A reference to a town called Vanity in John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress (1678), Vanity Fair is an acerbic examination of superficial attachment to money and societal position, in addition to generally parading the rotten qualities we humans have. A nightmare to those who seek relatable characters in their novels, but delicious if you're entertained by people's stupidity and by following what lengths they're prepared to go with their selfishness. I'd have hated to be enemies with Thackeray, because his poison pen stabs everyone on sight, even the most angelic of people.

There's the brilliance, though. Naiveté and passiveness aren't held on high regard, but instead they are qualities that create more sorrow and confusion. Even the snow queen would melt on the sight of Becky, and her skills of manipulation have no equal. However, Amelia's girlish attachment to unhealthy relationships and her failure to see the true motives of people don't bring her any more happiness. Granted, the mistakes of others aren't really Amelia's fault, but her overly trusting and kind nature didn't do her and another person any good.

Becky's intelligence is unquestionable, because despite her poor background she manages to climb socially far higher than would have been possible for many others. She's also talented in many areas, so the contrast between that and lacking a conscience is striking. Through Becky, the shiny and sophisticated surface of the customs and morals of the upper class are peeled off and beaten into bloody pulp (in a very refined 19th century way).

Money is an excellent motive to pretend to care about one's relatives, and it gives one strength while patiently waiting for the inheritance. If a well-raised young woman is expected to set her eyes on money and a respected position in society, is it any wonder that an environment like that breeds beckysharps, who have absolutely no scruples about getting their way?

Becky's behavior is even more disturbing when it's clear she's in no way unbalanced, just a very determined woman wanting to make it in the world, and refusing to just lie down and take the blows as they come. I didn't believe for one second she really cares about Amelia, but she's definitely a force of nature in a cut-throat world and doesn't care whether she gains genuine friends along the way. Amazingly, she isn't the least bit slowed down by the people who manage to see through her, but her (and other's) actions become increasingly worse towards the end. All that makes her one of the most interesting and refreshing characters in classic literature.

Thackeray's novel was initially published as a monthly serial, which, as with Dickens, hints it might be somewhat laborious to plough through. Honestly, it kind of is. The labyrinthine side paths occasionally make it difficult to focus on the main point, and Thackeray's instructive tone seems unnecessary.

However, it's also one of those classics that reward the reader immensely, even if you're left feeling like a wet rag afterwards. It's the kind that revels in its satire and despicable characters without being pretentious, and offers (sadly, very brief) glimpses of the London scene with its cafés, ice cream parlours, and trips to Brighton. Thackeray himself also breaks the 4th wall several times with his forceful, sharp, and cynical thoughts. He challenges and provokes, and never enters the scene without the intention to poke someone in the stomach.

Despite its few shortcomings, Vanity Fair is vibrant, and through its incredibly detailed study of human nature (details which I think are all necessary), it also reveals something about ourselves by forcing us to look into ourselves and our behavior. Unlike Becky, we're able to develop as human beings and learn from our mistakes. Thackeray's dismal view of human kind is a chance. If it feels off-putting, you can ask yourself why.

PS. One thing that left me puzzled was the portrayal of black Miss Swartz, who reminded me of Dido Elizabeth Belle. The narrative mixed with the multilayered satire and Thackeray's commentary left me uncertain about who's the real object of ridicule, and apparently I'm not the only one.