One of the points that Goldman makes to the reader over and over again is that life isn't fair. He suggests in one of his asides during The Princess Bride that this is one of the most important lessons that children must learn, and that one of the best ways to learn this lesson is through exposure to stories like The Princess Bride, in which the “right” or expected thing doesn't happen. By drawing on classic fairytale and adventure story tropes that are predicated on the reader believing that the “good guys” will prevail and live “happily ever after,” and then making a point to upend all of them and show how silly some of those tropes can be, Goldman attempts to guide his younger readers towards a more nuanced and mature, yet decidedly hopeful, view of fairytales and their role in the coming-of-age process. The novel subverts conventions of its genre to impart the lesson that growing up essentially means accepting that life isn’t fair.
When Goldman's father first begins reading The Princess Bride to him, one of the things that the young Goldman struggles with is reconciling what he believes should happen, based on how he thinks stories must unfold, with what actually does happen in the book. Remembering his own childhood challenges with the story, Goldman includes in his “abridgement” asides to readers in which he shares advice to help them effectively engage with the text and take the “proper” lessons away from it. For example, when Buttercup tries to escape Vizzini, Inigo, and Fezzik by diving into Florin Channel, Goldman insists that storytelling logic dictates that the sharks can't eat Buttercup so early in the novel; such a thing would make the story unsatisfactory and far too short. Later, when Westley dies, Goldman prefaces the death scene by reminding young readers specifically that life isn't fair. When compared to his aside about Buttercup and the sharks, Goldman suggests that a hero can die, but only when the author feels that the hero's story is close enough to the end. Though Westley does come back to life thanks to a “resurrection pill,” Goldman seems to suggest to readers that they must be prepared for anything that life throws at them, while also reminding readers that fairytales like The Princess Bride present an idealized, fantastical view of life wherein anything is possible.
However “helpful” Goldman believes his asides might be, they—along with the patently ridiculous things that happen to the novel's heroes—also rob the story of much of its dramatic tension. Explaining that sharks don't eat Buttercup turns a potentially dramatic moment into just another event that, in the grand scheme of the novel, becomes simply a means to show Buttercup being uncharacteristically cunning and brave. Further, by introducing so many absurd creatures, objects, and events—from bloodthirsty Rodents of Unusual Size and “beeping” sharks, to the Machine that makes even Westley giggle—and situating the story in an unspecified time period that's “before stew” but “after Paris,” Goldman suggests that it's nearly impossible to take anything in the story seriously. Goldman undercuts his own assertion that the book imparts valuable life lessons by keeping things very silly, and in doing so attempts to poke fun at overly moralistic literature; at the same time, the book seems to suggest that part of growing up is being able to react to the situations at hand not with dread but humor, and to recognize the mechanisms of storytelling at work.
In other ways, by not allowing Westley and Buttercup a conventional happy ending, Morgenstern and Goldman go against the grain of fairytale logic in a way that may feel unfair to readers who, after Westley's experience with the resurrection pill, might expect something deservedly idyllic for the novel's put-upon heroes. Goldman tells the reader that in his mind, the novel has two endings. In one, Westley, Buttercup, Fezzik, and Inigo ride away into the sunset, while in the other, they still ride away—this time pursued by their evil adversary Prince Humperdinck, who's intent on killing Buttercup; during their flight Inigo and Westley's health declines while Buttercup's horse throws a shoe. Goldman explains that his father read him the first possible ending, which he explains points to his father being a romantic who believed fully in fairytales ending happily, no matter how unlikely a real happy ending may seem. Goldman, however, says that he's a realist and, were the story to continue, he thinks that Westley and Buttercup would argue like any normal couple and be constantly on the run from Prince Humperdinck.
With this, Goldman proposes that fairytales are capable of mirroring real life far better than his father wanted to admit, while also making it clear how ridiculous those stories can be by introducing things that even his own characters laugh at, like the Machine. By illustrating how he himself came of age through his engagement with the story's ending—in that while he bought his father's idealistic ending as a child, as an adult, he craves a more complex and realistic resolution (or lack thereof)—Goldman clearly illustrates the power of stories like his. Ridiculous or otherwise, such tales can reveal different things to readers as they grow up and approach stories from different points in their lives. Ultimately, the book suggests that being able to develop these different readings—to see literature as both silly and meaningful, ridiculous and true, terrifying and hilarious—is the true marker of coming of age.
Fairytales and Growing Up ThemeTracker
Fairytales and Growing Up Quotes in The Princess Bride
When I was twenty-six, my first novel, The Temple of Gold, was published by Alfred A. Knopf. (Which is now part of Random House which is now part of R.C.A. which is just part of what's wrong with publishing in America today which is not part of this story.)
I know I don't expect this to change anybody else's life the way it altered mine.
[...]
Anyway, here's the “good parts” version. S. Morgenstern wrote it. And my father read it to me. And now I give it to you. What you do with it will be of more than passing interest to us all.
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 just the author's way of telling the reader stylistically that 'this isn't real; it never happened.' That's what I think, in spite of the fact that if you read back into Florinese history, it did happen. The facts, anyway; no one can say about the actual motivations. All I can suggest to you is, if the parentheses bug you, don't read them.
When this version comes out, I expect every Florinese scholar alive to slaughter me. (Columbia University has not only the leading Florinese experts in America, but also direct ties to the New York Times Book Review. I can't help that, and I only hope they understand my intentions here are in no way meant to be destructive of Morgenstern's vision.)
Inigo lay flat, staring down, trying to pierce the moonlight and find the climber's secret. For a long while, Inigo did not move. He was a good learner, but not a particularly fast one, so he had to study.
This was just like any other hunt. He made himself think about the quarry. It did not matter if you were after an antelope or a bride-to-be; the procedures held. You gathered evidence. Then you acted. You studied, then you performed. If you studied too little, the chances were strong that your actions would also be too late.
It's one of my biggest memories of my father reading. I had pneumonia, remember, but I was a little better now, and madly caught up in the book, and one thing you know when you're ten is that, no matter what, there's gonna be a happy ending. They can sweat all they want to scare you, the authors, but back of it all you know, you just have no doubt, that in the long run justice is going to win out.
And that's what I think this book's about. All those Columbia experts can spiel all they want about the delicious satire; they're crazy. This book says 'life isn't fair' and I'm telling you, one and all, you better believe it.
“Westley dies,” my father said.
I said, “What do you mean, ‘Westley dies’? You mean dies?”
My father nodded. “Prince Humperdinck kills him.”
“He's only faking thought, right?”
My father shook his head, closed the book all the way.
“Aw shit” I said and I started to cry.
“I'm sorry,” my father said. “I'll leave you alone,” and he left.
“Who gets Humperdinck?” I screamed after him.
He stopped in the hall. “I don't understand.”
“Who kills Prince Humperdinck? At the end, somebody's got to get him. Is it Fezzik? Who?”
“Nobody kills him. He lives.”
“You mean he wins, Daddy? Jesus, what did you read me this thing for?”
“Down is our direction, Fezzik, but I can tell you're a bit edgy about all this, so, out of the goodness of my heart, I will let you walk down not behind me, and not in front of me, but right next to me, on the same step, stride for stride, and you put an arm around my shoulder, because that will probably make you feel better, and I, so as to not make you feel foolish, will put an arm around your shoulder, and thus, safe, protected, together, we will descend.”
“I wish I could remember what it was like when I was dead,” the man in black said. “I'd write it all down. I could make a fortune on a book like that. I can't move my legs either.”