How long is vanity fair

It is maybe an ancestor of Bonfire of the Vanities a slice of life in which everybody is reprehensible or ridiculous to varying degrees. There is problem in terms of the book as a moral sandwich, in that the title would suggest that we are in the moral universe of Pilgrim's Progress hurrying through the vanity fair, shunning its sinners seeing only the self inflicted misery, however the author does not seem to wearing John Bunyan's shoes, his attitude to vanity fair is a relaxed amusement and from the first he suggests to the readers of the novel attitudes to the characters and their doings that don't really fit into the world of Pilgrims Progress instead he suggests that the reader can be sympathetic or amused.

Of course by moving the story into the recent past, he is not suggesting that such dreadful goings on that place in Victorian society - oh no, it is the people of the reign of George IV who were so foolish and louche!

The problem with laughing at the characters is that author has chosen the barrel and selected his fish, watching him shooting them for eight hundred pages, well I return to my original point. It can be very droll and amusing as I hope the excerpts quoted below give some idea, it can also go on a bit, and if certain sections were not there would I have missed them? The other problem about the weakness of the moral wafer is that we are left cheek by jowl with Thackeray. I read somewhere view spoiler [ but have forgotten where and so am unsure if this is true or just speculation hide spoiler ] that Thackeray dropped early on the ever smiling Sambo the black servant and the 'amusingly' named Miss Swartz daughter of a German-Jewish father and a black Caribbean mother on account of reader criticism, I don't know if he was Racist as such, or it was more a case that all non-English people were inherently ridiculous in his opinion, indeed when Dobbin's regiment is posted to India his chief danger is that he may end up getting married to an Irish girl steady the Buffs , though at least she isn't Roman-Catholic for the benefit of the ladies and gentlemen at the back, smelling salts will be passed round , having said that if you are going to read it, don't read this edition, get this one or another with Thackeray's original illustrations - Glorvina looking at Dobbin across the dance floor is particularly fine.

It was hotter than the curry; flesh and blood could bear it no longer. She laid down her fork. Mr Sedley burst out laughing he was a coarse man, from the Stock Exchange, where they love all sorts of practical jokes. A problem is that Thackeray's principal characters can never develop there always has to be some angle or several angles at which they are ridiculous and mocked by the author. Interestingly from my point of view Thackeray's conception seems Wordsworthian - the child is the father of the man admittedly in part because the child remains a child - I think I recall one of his drawings of his characters as children but flopping about in adult clothes to underline that idea - but then getting back to the moral sandwich idea you might ask where the adult is in the book - but there isn't one, this is a book resolutely without a hero.

But digressing back to my digression I digress to Thackeray criticising Goethe's Elective affinities , which for Thackeray is morally dangerous, however we may feel psychologically much more sophisticated. Rereading I felt a little more sorry than I remembered from previously for Becky Sharp as she comes across as the most intelligent - but in the way of tv cartoon villains - she knows her end desire, and she knows what she can do do, but she can't see that there is no road between the two.

All the characters are so completely conditioned by their childhoods that there is no possibility of growth they are doomed to be slaves of satire forever, Dobbin so whipped and beaten as his name invites in childhood, that as an adult he has to visit the same on himself view spoiler [For native speakers of British English it is impossible to see anybody called "Dobbin" as a hero, but perhaps one needs to be over a certain age now to know that view spoiler [ particularly since it is a long while since Brian Cant was on the TV hide spoiler ] hide spoiler ].

Obviously Becky Sharp is your girl if you love the idea of always having the last word witty come back, more cutting than the world hairdressing championships, plainly in the contemporary world she'd be the leading edge CFO keeping a financial empire just about afloat by lending money to herself, currencies moving through jurisdictions like planes landing and taking off at an international hub airport.

