by William Goldman (1973)
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Picture this: a farm boy named Westley utters “As you wish” one too many times to the golden-haired Buttercup, and suddenly you’re swept into a world where true love means sailing across stormy seas, only to vanish into thin air, leaving her heart shattered on a windswept Florinese hill. From that quiet spark ignites The Princess Bride, William Goldman’s masterpiece that grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go.
You feel the salt spray as Westley, reborn as the Dread Pirate Roberts, scales the sheer Cliffs of Insanity with Fezzik’s brute strength hauling him up, while Inigo Montoya—sword-sharp and vengeance-haunted—duels the six-fingered man in a moonlit frenzy that has you whispering “Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya” right along with him. The rush hits hard in the Fire Swamp, dodging flame spurts, quicksand, and those snarling Rodents of Unusual Size, your pulse racing as Buttercup and Westley stumble through hell for each other. Then comes the chill of Prince Humperdinck’s cruelty in the Zoo of Death, the giddy terror of Vizzini’s battle of wits with iocane powder—“Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”—and the aching miracle of Miracle Max reviving a “mostly dead” hero with chocolate-coated pills. It’s dread-soaked revenge, wonder-filled escapes, and a love so fierce it defies giants, wizards, and logic itself.
What sets this apart from the genre’s endless dragon-slaying slog? Goldman wraps swashbuckling adventure in a sly frame: he’s “abridging” a dusty old tale by the fictional S. Morgenstern, skipping the boring bits with footnotes that crack wise about kissing books and boring genealogies. It’s fantasy that winks at you, blending fairy-tale romance with street-smart cynicism—no grimdark brooding, just pure joy laced with sarcasm. You’ve laughed at the interruptions, gasped at the twists, and yes, maybe sniffled when Westley storms the castle. Influences ripple out—think the quotable banter in every adventure flick since—but this original sparkles on its own.
If you loved the movie’s fencing and miracles but crave Goldman’s sharper edges, or if Terry Pratchett’s Discworld snark hooked you with heart underneath, this is your book. I’ve devoured it four times, each reread uncovering fresh laughs and lumps in the throat.
Tonight, crack it open—because in a world starved for “inconceivable” thrills, The Princess Bride whispers, “Have fun storming the castle.”
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