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Le vicomte de Bragelonne #4/4
Der Mann mit der eisernen Maske
Noch einmal sind 10 Jahre vergangen – die drei Freunde Athos, Aramis und Porthos alt geworden. Aber es wartet noch ein letztes Abenteuer auf sie. Ludwig XIV. ist inzwischen an der Macht und führt ein sinnloses, ausschweifendes Leben auf Kosten seiner Untertanen. D’Artagnan ist sein Hauptmann. Gleichzeitig liegt ein geheimnisvoller Mann mit einer eisernen Maske seit 18 Jahren in der Bastille gefangen. Nur wenige wissen um seine Identität. Als der König die Geliebte von Athos’ Sohn zu seiner Mätresse macht, reift der verwegene Plan, Ludwig XIV. zu stürzen, und eine große Geschichte um Ehre, Liebe und Loyalität nimmt ihren Lauf.
560 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1847
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54941 people want to read
About the author
Alexandre Dumas
6,855 books12.5k followersThis note regards Alexandre Dumas, père, the father of Alexandre Dumas, fils (son). For the son, see Alexandre Dumas fils.
Alexandre Dumas père, born Alexandre Dumas Davy de la Pailleterie, was a towering figure of 19th-century French literature whose historical novels and adventure tales earned global renown. Best known for The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, and other swashbuckling epics, Dumas crafted stories filled with daring heroes, dramatic twists, and vivid historical backdrops. His works, often serialized and immensely popular with the public, helped shape the modern adventure genre and remain enduring staples of world literature.
Dumas was the son of Thomas-Alexandre Dumas, a celebrated general in Revolutionary France and the highest-ranking man of African descent in a European army at the time. His father’s early death left the family in poverty, but Dumas’s upbringing was nonetheless marked by strong personal ambition and a deep admiration for his father’s achievements. He moved to Paris as a young man and began his literary career writing for the theatre, quickly rising to prominence in the Romantic movement with successful plays like Henri III et sa cour and Antony.
In the 1840s, Dumas turned increasingly toward prose fiction, particularly serialized novels, which reached vast audiences through French newspapers. His collaboration with Auguste Maquet, a skilled plotter and historian, proved fruitful. While Maquet drafted outlines and conducted research, Dumas infused the narratives with flair, dialogue, and color. The result was a string of literary triumphs, including The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo, both published in 1844. These novels exemplified Dumas’s flair for suspenseful pacing, memorable characters, and grand themes of justice, loyalty, and revenge.
The D’Artagnan Romances—The Three Musketeers, Twenty Years After, and The Vicomte of Bragelonne—cemented his fame. They follow the adventures of the titular Gascon hero and his comrades Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, blending historical fact and fiction into richly imagined narratives. The Count of Monte Cristo offered a darker, more introspective tale of betrayal and retribution, with intricate plotting and a deeply philosophical core.
Dumas was also active in journalism and theater. He founded the Théâtre Historique in Paris, which staged dramatizations of his own novels. A prolific and energetic writer, he is estimated to have written or co-written over 100,000 pages of fiction, plays, memoirs, travel books, and essays. He also had a strong interest in food and published a massive culinary encyclopedia, Le Grand Dictionnaire de cuisine, filled with recipes, anecdotes, and reflections on gastronomy.
Despite his enormous success, Dumas was frequently plagued by financial troubles. He led a lavish lifestyle, building the ornate Château de Monte-Cristo near Paris, employing large staffs, and supporting many friends and relatives. His generosity and appetite for life often outpaced his income, leading to mounting debts. Still, his creative drive rarely waned.
Dumas’s mixed-race background was a source of both pride and tension in his life. He was outspoken about his heritage and used his platform to address race and injustice. In his novel Georges, he explored issues of colonialism and identity through a Creole protagonist. Though he encountered racism, he refused to be silenced, famously replying to a racial insult by pointing to his ancestry and achievements with dignity and wit.
