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title: "A Hero of Our Time (Penguin Classics)"
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# A Hero of Our Time (Penguin Classics)

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## Description

The first example of the psychological novel in Russia, A Hero of Our Time influenced Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, and Chekhov, and other great nineteenth-century masters that followed. Its hero, Pechorin, is Byronic in his wasted gifts, his cynicism, and his desire for any kind of action-good or ill-that will stave off boredom. Outraging many critics when it was first published in 1840, A Hero of Our Time follows Pechorin as he embarks on an exciting adventure involving brigands, smugglers, soldiers, rivals, and lovers. This edition includes a new introduction, chronology, suggestions for further reading, maps, and full explanatory notes.

Review: Timeless Russian literature, high adventure, and wry wit! (details) - There is quite a lot to say about this marvelous book (the tale) and about the nicely-bound "Everyman's Library" hardcover edition in particular, noting just a few caveats. If my review seems overly wordy it's only on account of my personal enthusiasm for the work. Here are my thoughts about both the story and the edition, (including the translation by Vladimir and Dmitri Nabokov), in that order. The account is a fairly simple one, a fact which engenders much of its appeal -- here we have an exceptional novel of historical fiction: A Russian Army officer (Pechorin) is assigned to the Caucasus Mountain region military forces where the Russians and their often tenuous Cossack allies are engaged in a partisan conflict against their Islamic adversaries, principally the Chechens. Pechorin's saga is at times conveyed directly and sometimes by either of two specific narrators, (which has yielded a shrewd literary conveyance by Lermontov.) The reader learns little of the actual war but of Pechorin's unusual personal experiences and of period Caucasus societies' cultural proclivities we reap a bountiful harvest. Love, duels, corruption, robbery, murder, treachery, gambling, voyages, heroics, and social gala are all facets of this arresting tale. An environment of festive social events, such as dances, especially at the region's medicinal spring resorts but still at the nucleus of a brutal military campaign, might surprise some readers. But these episodes lend a notable enhancement and backdrop to the overall story, much as they do in Tolstoy's War and Peace or in Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov . Lermontov abruptly kills off key principal characters in the joyful spirit of John O'Hara, ( Appointment In Samarra Butterfield 8 Hope Of Heaven ) if I might be permitted that anachronism... or perhaps the reverse is more likely true. And Lermontov's wry and darkly witty dialogues will appeal mightily to contemporary readers of this 1840 work: "'Carefully we carried the wounded girl to Pechorin's quarters and sent for the doctor. Although he was drunk, he came, examined the wound, and announced that she could not live more than one day; only he was......' 'She recovered?' I asked the junior captain, grasping him by the arm and involuntarily feeling glad. 'No,' he answered, 'the doctor's mistake was that she lived two days.'" (Page 51.) While the account is told from a sequence of diverging perspectives, the entirety of the tale has been fit together from five mini-stories, (much as one encounters in Wilke Collins' The Moonstone (Modern Library Classics) , or in Sara Jeanette Duncan's The Pool in the Desert .) This is also the same sort of Russian literary journey as we joyfully read in Enchanted Wanderer (Lyeskov), Fathers and Sons (Turgenev), and The Cossacks (Tolstoy.) In Lermontov's book, truth is stranger than fiction and there are scores of underlying truths found throughout this extraordinary fictional work. It's certainly no fairy tale but a magical sort of atmosphere does covertly blossom from Lermontov's praiseworthy locution. The notion of Pechorin being "a hero of our time" achieves a dual end: it lauds this purely satirical book title, and this proclamation (in the context of the story) serves to illustrate a great deal about the era, the region, and the singular societies in which Pechorin existed and subsequently embarked upon during his remarkable and sundry pursuits. I did wish to point out to prospective buyers just a few unusual peculiarities regarding the "Everyman's Library" edition (© 1992) of this book. First and foremost, this translation by Vladimir and Dmitri Nabokov is artfully conveyed -- the reader will find it smooth sailing. However, and I make this comment in some bewilderment coupled with all personal humility, it appears to me that the Nabokovs failed to fully grasp the more diminutive nuances of the very book that they were translating! How did I arrive at this conclusion? The foreword by the Nabokovs expresses a less-than-lukewarm enthusiasm for this outstanding literary work. And to compound this anomaly, their confused and long-winded commentary, which casts Lermontov's writing style and delivery in a negative light, is in itself as inarticulate as it is unjustifiably reproachful of the author. We encounter a pernicious crescendo to all this as the Nabokovs apparently regard their own (subjective) assessments of the work as absolute - they go along further in perceptibly degrading the views of other critics which, from their lofty view, ostensibly amounts to nothing at all worthwhile. This clumsy assertion in the Translator's Foreword [the reader is not actually informed which translator wrote it] exemplifies a number of similarly inelegant entries: "In the worst story of the book, `Taman' (deemed by some Russian critics the greatest, for reasons incomprehensible to me), Yanko is saved from utter banality when we notice that the connection between him and the blind lad is a pleasing echo of he [sic] scene between hero and hero-worshipper in `Maksim Maksimych'." (Page 11 -- The parenthetical jab above comes directly from the Nabokovs, not me.) The translators also launch into some tactlessly chosen comments in their Endnotes, (which, by the way, are only intermittently helpful), which more or less fall into a vague category which might be adequately characterized as "condescending remarks." Some of these observations have little or nothing whatever to do with Lermontov's text and can only serve to stroke the translators' egos - here are two clear examples: "[Endnote] 124. `Otdelyayushchei,' `otdelyayushcheisya'. It is just like Lermontov and his casual style to let this long and limp word appear twice in the same, final, sentence." (Page 186 -- Only the English equivalents of these words actually appear in the text.), and, "[Endnote] 54. The allusion is to `La Femme de Trente Ans' in `Scènes de la Vie Privèe 1828-44,' a vulgar novelette, ending in ridiculous melodrama, by the overrated French writer, Balzac." (Page 180.) Is Balzac overrated? I could not begin to judge this contention one way or another but the Endnote comment in this instance clearly has no relevance to Lermontov directly or to his writings and was thus unnecessary and unfortunate at the least. But these semi-elitist remarks and unmerited criticisms do not actually embody my chief concern: the translators infer in their Foreword and/or in the Endnotes that Lermontov occasionally made locution mistakes and errors of either logic or fact. They additionally insinuate that he plagiarized here and there which is entirely untrue. Awarding credit where it is due, it's providential that the Nabokovs translated Lermontov's work literally enough that I entirely understood what the author was (alternatively) obliquely, symbolically, metaphorically, and shrewdly imparting in each of these instances, even if the translators apparently did not. This edition also includes an Introduction by T.J. Binyon. Other than the biographical background on Lermontov which it provides I did not find this digest to be particularly coherent either. For some unaccountable reason, the instant critiques of this work, (which was Lermontov's Magnum opus), seem to have inspired an exaggeration of perceived "mistakes," and/or "shoddy writing." Based upon my own encounter in reading the story, nothing could be further from the truth. So to summarize this facet of my review, I most emphatically recommend that folks skip past the Translator's Foreword, the Endnotes, and Binyon's Introduction until after they have concluded their reading of Lermontov's story, all of which I feel that most booklovers will find to be as lucid an account as it is delightful. But do not fail to read the "Author's Introduction" which is the very antithesis of the other commentaries, delivering a witty bulwark of charm in its merciful brevity! In Lermontov's wonderful tale we glean an insight into a region, an era, and into cultures about which, regrettably, so little has been written. This is a straightforward read that almost anyone can enjoy. You'll also find, as they exist in all post-1991 "Everyman's Library" editions, a mini-biography, a chronology of historical events, and a literary context outline, as it applies (in this case) to Mikhail Lermontov. Even given my tepid critique of both the Nabokovs' and T.J. Binyon's contributions (the Nabokovs' artful translation into English from the Russian excepted) I can still favorably recommend this nicely-bound edition.
Review: Move Over Onegin: Enter Pechorin - A Hero of Our Time introduces a most memorable character, Pechorin, who, had the novella been named after him, would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Eugen Onegin in fame. He derives from the same tradition as Onegin, that of the 'superfluous' man, though he moves beyond his predecessor (and prefigures others) in the degree to which he reeks havoc on a personal level. The novella consists of stories only nominally connected, and it is fair to say that the second half is better than the first. The centrepiece is the diary of Pechorin which contains a full narrative of his 'adventures' at a small holiday town. It just has to be read to be believed: it is 'lady-killing' and 'white-anting' at its clinically destructive best. Readers of Eugen Onegin will notice similarities, though the prose form allows much deeper characterisation, for which one is certainly not sorry. Lovers of later 19th-century Russian literature will appreciate this book in its prefiguring of characters and of settings in, among others, Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, and Chekhov. Lermontov died young and in a very Romantic fashion (a duel); one can only be sorry that he did not live to write more.

