
funny
inspiring
lighthearted
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes