44 pages • 1 hour read
William GoldmanA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Art and the artistic temperament is a recurring thread throughout the novel, though aside from Goldman’s blended role as author and character, the story does not focus on “artists” in the traditional sense, nor the place of traditional art forms in society. However, many of the central characters, including Goldman himself, have crafts or skill sets that they approach as artists or through an artistic lens. The clearest example of this is Inigo’s father, Domingo Montoya, who actively rejects the word “artist”: “Not yet. A craftsman only. But I dream to be an artist” (92). In a classic case of the pitfalls of wishing, Domingo has a chance to fulfill this dream and create a truly unique work of art. However, this creation becomes his undoing when his client views his work not as art but as a commodity: “Art was involved and you saw only money. Beauty was here for the taking and you saw only your fat purse” (97). Domingo’s last words are “You’re an enemy of art and I pity your ignorance” (97); he dies standing up for his beliefs.
Ironically, Domingo’s killer is also an artist in his own way. Count Ruben is not an enemy of art, but he does not understand that Domingo approached his artistry with the same level of precision and care as he does his Machine. For the Count, pain is an intellectual practice: “I’ve written, of course, for the more learned journals on the subject. Articles mostly. At the present I’m engaged in writing a book. My book. The book, I hope. The definitive work on pain” (185). Because pain and distress are unquantifiable human emotions, he must examine them through an artistic lens as much as a scientific one. Prince Humperdinck takes a similar approach to his own passion for hunting. Although he hunts in the pursuit of death, death itself is not the true objective; rather, he seeks mastery over another creature. To this end, he teaches himself seemingly impossible skills that allow him to track Westley’s movements and to create the Zoo of Death as a platform to express these skills.
Goldman explores his own role as an artist through the metafictional frame of the story. The fictional Morganstern’s asides and his interjections not only explain his narrative choices in the book but also upend the conventions of storytelling, especially within the fairy tale genre. He comments on artistic choice by analyzing the fictional Morganstern’s decisions:
Either Morgenstern meant them seriously or he didn’t. Or maybe he meant some of them seriously and some others he didn’t. But he never said which were the seriously ones. Or maybe it was the author’s way of telling the reader stylistically that ‘this isn’t real; it never happened’ (34).
This interrogation of artistic intent, and his use of Morganstern as a proxy for himself, highlights his resistance to reader expectations and literary conventions, as well as his shifting perspectives on the craft of storytelling as he ages.
Westley, Inigo, Vizzini, and even the fictional Goldman all exhibit artistic skills or skills they developed through an artistic approach. This speaks to the novel’s overarching attitude that life itself should be viewed as art. Each of these characters turns their passion into an art form, which in turn allows them to live fully and passionately—even at the risk of being consumed by it.
One of the most prominent themes explored in the early chapters of the novel is the societal value of being beautiful. Although the fictional Goldman claims to cut substantial sections of the novel that aren’t relevant to the plot, he chooses to keep a large expository section that explores the world’s most beautiful women. The first line (other than the introductory preamble from the fictional Goldman) is “The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette” (29). While Goldman explains that he withheld some of the more political “original” chapters, the author felt that these asides about women who never again appear in the text were necessary to the story. The chapter then explores how each of these women lost their beauty through gluttony, misfortune, and pride. While this section provides context about why Buttercup comes into the fortunes that she does and introduces the narrator’s voice, it also creates a value dynamic around visual beauty.
As Buttercup grows up, she gains favor with the local boys and loses favor with the local girls, all because of how she looks. This is the same reason she attracts the attention of first Count Ruben and then Humperdinck, who wants to marry the most beautiful woman in the world. Humperdinck has no interest in love or even in the practical services of a competent wife; he only wants a status symbol so that his kingdom will look at him with reverence and respect. Her beauty becomes even more essential in his plot to conquer the neighboring kingdom through his wife’s death; by killing something so beautiful, the people will feel as though they have lost a treasure and will rally behind him.
Although Westley and Buttercup are portrayed as having an epic love story, in reality, their relationship is based on Buttercup’s exceptional beauty. As Buttercup learns and grows, she even acknowledges this herself. When Westley regales her with poetic compliments about the way her beauty haunts his dreams, she retorts, “Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I’ve got a mind, Westley. Talk about that” (141). Westley promises to do so but never gets around to it. Throughout all her interactions, Buttercup is characterized by her status as the most beautiful person in the room. It’s not until the end of the novel that she transcends this in a small way by exerting authority over the castle guards. This element is in keeping with the fairy tale setting of the novel, as such stories commonly originated in cultures that valued women in large part for their bodies and their looks, and the novel at times parodies the convention. The elaborate ranking of Buttercup’s beauty in comparison to that of others—that is, the remark that at 15, Buttercup is only in the “top twenty” loveliest women—pokes fun at the many legends about the “most beautiful woman in the world.” However, Buttercup the character remains subject to the values and pressures of both her era and the fictional Goldman’s.
As a fairy tale, The Princess Bride raises expectations of a typical happy ending. Rather than strictly adhering to such conventions, however, the novel examines what a “happy ending” truly means and what place it has in cultural consciousness. This is something the fictional Goldman particularly struggles with. During his childhood, he carries certain views about fairness and justice and the way the world is meant to be. A pivotal moment of growth, and of loss of innocence, comes when these views are taken away from him: “I buried my head in my pillow and I never cried like that again, not once to this day” (201). Although what he is reacting to is only a story, this moment marks the shattering of a childhood belief system and a new awareness of the road ahead. He closes himself off and starts to become the adult version portrayed earlier in the novel: “Like Buttercup’s, my heart was now a secret garden and the walls were very high” (201).
One can see this internal struggle between hope and realism in Goldman’s character throughout the novel; he protests that life is fundamentally unjust but carries a secret longing for the innocence he lost. The issue comes to a second crisis at the close of the novel, where the ending provided by Goldman deviates from the “original” Morgenstern ending. The fictional Goldman claims to have spent his entire life believing that everyone in the novel “lived happily ever after” (254). It wasn’t until he reviewed the book years later that he discovered what he calls a “‘Lady or the Tiger?’-type effect” (255), in which the heroes face even more peril and their fate remains uncertain. Whether the friends find their happy ending is left to the reader’s interpretation, but Goldman makes his own opinion clear:
You can answer it for yourself, but, for me, I say yes [the pirate ship] was [there waiting for them]. And yes, they got away. And got their strength back and had lots of adventures and more than their share of laughs. But that doesn’t mean I think they had a happy ending either (255).
The final sentence’s qualification not only departs from Goldman’s childhood understanding of the work but also reframes the issue. The real question isn’t whether or not Westley and Buttercup live happily ever after, but whether or not the reader chooses to let go of this deeply ingrained idea of a happy ending or hold on to it.