William Thackeray - 3 books to know Anti-heroes

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Welcome to the3 Books To Knowseries, our idea is to help readers learn about fascinating topics through three essential and relevant books.
These carefully selected works can be fiction, non-fiction, historical documents or even biographies.
We will always select for you three great works to instigate your mind, this time the topic is:Anti-heroes
– Barry Lyndon by William Makepeace Thackeray
– Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
– Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
The Luck of Barry Lyndon is a picaresque novel by William Makepeace Thackeray, first published as a serial in Fraser's Magazine in 1844, about a member of the Irish gentry trying to become a member of the English aristocracy. Stanley Kubrick adapted the novel into the film Barry Lyndon, released in 1975. Unlike the film, the novel is narrated by Barry himself, who functions as a quintessentially unreliable narrator.
Crime and Punishmentfocuses on the mental anguish and moral dilemmas ofan impoverished ex-student in Saint Petesburg who formulates a plan to kill an unscrupulous pawnbroker for her money. Before the killing, Raskolnikov believes that with the money he could liberate himself from poverty and go on to perform great deeds. However, once it is done he finds himself racked with confusion, paranoia, and disgust for what he has done. His moral justifications disintegrate completely as he struggles with guilt and horror and confronts the real-world consequences of his deed.
Long established as one of the greatest novels, Madame Bovary has been described as a «perfect» work of fiction. Henry James wrote: «Madame Bovary has a perfection that not only stamps it, but that makes it stand almost alone: it holds itself with such a supreme unapproachable assurance as both excites and defies judgment.» The realist movement was, in part, a reaction against romanticism. Emma may be said to be the embodiment of a romantic: in her mental and emotional process, she has no relation to the realities of her world.
This is one of many books in the series 3 Books To Know. If you liked this book, look for the other titles in the series, we are sure you will like some of the topics

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Although I sprang up like a weed in my illness, and was now nearly attained to my full growth of six feet, yet I was but a lath by the side of the enormous English captain, who had calves and shoulders such as no chairman at Bath ever boasted. He turned very red, and then exceedingly pale at my attack upon him, and slipped back and clutched at his sword—when Nora, in an agony of terror, flung herself round him, screaming, ‘Eugenio! Captain Quin, for Heaven’s sake spare the child—he is but an infant.’

‘And ought to be whipped for his impudence,’ said the Captain; ‘but never fear, Miss Brady, I shall not touch him; your FAVOURITE is safe from me.’ So saying, he stooped down and picked up the bunch of ribands which had fallen at Nora’s feet, and handing it to her, said in a sarcastic tone, ‘When ladies make presents to gentlemen, it is time for OTHER gentlemen to retire.’

‘Good heavens, Quin!’ cried the girl; ‘he is but a boy.’

‘I am a man,’ roared I, ‘and will prove it.’

‘And don’t signify any more than my parrot or lap-dog. Mayn’t I give a bit of riband to my own cousin?’

‘You are perfectly welcome, miss,’ continued the Captain, ‘as many yards as you like.’

‘Monster!’ exclaimed the dear girl; ‘your father was a tailor, and you are always thinking of the shop. But I’ll have my revenge, I will! Reddy, will you see me insulted?’

‘Indeed, Miss Nora,’ says I, ‘I intend to have his blood as sure as my name’s Redmond.’

‘I’ll send for the usher to cane you, little boy,’ said the Captain, regaining his self-possession; ‘but as for you, miss, I have the honour to wish you a good-day.’

He took off his hat with much ceremony, made a low CONGE, and was just walking off, when Mick, my cousin, came up, whose ear had likewise been caught by the scream.

‘Hoity-toity! Jack Quin, what’s the matter here?’ says Mick; ‘Nora in tears, Redmond’s ghost here with his sword drawn, and you making a bow?’

‘I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Brady,’ said the Englishman: ‘I have had enough of Miss Nora, here, and your Irish ways. I ain’t used to ‘em, sir.’

‘Well, well! what is it?’ said Mick good-humouredly (for he owed Quin a great deal of money as it turned out); ‘we’ll make you used to our ways, or adopt English ones.’

‘It’s not the English way for ladies to have two lovers’ (the ‘Henglish way,’ as the captain called it), ‘and so, Mr. Brady, I’ll thank you to pay me the sum you owe me, and I’ll resign all claims to this young lady. If she has a fancy for schoolboys, let her take ‘em, sir.’

‘Pooh, pooh! Quin, you are joking,’ said Mick.

‘I never was more in earnest,’ replied the other.

‘By Heaven, then, look to yourself!’ shouted Mick. ‘Infamous seducer! infernal deceiver!—you come and wind your toils round this suffering angel here—you win her heart and leave her—and fancy her brother won’t defend her? Draw this minute, you slave! and let me cut the wicked heart out of your body!’

‘This is regular assassination,’ said Quin, starting back; ‘there’s two on ‘em on me at once. Fagan, you won’t let ‘em murder me?’

‘Faith!’ said Captain Fagan, who seemed mightily amused, ‘you may settle your own quarrel, Captain Quin;’ and coming over to me, whispered, ‘At him again, you little fellow.’

