The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure
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William Goldman's modern fantasy classic is a simple, exceptional story about quests—for riches, revenge, power, and, of course, true love—that's thrilling and timeless.
Anyone who lived through the 1980s may find it impossible—inconceivable, even—to equate The Princess Bride with anything other than the sweet, celluloid romance of Westley and Buttercup, but the film is only a fraction of the ingenious storytelling you'll find in these pages. Rich in character and satire, the novel is set in 1941 and framed cleverly as an “abridged” retelling of a centuries-old tale set in the fabled country of Florin that's home to “Beasts of all natures and descriptions. Pain. Death. Brave men. Coward men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passions.”
What is it, Father? ” “It is that I have found my mistakes, corrected my misjudgments. ” “Then it will be done soon, Father? ” “It will be done tomorrow and it will be a miracle. ” “You are wonderful, Father. ” “I’m more wonderful than wonderful, how dare you insult me. ” But the next night, more tears. “What is it now, Father? ” “The sword, the sword, I cannot make the sword. ” “But last night, Father, you said you had found your mistakes. ” “I was mistaken; tonight I found new ones, worse ones. I am the most wretched of creatures.
You killed him,” she whispered finally. “I let him die laughing,” said the man in black. “Pray I do as much for you. ” He lifted her, slashed her bonds away, put her on her feet, started to pull her along. “Please,” Buttercup said. “Give me a moment to gather myself. ” The man in black released his grip. Buttercup rubbed her wrists, stopped, massaged her ankles. She took a final look at the Sicilian. “To think,” she murmured, “all that time it was your cup that was poisoned. ” “They were both poisoned,” said the man in black.
Really. It’s not any paranoid thing; I just have this habit of slipping through memories. It doesn’t bother me all that much, except I guess that’s a lie; it does. For some reason, I test very high on forgettability. So when Miss Roginski sent me that note making her just like everyone else, I was glad she’d never gotten married, I’d never liked her anyway, she’d always been a rotten teacher, and it served her right her first name was Antonia. “I didn’t mean it,” I said out loud right then. I was alone in my one-room job on Manhattan’s glamorous West Side and talking to myself.
Can you guess what I’m doing? ” “Cutting my heart out. ” “You took mine when I was ten; I want yours now. We are lovers of justice, you and I—what could be more just than that? ” The Count screamed one final time then fell dead of fear. Inigo looked down at him. The Count’s frozen face was petrified and ashen and the blood still poured down the parallel cuts. His eyes bulged wide, full of horror and pain. It was glorious. If you like that kind of thing. Inigo loved it. It was 5:50 when he staggered from the room, heading he knew not where or for how long, but hoping only that whoever had been guiding him lately would not desert him now.
Each step was perhaps a foot in width, so he was six feet from Fezzik, six feet from the large, ornate green-handled door that opened onto the final level. “Fezzik? ” From the upper door: “What? ” “I’m frightened. ” “It looks all right though. ” “No. It’s supposed to; that’s to fool us. Whatever we’ve gotten by before, this must be worse. ” “But there’s nothing to see, Inigo. ” Inigo nodded. “That’s why I’m so frightened. ” He took another step down toward the final, ornate green-handled door. Another.