Later in life, Dumas continued writing and traveling, spending time in Belgium, Italy, and Russia. He supported nationalist causes, particularly Italian unification, and even founded a newspaper to advocate for Giuseppe Garibaldi. Though his popularity waned somewhat in his final years, his literary legacy grew steadily. He wrote in a style that was accessible, entertaining, and emotionally reso
Alexandre Dumas père, born Alexandre Dumas Davy de la Pailleterie, was a towering figure of 19th-century French literature whose historical novels and adventure tales earned global renown. Best known for The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, and other swashbuckling epics, Dumas crafted stories filled with daring heroes, dramatic twists, and vivid historical backdrops. His works, often serialized and immensely popular with the public, helped shape the modern adventure genre and remain enduring staples of world literature.
Dumas was the son of Thomas-Alexandre Dumas, a celebrated general in Revolutionary France and the highest-ranking man of African descent in a European army at the time. His father’s early death left the family in poverty, but Dumas’s upbringing was nonetheless marked by strong personal ambition and a deep admiration for his father’s achievements. He moved to Paris as a young man and began his literary career writing for the theatre, quickly rising to prominence in the Romantic movement with successful plays like Henri III et sa cour and Antony.
In the 1840s, Dumas turned increasingly toward prose fiction, particularly serialized novels, which reached vast audiences through French newspapers. His collaboration with Auguste Maquet, a skilled plotter and historian, proved fruitful. While Maquet drafted outlines and conducted research, Dumas infused the narratives with flair, dialogue, and color. The result was a string of literary triumphs, including The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo, both published in 1844. These novels exemplified Dumas’s flair for suspenseful pacing, memorable characters, and grand themes of justice, loyalty, and revenge.
The D’Artagnan Romances—The Three Musketeers, Twenty Years After, and The Vicomte of Bragelonne—cemented his fame. They follow the adventures of the titular Gascon hero and his comrades Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, blending historical fact and fiction into richly imagined narratives. The Count of Monte Cristo offered a darker, more introspective tale of betrayal and retribution, with intricate plotting and a deeply philosophical core.
Dumas was also active in journalism and theater. He founded the Théâtre Historique in Paris, which staged dramatizations of his own novels. A prolific and energetic writer, he is estimated to have written or co-written over 100,000 pages of fiction, plays, memoirs, travel books, and essays. He also had a strong interest in food and published a massive culinary encyclopedia, Le Grand Dictionnaire de cuisine, filled with recipes, anecdotes, and reflections on gastronomy.
Despite his enormous success, Dumas was frequently plagued by financial troubles. He led a lavish lifestyle, building the ornate Château de Monte-Cristo near Paris, employing large staffs, and supporting many friends and relatives. His generosity and appetite for life often outpaced his income, leading to mounting debts. Still, his creative drive rarely waned.
Dumas’s mixed-race background was a source of both pride and tension in his life. He was outspoken about his heritage and used his platform to address race and injustice. In his novel Georges, he explored issues of colonialism and identity through a Creole protagonist. Though he encountered racism, he refused to be silenced, famously replying to a racial insult by pointing to his ancestry and achievements with dignity and wit.
Later in life, Dumas continued writing and traveling, spending time in Belgium, Italy, and Russia. He supported nationalist causes, particularly Italian unification, and even founded a newspaper to advocate for Giuseppe Garibaldi. Though his popularity waned somewhat in his final years, his literary legacy grew steadily. He wrote in a style that was accessible, entertaining, and emotionally reso
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November 9, 2016
Parbleu! Morbleu! Corboeuf! Ma foi! Mordioux! Not to mention Cordieu! (I think they are variations of OMG).
I usually prefer to know as little as possible about the book I am about to read, including avoid reading the synopsis, or if I have read the synopsis in order to decide whether to read the book I try to forget it (and do very well in the forgetting department, there is a character in this book called M. Fouquet, a name I would like to adopt for future social media shenanigans). Anyway, sometimes this policy backfires. I thought The Man in the Iron Mask was the final volume of The D'Artagnan Romances, alas I was only one third right, The Man in the Iron Mask is the final part of a much longer book, The Vicomte of Bragelonne: Ten Years Later. However, it is the best known part and published in the UK separately as a separate book. This means that I missed out on quite a lot of backstory and plot developments. Fortunately, The Man in the Iron Mask can be read without much difficulty outside of its parent book. You should, however, at least read The Three Musketeers first. Anyway, by the time I realized my mistake I was already well into the book and I didn’t feel like backtracking.