Biology is destiny. Ancestry is destiny. But it is all for laughs, the problem with satire is I feel sometimes the line between humour and a horrible world view, as with the treatment of non-English characters above, can be pretty fine view spoiler [ but then I am humourless view spoiler [ except when it comes to people eating chillies imagining they will be delightfully cooling view spoiler [ as to be fair, their name implies hide spoiler ] , or being indignant over having been scratched by rabbits twenty years previously hide spoiler ] hide spoiler ] "Everybody is striving for what is not worth the having!

View all 24 comments. Dec 05, Greg Watson rated it it was amazing Shelves: favorites. Thackeray shows the fragility of status, wealth, and easy friendships based on a person's assets or place in society. He also shows us that however great our successes or failures in life, we all pass into death on equal footing. Thackeray seems to approach the subject of faith with a certain "Which of us is happy in this world? Thackeray seems to approach the subject of faith with a certain reluctance or with a light touch.

However, through Miss Crawley's character, he strikes a more serious tone, showing that skepticism towards faith in times of "health and good spirits" will bring little comfort in times of illness and "dreadful terrors of death. Thackeray offers many moments of hilarity and sarcasm. In his style of a background observer of the novel's numerous social gatherings and encounters, he cuts through every pretense, analyzing good and ill intent.

Vanity Fair is a novel that is well worth it. Make time for it. View all 6 comments. Aug 17, Robert rated it it was ok Shelves: general-fiction. Excessively Long Book Syndrome: It takes ages to read and it's more than a years old, therefore it must be great, right? So wrong, in this case, that the editor's claim that it "has strong claims to be the greatest novel in the English language" is laughable. It's not even the greatest such novel of its century by a huge stretch - seriously, the best works of Hardy, the Brontes and Austen are all better by a country mile, not least because they don't carry such a ridiculous weight of Excessively Long Book Syndrome: It takes ages to read and it's more than a years old, therefore it must be great, right?

It's not even the greatest such novel of its century by a huge stretch - seriously, the best works of Hardy, the Brontes and Austen are all better by a country mile, not least because they don't carry such a ridiculous weight of excess verbiage. A modern editor would need to employ slash and burn to prune this jungle back. Most of the excess is Authorial Voice going off along lengthy tangents before getting back to describing the action.

It's extreme even by Victorian standards. Leaving the sheer length aside, the tone of the book ranges from scathing, sarcastic and satirical to farcical, comical and ironical by way of such stations as bitter, sympathetic and moralistic - with the clear message that Earthly pursuits are all vanity, as encapsulated in the title metaphor, which is repeated ad nauseum through-out. Beyond that there are clear attitudes in regard to the conduct of both women and men that go back-and-fore across the line between cliche-Victorian stereotypes and socially progressive campaigner.

The over-all bitter and satirical tone, however, seems to detract from rather than strengthen the power of these themes; Hardy's all-out Tragic approach is much more effective and he is far more advanced in his views anyway. The same goes for Anne Bronte's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, where the real terrors of marriage to an addict are laid bare.

Austen's wit and humour and wish-fulfillment in Pride and Prejudice is far more entertaining and has a female character everyone can get behind and root for. That's completely absent here; the two contrasted female protagonists are on the one hand, increasingly evil as the story progresses and on the other, dull and lacking all perception of character in others.

It's hard to like either of them after about the first third of the book. Instead we have a Stoic hero, who whilst admirable in many ways, is also unexciting for the most part. By now you may be wondering why I staggered through all the p of relatively small print constituting the main text.

The rest is notes and other "apparatus'. Occasionally I wondered whether it was worth it, myself, but in fact, there is a good, if diluted, story here and some snort-worthy humourous cracks and comic scenes as well as drama: there are times when Thackeray focuses on his story-telling and the book becomes involving.

Sufficiently so to drag the reader or at least this one through to the end simply to find out how the whole mess of family conflicts and marital disasters turns out for everybody and there are so many characters that even Thackeray can't keep them all straight at times, renaming a serving maid or two here and there and the like.

