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The History of Henry Esmond (Penguin Classics)

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Although for some reason forgotten by the US public, "The History of Henry Esmond" is one of the finest books ever written in English language. May be it has lost its luster because it offers no excess of blood-spilling and sexual adventures, but instead finds its way to describe the deepest and most vulnerable chambers of the human heart. I have read a handful of books, be it in English, French, German or Russian, that described the human strengths and weaknesses while tying them to a character one can relate to with such skill. People who do not like it, it seems, are just shamed by the morals offered in such a book, and are quick to forget it. I read "Henry Esmond" when I was a young boy, and now, half a century later, it hasn't lost a beat.

The History of Henry Esmond begins with the sweet Lady Castlewood stumbling upon the lonely abandoned Henry as she tours her new home. Her husband has inherited the estate and his illegitimate 11-year old cousin Henry, is fearful of the reception he will receive from the new owners. Will they throw him out? Treat him like a servant? When they instead embrace him into their family (which includes their daughter Beatrix and son Frank) he is overjoyed. What he slowly begins to realize (as he first becomes their almost-son, and later the de facto head of the household) is that this blessing is more complex than it first appears.

Throughout the book, Henry longs for a family, and although he is a part of the Castlewood's, he is also always an outsider. They come to rely on him because they know he will sacrifice more for them then any real son or brother ever would. With every page, the Castlewood family becomes increasingly complex - some relationships are strengthened and some are slowly destroyed in such subtle ways that when a catastrophe comes, it seems inevitable, and at the same time, surprising. True motives are hidden and twisted and everybody longs for a kind of love not given. Through it all, we have Henry's narration (although he speaks of himself in the third person), which casts a lonely and reflective tone over all the events. A beautiful book.

In the minds of some, justifiably the finest novel in the English language. The neglect this novel has suffered is appalling. Requirement: a mind for detail, a sympathy for history, an artistic sensibility. Read it at least twice. Only one reader in a thousand will remember the button reference on the last line. A pity that this book should be out-of-print. Pater thought it a perfect work of fiction. Trollope thought it was unsurpassed.

In the minds of some, justifiably the finest novel in the English language. The neglect this novel has suffered is appalling. Requirement: a mind for detail, a sympathy for history, an artistic sensibility. Read it at least twice. Only one reader in a thousand will remember the button reference on the last line. A pity that this book should be out-of-print. Pater thought it a perfect work of fiction. Trollope thought it was unsurpassed.

This book has been called the greatest historical novel ever and I would agree that it is a really good book. The writing is clear, lively and beautiful, full of color. This is the first time I've read Thackeray and I really admire his prose. Like all novels that are close to 515 pages, the novel has some slow points, such as during some of the the military battles Esmond is involved in; or in the last part of the conflict between Francis Esmond the edler and Lord Mohun which is rather melodramatic. Sometimes the prose does get slightly unclear. The first few pages of the novel are rather unintelligible; I think Thackeray here was trying to make fun of the vapidly pompous storytelling of other writers of his age. Thackeray then indulges in some very confusing discussion of the family tree of Henry Esmond, but after this the story overall is pretty easy to follow and is full of some very interesting characters, Henry Esmond most of all. Don't worry about trying to grasp the particulars about who is related to who.

Thackeray throws at the reader a great deal of names and aristocratic titles and it might be hard for the reader to understand exactly who is who. Perhaps an introduction attached to the book would be useful for the reader to give a basic history of the noblemen and kings and princes whom this story portrays from late seventeenth and early eighteenth century Englund. This would have made the reading for me a little bit easier. The central event driving the turmoil described in this book was the Glorious Revolution of 1688, when one Dutch Protestant faction of the British royal family invaded and overthrew James II who had given legal equality to the Catholic religion (or something).

But overall the story of this book flows very nicely and gives the reader a more realistic look than others might of British aristocrats during the period. A great many of the aristocrats portrayed here are dissolute, irresponsible and even brutish. John Churchill AKA the Duke of Marlborough is portrayed as somebody who while very brave in battle, will screw anyone high and low to advance his own material resources and has ever changing loyalty to anyone who will give him such resources, no matter what different political party or even enemy of Britain that might be. Esmond while engaging in pious rhetoric about military valor, mentions his disgust and alienation from the jingoist spirit in that that the battles in France and Germany he was involved in, usually ended with British troops engaging in rape and pillage, burning whole villages and crops, terrorizing helpless women and children, etc. One of the elector princes hanging out in France, was in line to become James III (or whatever number it was) if his sister Queen Anne would make peace with him and designate him as her successor. The whole Esmond family piously worships this elector but finds out when they smuggle him back into England that he is really a rather disgusting, vapid fellow.