‘As long as Mr. Quin withdraws his claim,’ said I, ‘I, of course, do not interfere.’

‘I do, sir—I do,’ said Mr. Quin, more and more flustered.

‘Then defend yourself like a man, curse you!’ cried Mick again. ‘Mysie, lead this poor victim away—Redmond and Fagan will see fair play between us.’

‘Well now—I don’t—give me time—I’m puzzled—I—I don’t know which way to look.’

‘Like the donkey betwixt the two bundles of hay,’ said Mr. Fagan drily, ‘and there’s pretty pickings on either side.’

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3 books to know Antiheroes - изображение 10

CHAPTER II. I SHOW MYSELF TO BE A MAN OF SPIRIT

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DURING THIS DISPUTE, my cousin Nora did the only thing that a lady, under such circumstances, could do, and fainted in due form. I was in hot altercation with Mick at the time, or I should have, of course, flown to her assistance, but Captain Fagan (a dry sort of fellow this Fagan was) prevented me, saying, ‘I advise you to leave the young lady to herself, Master Redmond, and be sure she will come to.’ And so indeed, after a while, she did, which has shown me since that Fagan knew the world pretty well, for many’s the lady I’ve seen in after times recover in a similar manner. Quin did not offer to help her, you may be sure, for, in the midst of the diversion, caused by her screaming, the faithless bully stole away.

‘Which of us is Captain Quin to engage?’ said I to Mick; for it was my first affair, and I was as proud of it as of a suit of laced velvet. ‘Is it you or I, Cousin Mick, that is to have the honour of chastising this insolent Englishman?’ And I held out my hand as I spoke, for my heart melted towards my cousin under the triumph of the moment.

But he rejected the proffered offer of friendship. ‘You—you!’ said he, in a towering passion; ‘hang you for a meddling brat: your hand is in everybody’s pie. What business had you to come brawling and quarrelling here, with a gentleman who has fifteen hundred a year?’

‘Oh,’ gasped Nora, from the stone bench, ‘I shall die: I know I shall. I shall never leave this spot.’

‘The Captain’s not gone yet,’ whispered Fagan; on which Nora, giving him an indignant look, jumped up and walked towards the house.

‘Meanwhile,’ Mick continued, ‘what business have you, you meddling rascal, to interfere with a daughter of this house?’

‘Rascal yourself!’ roared I: ‘call me another such name, Mick Brady, and I’ll drive my hanger into your weasand. Recollect, I stood to you when I was eleven years old. I’m your match now, and, by Jove, provoke me, and I’ll beat you like—like your younger brother always did.’ That was a home-cut, and I saw Mick turn blue with fury.

‘This is a pretty way to recommend yourself to the family,’ said Fagan, in a soothing tone.

‘The girl’s old enough to be his mother,’ growled Mick.

‘Old or not,’ I replied: ‘you listen to this, Mick Brady’ (and I swore a tremendous oath, that need not be put down here): ‘the man that marries Nora Brady must first kill me—do you mind that?’

‘Pooh, sir,’ said Mick, turning away, ‘kill you—flog you, you mean! I’ll send for Nick the huntsman to do it;’ and so he went off.

Captain Fagan now came up, and taking me kindly by the hand, said I was a gallant lad, and he liked my spirit. ‘But what Brady says is true,’ continued he; ‘it’s a hard thing to give a lad counsel who is in such a far-gone state as you; but, believe me, I know the world, and if you will but follow my advice, you won’t regret having taken it. Nora Brady has not a penny; you are not a whit richer. You are but fifteen, and she’s four-and-twenty. In ten years, when you’re old enough to marry, she will be an old woman; and, my poor boy, don’t you see—though it’s a hard matter to see—that she’s a flirt, and does not care a pin for you or Quin either?’

But who in love (or in any other point, for the matter of that) listens to advice? I never did, and I told Captain Fagan fairly, that Nora might love me or not as she liked, but that Quin should fight me before he married her—that I swore.

‘Faith,’ says Fagan, ‘I think you are a lad that’s likely to keep your word;’ and, looking hard at me for a second or two, he walked away likewise, humming a tune: and I saw he looked back at me as he went through the old gate out of the garden. When he was gone, and I was quite alone, I flung myself down on the bench where Nora had made believe to faint, and had left her handkerchief; and, taking it up, hid my face in it, and burst into such a passion of tears as I would then have had nobody see for the world. The crumpled riband which I had flung at Quin lay in the walk, and I sat there for hours, as wretched as any man in Ireland, I believe, for the time being. But it’s a changeable world! When we consider how great our sorrows SEEM, and how small they ARE; how we think we shall die of grief, and how quickly we forget, I think we ought to be ashamed of ourselves and our fickle-heartedness. For, after all, what business has time to bring us consolation? I have not, perhaps, in the course of my multifarious adventures and experience, hit upon the right woman; and have forgotten, after a little, every single creature I adored; but I think, if I could but have lighted on the right one, I would have loved her for EVER.

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