And there are two great moments, two great sentences, one at the half-way point, at Waterloo, the other right at the end in the closing paragraphs, that show a way forward to a superior kind of writing - but I can't tell you what they are without spoiling everything. Over-all, yes it was worth the effort, but when it comes to famous gigantic novels, Les Misearbles and War and Peace are vastly more rewarding. View all 18 comments. If a young lady is not born into either rank or fortune, she will be looked down upon by good society and forced to exist in a humiliating dependency on others for life, unless the said young lady is willing, nay, not merely willing, but most strenuously strive to improve her situation.

If the said young lady, despite being a poor orphan, happens to have the good fortune of being admitted into an exclusive academy for young ladies a Spoilers!

If the said young lady, despite being a poor orphan, happens to have the good fortune of being admitted into an exclusive academy for young ladies as an articled pupil, she has to ensure that she makes the utmost effort to learn everything that she could in that fine establishment. The modern languages, Greek, Latin and the rudiments of Hebrew, as well as music and dancing are important subjects that need to be mastered by an accomplished young lady, but most important of all is the ability to speak good French with the purest Parisian accent, for it enables the speaker to pass herself off as a daughter of the French aristocracy, even though in reality her mother is a mere stage actress.

A wealthy husband should be prospected immediately after the young lady completes her education. The brother of a school friend is most suitable, even if the said young man is a fat dandy and not very sensible, as long as he is of ample inheritance. There are notable exceptions, it must be admitted, but they are exceedingly rare. Nevertheless, the young lady, should she fail in her initial effort to land a wealthy husband, should endeavour to gain a letter of introduction that would recommend her as a governess to the most respectable of households.

Such households, though populated by dissolute aristocrats, might house a number of potential spouses. A little sweet talk and a wink, and they all fall on your feet bearing trinkets of pearls and gold. It is best, however, if the gentleman admirer is a wealthy, powerful nobleman, for the advantages that a clever lady could get from him, financially or otherwise, is great indeed. How to afford all these when one has no regular income? Not to despair, the ingenious lady always has means to do so.

Prevail upon the generosity of friends and relatives. Impose upon your landlord and your greengrocers, washerwomen and other domestics. Unlike banks or Hebrew money-lenders, these little people are very unlikely to set loose a bailiff upon your respectable self, especially if they are in awe of your noble family. If all these schemes fail, and both your husband and gentleman admirer abandon you in a cloud of scandal, despair not!

A lady of some talent can always flee abroad and sing for her supper, if necessary. Better still, if you could rekindle a relationship with a former beau, now older and ailing, who though his own fortune is much encumbered, would take a life insurance naming your pitiful self as a beneficiary.

The small fortune that ensues from such a settlement is surely enough to tide you over until your estranged son succeeds into his baronetcy and is finally able to provide you with a generous allowance. Then you can spend your declining years as an admirably pious and charitable society lady. Thus a penniless orphan girl need not condemn herself to a life of servitude and penury, but instead rise into the pinnacle of society through her industry and ingeniousness!

View all 17 comments. Jun 18, Amalia Gkavea rated it really liked it Shelves: favorites , classics , british-history , united-kingdom , british-literature , britain , 19th-century , european-heritage , historical-fiction , regency.

Vanitas Vanitatum! There was a girl I knew in school that made my formative years for this purpose I'm considering the "formative years" to be a bloody hell. She was a nasty, manipulative, cruel girl who, unfortunately for me, also had the luck of being beautiful and popular.

She was wretched to the little people, and I was a little person. She was mean to me but I so wanted her to be my friend because I thought if I was her friend and a part of her circle, then everything would be okay. Life would be perf There was a girl I knew in school that made my formative years for this purpose I'm considering the "formative years" to be a bloody hell.

Life would be perfect. I remember one day in class as we were down to the last few minutes before the bell, our teacher just let us all sit around and talk.