## Technical Specifications

| Specification | Value |
|---------------|-------|
| Best Sellers Rank | #63,727 in Books ( See Top 100 in Books ) #358 in Teen & Young Adult Classic Literature #1,360 in Short Stories (Books) #1,918 in Classic Literature & Fiction |
| Customer Reviews | 4.4 out of 5 stars 812 Reviews |

## Images

![A Hero of Our Time (Penguin Classics) - Image 1](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/71FNv71kSOL.jpg)

## Customer Reviews

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Timeless Russian literature, high adventure, and wry wit! (details)
*by P***E on August 13, 2009*

There is quite a lot to say about this marvelous book (the tale) and about the nicely-bound "Everyman's Library" hardcover edition in particular, noting just a few caveats. If my review seems overly wordy it's only on account of my personal enthusiasm for the work. Here are my thoughts about both the story and the edition, (including the translation by Vladimir and Dmitri Nabokov), in that order. The account is a fairly simple one, a fact which engenders much of its appeal -- here we have an exceptional novel of historical fiction: A Russian Army officer (Pechorin) is assigned to the Caucasus Mountain region military forces where the Russians and their often tenuous Cossack allies are engaged in a partisan conflict against their Islamic adversaries, principally the Chechens. Pechorin's saga is at times conveyed directly and sometimes by either of two specific narrators, (which has yielded a shrewd literary conveyance by Lermontov.) The reader learns little of the actual war but of Pechorin's unusual personal experiences and of period Caucasus societies' cultural proclivities we reap a bountiful harvest. Love, duels, corruption, robbery, murder, treachery, gambling, voyages, heroics, and social gala are all facets of this arresting tale. An environment of festive social events, such as dances, especially at the region's medicinal spring resorts but still at the nucleus of a brutal military campaign, might surprise some readers. But these episodes lend a notable enhancement and backdrop to the overall story, much as they do in Tolstoy's War and Peace or in Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov . Lermontov abruptly kills off key principal characters in the joyful spirit of John O'Hara, ( Appointment In Samarra Butterfield 8 Hope Of Heaven ) if I might be permitted that anachronism... or perhaps the reverse is more likely true. And Lermontov's wry and darkly witty dialogues will appeal mightily to contemporary readers of this 1840 work: "'Carefully we carried the wounded girl to Pechorin's quarters and sent for the doctor. Although he was drunk, he came, examined the wound, and announced that she could not live more than one day; only he was......' 'She recovered?' I asked the junior captain, grasping him by the arm and involuntarily feeling glad. 'No,' he answered, 'the doctor's mistake was that she lived two days.'" (Page 51.) While the account is told from a sequence of diverging perspectives, the entirety of the tale has been fit together from five mini-stories, (much as one encounters in Wilke Collins' The Moonstone (Modern Library Classics) , or in Sara Jeanette Duncan's The Pool in the Desert .) This is also the same sort of Russian literary journey as we joyfully read in Enchanted Wanderer (Lyeskov), Fathers and Sons (Turgenev), and The Cossacks (Tolstoy.) In Lermontov's book, truth is stranger than fiction and there are scores of underlying truths found throughout this extraordinary fictional work. It's certainly no fairy tale but a magical sort of atmosphere does covertly blossom from Lermontov's praiseworthy locution. The notion of Pechorin being "a hero of our time" achieves a dual end: it lauds this purely satirical book title, and this proclamation (in the context of the story) serves to illustrate a great deal about the era, the region, and the singular societies in which Pechorin existed and subsequently embarked upon during his remarkable and sundry pursuits. I did wish to point out to prospective buyers just a few unusual peculiarities regarding the "Everyman's Library" edition (© 1992) of this book. First and foremost, this translation by Vladimir and Dmitri Nabokov is artfully conveyed -- the reader will find it smooth sailing. However, and I make this comment in some bewilderment coupled with all personal humility, it appears to me that the Nabokovs failed to fully grasp the more diminutive nuances of the very book that they were translating! How did I arrive at this conclusion? The foreword by the Nabokovs expresses a less-than-lukewarm enthusiasm for this outstanding literary work. And to compound this anomaly, their confused and long-winded commentary, which casts Lermontov's writing style and delivery in a negative light, is in itself as inarticulate as it is unjustifiably reproachful of the author. We encounter a pernicious crescendo to all this as the Nabokovs apparently regard their own (subjective) assessments of the work as absolute - they go along further in perceptibly degrading the views of other critics which, from their lofty view, ostensibly amounts to nothing at all worthwhile. This clumsy assertion in the Translator's Foreword [the reader is not actually informed which translator wrote it] exemplifies a number of similarly inelegant entries: "In the worst story of the book, `Taman' (deemed by some Russian critics the greatest, for reasons incomprehensible to me), Yanko is saved from utter banality when we notice that the connection between him and the blind lad is a pleasing echo of he [sic] scene between hero and hero-worshipper in `Maksim Maksimych'." (Page 11 -- The parenthetical jab above comes directly from the Nabokovs, not me.) The translators also launch into some tactlessly chosen comments in their Endnotes, (which, by the way, are only intermittently helpful), which more or less fall into a vague category which might be adequately characterized as "condescending remarks." Some of these observations have little or nothing whatever to do with Lermontov's text and can only serve to stroke the translators' egos - here are two clear examples: "[Endnote] 124. `Otdelyayushchei,' `otdelyayushcheisya'. It is just like Lermontov and his casual style to let this long and limp word appear twice in the same, final, sentence." (Page 186 -- Only the English equivalents of these words actually appear in the text.), and, "[Endnote] 54. The allusion is to `La Femme de Trente Ans' in `Scènes de la Vie Privèe 1828-44,' a vulgar novelette, ending in ridiculous melodrama, by the overrated French writer, Balzac." (Page 180.) Is Balzac overrated? I could not begin to judge this contention one way or another but the Endnote comment in this instance clearly has no relevance to Lermontov directly or to his writings and was thus unnecessary and unfortunate at the least. But these semi-elitist remarks and unmerited criticisms do not actually embody my chief concern: the translators infer in their Foreword and/or in the Endnotes that Lermontov occasionally made locution mistakes and errors of either logic or fact. They additionally insinuate that he plagiarized here and there which is entirely untrue. Awarding credit where it is due, it's providential that the Nabokovs translated Lermontov's work literally enough that I entirely understood what the author was (alternatively) obliquely, symbolically, metaphorically, and shrewdly imparting in each of these instances, even if the translators apparently did not. This edition also includes an Introduction by T.J. Binyon. Other than the biographical background on Lermontov which it provides I did not find this digest to be particularly coherent either. For some unaccountable reason, the instant critiques of this work, (which was Lermontov's Magnum opus), seem to have inspired an exaggeration of perceived "mistakes," and/or "shoddy writing." Based upon my own encounter in reading the story, nothing could be further from the truth. So to summarize this facet of my review, I most emphatically recommend that folks skip past the Translator's Foreword, the Endnotes, and Binyon's Introduction until after they have concluded their reading of Lermontov's story, all of which I feel that most booklovers will find to be as lucid an account as it is delightful. But do not fail to read the "Author's Introduction" which is the very antithesis of the other commentaries, delivering a witty bulwark of charm in its merciful brevity! In Lermontov's wonderful tale we glean an insight into a region, an era, and into cultures about which, regrettably, so little has been written. This is a straightforward read that almost anyone can enjoy. You'll also find, as they exist in all post-1991 "Everyman's Library" editions, a mini-biography, a chronology of historical events, and a literary context outline, as it applies (in this case) to Mikhail Lermontov. Even given my tepid critique of both the Nabokovs' and T.J. Binyon's contributions (the Nabokovs' artful translation into English from the Russian excepted) I can still favorably recommend this nicely-bound edition.