Esmond's young lord Frank Esmond like his father is also a rather dissolute character. I enjoyed the blatant irony Esmond used in describing Frank telling his mother that he was very busy with harsh military engagements on the European mainland, thus he could not visit her back home in Englund. Frank was indeed trying to nock down fortifications in France and Belguim, but only the fortifications of hot young aristocratic ladies.

One can pick at little things in the novel--lack of clarity in some places, the lack of clarity of and the amount of time it takes the narrator to inform the reader of the exact nature of the secret told by the elder Lord Frank Esmond on his death bed to Henry--but I finished it with a great feeling of satisfaction.

This is a rich, complex, but ultimately unsatisfying novel about a young man of principle making his way in the corrupt and luxurious world of the 1700's English aristocracy.

Henry Esmond narrates the story of his own life, and the thing that sinks the novel is that he's always just a little too aware of his own virtue. He shows how venal, corrupt, and selfish all the other characters are, while refusing to admit he's secretly very impressed with his own demure Victorian primness. He's really Thackeray, the moralist with a guilty conscience, pretending to be shocked by the salacious 18th century, but all the time pandering to his own prurient desires.

The other characters in this novel all exist merely as foils for Esmond's virtues. His cousin Beatrice, as witty and seductive as Becky Sharp, is never given a fair break. Thackeray's man Esmond, while pretending to sing her praisies, actually hits her with every cliche known to man. Because she's clever, she must be evil. Because she's beautiful, she must be vain, and because she's vain she must be cruel. Because she has ambitions, she must be selfish. Never once does Esmond say anything good about her -- but supposedly he's heart broken when she rejects him time and again. It's more like, he hates her guts and revels in snitching her out behind her back. Esmond is supposed to be like loyal and loving Gatsby, and Trixie is his unattainable Daisy. But he writes about her like he's Nick Carraway sneering at Myrtle Wilson. It's not pretty.

Meanwhile, Esmond is debating whether to remain loyal to his family's heritage, and support the claim of exiled prince James Stuart to the English throne, or choose the winning side and support King George I. It would be a good dilemna, but Thackeray cops out by presenting the doomed and royal Stuart prince (who in real life was brave, generous, religious, and fair-minded) as some sort of creepy sexual pervert. Again, the Victorian Thackeray thinks he's being heroic by finding dirtiness in everyone and everything.

This book would have been so much better if it had been written by Sir Walter Scott fifty years before. Then Trixie would have been a real damsel, Esmond would have been a noble knight, and James Stuart would have been doomed but noble and good. Thackeray subverts the romance of Sir Walter Scott's historical fictions, but only in the meanest, most cynical way. HENRY ESMOND has less in common with IVANHOE and more in common with LESS THAN ZERO.

I believe that penchant for the moralistic (and add here more than a snipett of post-modern political corectness)from English-speaking readers has slighted judgements about this novel, which is a novel about people with sloppy morals in a time of sloppy political intrigue and sloppy moral standards offering a contrast with the philistine ambience of Thackeray's own age. I found the novel simply _lush_, and think that Hollywood has in it a treat in store for any filmmaker of genius who wants to emulate Kubrick's Barry Lyndon. Get ahold of a copy and enjoy!

This is surely some of Thackeray's worst work. Where "Vanity Fair" seems untidy (a typically Thackerayan weakness) but inspired -- a great sprawl that demands its readers to indulge in a right good wallow -- "The History of Henry Esmond" is simply untidy, encouraging readers instead to wallow in self-pity for being compelled to read all the way through to the end. In its capacity as bildungsroman, "Esmond" has its moments -- particularly in the relatively compelling opening sections, which chronicle the title character's childhood and struggle to come to terms with his illegitimate birth. In its capacity as historical novel, however, the novel falters with Thackeray's spectacular failure to inspire any readerly interest in the political intrigues surrounding the succession of the Hanoverian line to the throne of England. One can only hope that the novel goes back out of print, where, consigned to the dustbin of history, it may make room for novels more deserving of publication and general critical attention, like Mrs. Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters." Yes. Buy that instead.

It is now just over 7 months since I first read Thackeray's appallingly poor "The History of Henry Esmond." Though it has been nearly 2 YEARS since I last read "Vanity Fair," I still retain a reasonably good working knowledge of that novel; sadly -- or, perhaps, not so sadly after all -- that does not hold true for "Esmond." So poorly conceived, so poorly executed, and so very slight, this novel ultimately makes no real claim on your memory. I simply CAN'T remember anything about this wretched book other than its remarkable level of wretchedness. To some -- and you know who you are -- it may seem as if I am engaged in some kind of vendetta against this book and Thackeray in general. To those persons, I can only respond with an Everlasting Yea! Go forth and read Mrs. Gaskell -- a writer who actually wrote novels worth reading (except for "Ruth," which is inexplicably awful). Yes. Go do that.