There was a school dance that evening and it was all anyone wanted to talk about. The teacher happened to ask this popular girl if she was looking forward the dance. This girl made a comment that has stayed with me all these years: "Yeah, but I still haven't decided how I'm going to act tonight. She probably did think about what sort of attention she would get based on how she behaved. I was sort of scared of her in that moment - someone my age who knew more about human nature than I thought I ever could, someone who knew how to manipulate everyone around her.

It was freakish and sort of awesome all at once. I thought of that girl a lot while reading Vanity Fair. Becky Sharp is just as dangerous a character as that girl I knew was in real life. The concept of "being nice" was foreign to both of them; why bother being nice to people who couldn't get you anywhere in life? Why bother being nice to someone who is, for all intents and purposes, below you? It's a crazy thought process but that's what Becky and this other girl were all about.

What's interesting to me is that Becky is not really the main character of the story. Just like that girl I knew in school. As far as I was concerned at the time, the sun rose and set because of her.

Everyone knew who she was, everyone wanted to be her friend, even the teachers. Looking back as an adult I realize everyone was really just afraid of her as I was, but I thought there was something more to the power she held.

But no, she and Becky Sharp were just that insidious. There were other people in the school - myself included - but none of those other people mattered when she was around. Same holds true with Vanity Fair. There are other characters, like Amelia, but they're almost completely overshadowed by this really insignificant person - even during the parts that didn't include Becky, the reader is just waiting for her to step her precious little foot back into the story.

I hear that this girl from my school days is married and has some kids and has found religion. I'm told she's not as bad as she used to be. But I'm not going to lie - that girl messed me up, and now I can't imagine her being a good mother to her kids; I sort of think she probably treats them the same way Becky Sharp treated her own child in the story: as a nuisance, serving only the purpose of gaining attention for herself when necessary.

Perhaps that's being unfair to that girl from school to imagine that's how she is; everyone can change. Hell, I'm not the same kid I was back when I knew her, so chances are she's just as capable of change as well. But a part of me needs her to still be that nasty little bitch I knew then because it makes me feel better about me - which, funnily enough, isn't that different from Becky Sharp at all.

The truth of the matter is that we all have a little Becky Sharp in us somewhere. It may be larger piece in some than in others, and maybe we all have a little bit of Amelia as well who isn't quite as interesting but worthy of a little disgust thrown her way too, just for different reasons. We all love having someone to hate on - for some it's the Kardashians, for some it's Lady Gaga. It contributes to the way society works, and no one is free of it. We love to hate, and Thackeray wrote some characters in Vanity Fair that are absolutely delicious to hate - it's just Becky Sharp is the strongest of them all.

View all 14 comments. However, William Makepeace Thackeray's portrait of human nature isn't limited to any time or place. The novel is made up of nothing but super-rigidly-defined cliques; complicated rules about who is allowed to talk to whom, when, where, and for how long; small levels of popularity subdivided into types; and a bunch of people who are constantly trying to reach the top of the heap and avoid becoming social pariahs.

But what's more important than the plot is the style of the novel: its bitter and caustic humor. And it really does have something for everyone to laugh at: snobby merchants, greedy social climbers, illiterate aristocrats, nosy servants, evil nobles, macho soldiers, bossy women, bumbling men, British people, German people, Belgian people, and every other kind of group of humans that can be crammed in. What sets this aside from the novels of its time is that it's not about very nice people.

These are people who make disliking them so easy -- which makes them, all the more, interesting. I sensed that Thackeray got into everything he ever witnessed or suspected about human motives. It's a profoundly skeptical book. He pits worldliness against goodness with no illusions about which quality usually triumphs. Put it this way: In a Dickens novel, a small boy rescued from the torments of a bully will almost certainly grow up to be an exemplar of kindness and gentleness. The same boy, in Thackeray, grows up to be a snob and a rotter, and hateful to the friend who saved him from the bully.

Multiply those incidents into a panorama that stretches nearly the entire height of early 19th century English society, and you have an overwhelmingly coherent and devastating satiric vision.