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Move Over Onegin: Enter Pechorin
*by R***A on August 19, 2000*

A Hero of Our Time introduces a most memorable character, Pechorin, who, had the novella been named after him, would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Eugen Onegin in fame. He derives from the same tradition as Onegin, that of the 'superfluous' man, though he moves beyond his predecessor (and prefigures others) in the degree to which he reeks havoc on a personal level. The novella consists of stories only nominally connected, and it is fair to say that the second half is better than the first. The centrepiece is the diary of Pechorin which contains a full narrative of his 'adventures' at a small holiday town. It just has to be read to be believed: it is 'lady-killing' and 'white-anting' at its clinically destructive best. Readers of Eugen Onegin will notice similarities, though the prose form allows much deeper characterisation, for which one is certainly not sorry. Lovers of later 19th-century Russian literature will appreciate this book in its prefiguring of characters and of settings in, among others, Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, and Chekhov. Lermontov died young and in a very Romantic fashion (a duel); one can only be sorry that he did not live to write more.

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "The World's a Fool, Fortune's a Whore, and Life's a Bore"
*by B***S on June 21, 2025*

If you are intimidated by Russian literature, perhaps the place to begin is with Lermontov, whose only novel, A Hero of Our Time, is a quick read, but a worthwhile one. The story is about an army officer, Pechorin, something of a bad boy, who is effectively internally exiled to the Caucuses and has some well-described experiences there with women, fellow army personnel, and various Cossacks, along with local "natives." His view of life is one of boredom, so much so that he states with regard to one of his beautiful love interests, "I'd give my life for her, but she bores me." A princess falls in love with him, but he toys with her affections. He takes nothing seriously. including life. The "hero" is somewhat based on the life of the author, who was a military officer exiled to the Caucuses and out of favor at the Russian court. There is a huge irony about this story in that a duel figures prominently. A duel ended Lermontov's own life--and we will never know what great literature he may have produced had he lived. This is a book for thinkers because of the author's insights about life and his pithy observations of human foibles. But if you hate cynicism, this book is not for you. ASIDE: The AI overview of this book's reviews, shown above, contains an egregious error because of some reviewer's lack of geographic knowledge. It states that the action takes place in "the Balkans" which is about 1,500 miles the actual location in the Caucuses. It's the equivalent of saying that Bonfire of the Vanities, a rather famous New York novel, takes place in Denver, Colorado. This is an object lesson of AI sometimes being a "garbage in, garbage out" production. Take note.

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