A poor orphan of low birth, Becky is a born hustler and almost sociopathic striver who manages to raise herself to the upper limits of high society and wealth -- only to see her achievements crumble under the weight of her bad deeds.

Evil temptress or misunderstood woman ahead of her time? You be the judge. But there's another way of looking at the story which doesn't preclude the feminist treatment, and which seems potentially richer: its inescapable revelation that in 19th century England, a woman had to be a genius to achieve success -- or even to fight life to a draw.

Her foil, Amelia Sedley, is also compelling. While Becky is self-reliant and action oriented, with a scheme or two always on the backburner, Amelia is dependent on the kindness of the next stranger to come around the corner. If you want to get fancy about it, she entirely lacks agency.

In almost any other novel, she would be the heroine, and her sad-sack ways would be disguised a little better so that instead of coming across like a lump of nothing she would seem like a paragon of femininity.

You know the drill: dainty, small, semi-pathetic, and needing some white-knight rescue action. Here, though, we are shown exactly what happens when you take those supposed ideals of femininity to the extreme -- you get Jell-O in human form. Thackery's narrator, who's telling a "true" story based on the accounts of the principal characters he has met, satirizes early 19th century British and European culture class, religion, education, business, war, tourism, etc.

He is keenly honest about their failings, yet you don't get the feeling that he despises people for their weaknesses. He tells the story almost as if he is a fond old uncle, slightly detached, amused at the foibles of, but still having affection for, his characters.

Sentences are complex and very long, florid, and decorative. There is a lightness in its tone, even when your emotions are being tugged a bit. Ok, ok I'm reading this as a break between books for classes in Grad School. Is that the dorkiest thing you could ever imagine? It is. It just is. But the first two pages, the author's introduction Better than Kafka, better than Nabokov, better than whatever.

Fucking brilliant- vivid, funny, rambunctious, wise, sarcastic, immortally satirical. I was hooked each time I picked up the book and read through it. Sometimes there's that Ok, ok Sometimes there's that first blush kind of thing going on, when a book seems amazing in the first few minutes of poking around in it in a bookstore and then it loses its shine when you take it home and read it.

Not so w. Vanity Fair I'm maybe a hundred pages in and I'm savoring it. It's deliciously wise and cyncial and knowing and filled with its own combustion engine, perpetual storytelling ie serialization, 'let's throw in a subplot so we can go out to eat for the next week' is a lost art.

One thing, an objection anticipated- Story being overtold? Legitimate grounds Finally, however, for all its realism, Vanity Fair is a bravura performance by a writer who has found his theme. As the serialisation of the novel that would transform its author's reputation draws to a close, Thackeray himself concluded his tale with a nod to the gaudy theatricality of the whole business: "Come children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.

A revised and more definitive text appeared in , without illustrations. Vanity Fair was the first of Thackeray's books to appear under his own name.

As a further sign of his self-confidence, in the introduction to the edition, dated 28 June, the author acknowledges "the kindness with which it has been received in all the principal towns of England… where it has been most favourably noticed by the respected conductors of the public Press, and by the Nobility and Gentry. He is proud to think that his Puppets have given satisfaction to the very best company in this empire. William Thackeray's masterpiece, set in Regency England, is a bravura performance by a writer at the top of his game.

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Frequently Asked Questions. Where can I find my expiration date? How can I change my address? One of my Vanity Fair issues was never delivered. What should I do? To salvage the situation, Nast sought advice from the most cultivated, elegant, and endearing man in publishing, if not Manhattan, Frank Crowninshield.

In his first editor's letter that March, Crowninshield confidently proclaimed that "young men and young women, full of courage, originality, and genius, are everywhere to be met with. Miraculously, geniuses did materialize in "Crownie"'s offices with alarming frequency.

Dorothy Parker, who happened to be toiling at Vanity Fair as a caption writer, sold her first poem to the magazine. Robert Benchley, setting off from the Harvard Lampoon, also wound up at Crownie's silver-leafed door.