The Man in the Iron Mask is set thirty-five years after The Three Musketeers. In that first book of The D'Artagnan Romances, D’Artagnan was something of a young cocky upstart musketeer, in this book he is in his fifties and the renowned captain of the king's musketeers. His three ex-musketeer BFFs, Aramis, Porthos and Athos, are also of advancing years and living lives of luxury. None of these three are working for King Louis XIV, not having much of a taste for this king who—from his playboy-like behavior—seems unworthy of their services and loyalty. In fact, Aramis is so unimpressed that he elaborately plots to replace Louise with his identical twin brother Philippe, his plan goes smoothly up to a point, the king is put in prison at Bastille and secretly replaced with Philippe. Unfortunately, he then makes the fatal error of confiding in Superintendent M. Fouquet, who, as astick in the mud an honorable man, refuses to allow the rightful king to be treated so shabbily. Fouquet goes off to rescue Louis XIV from Bastille, while Aramis makes a run for it, accompanied by poor, trusting Porthos, his unwitting coconspirator.
Looking likeLeonardo DiCaprio the king is not always a good thing.
You may be thinking I am spoiling the book terribly with the above summary but The Man in the Iron Mask is so densely plotted I have barely scratched the surface of the entire plot. It is not surprising that Dumas was so popular and remains so to this day, the man really knew how to write a fast pace narrative when he wants to, this book is stuffed to the gills with action and intrigues. The scene of D’Artagnan chasing M. Fouquet on horseback is particularly hair-raising, and the conclusion of the chase confounded my expectations. There are several other scenes of similar intensity, but, for me, this one is the most badass.
Dumas’ skill with character development is remarkable. His main characters are all lively, vibrant and believable. Of the original three musketeers the only real mover and shaker is Aramis, who is too clever and ambitious for his own good. His ingenious subterfuges and elaborate schemes are both audacious and hilarious in execution. Porthos is his lovable, not too bright, faithful sidekick who follows him blindly to his own detriment; as for Athos, he does not have much to do in the narrative except growing old and sad. The series’ hero, D’Artagnan, is loyal to the king to a fault, he would carry out the king's orders even if he knows them to be wrong and that innocents will suffer. However, he finally draws the line at killing any of his Three Musketeers friends.
The Man in the Iron Mask is much darker in tone than The Three Musketeers. Several good characters come to a bad end through no fault of their own. Philippe’s fate is particularly miserable (though there is no real evidence that the real historical mysterious Man in the Iron Mask is in anyway related to the king). While the book is a great read, I believe it suffers a bit from being serialized. As authors of serialized books are paid by the word it often cause them to overwrite (hello Mr. Dickens!). Dumas overwrote some parts which drag on unnecessarily, and some of the subplots do not really go anywhere, and have little relationship to the main storyline. Still, the book kept my interest throughout. The writing is a thing of beauty though the dialogue is over elaborate at times.
It has been decades since I read The Three Musketeers (this is my first reading of The Man in the Iron Mask) and it makes me want to reread it soon.
Notes:
• Fabulous Librivox free audio book, read by Mark F. Smith. Amazing job! Different character voices, and narrated with plenty of passion and enthusiasm. Thank you so much!
• I always thought the title of The Three Musketeers was something of a misnomer, as the book was about four of them; though it could be argued that it is really about D'Artagnan’s encounter and friendship with them. However, The Man in the Iron Mask is even more of a misnomer because the eponymous Man (poor Phillippe) is barely in the narrative, and by the second half of the book Dumas seems to have lost interest in him.
I have no idea who to credit for the translation of this public domain edition. It seems very good in term of conveying the story, whether it is a good translation of Dumas’ original text I am not in a position to evaluate.
Quotes:
“Then if you wish me to tell what crime I have committed, explain to me in what a crime consists. For as my conscience does not accuse me, I aver that I am not a criminal.”
“M. Mouston, whose personal corpulency, quite enough at any time to hide one man from another, was effectually doubled by a scarlet coat which the intendant was holding up for his master's inspection, by the sleeves, that he might the better see it all over.”
“D'Artagnan recoiled, as though the sesquipedalian syllables had knocked the breath out of his body.”
Driven insane by his undeserved incarceration, Philippe sayz "Come On Feel The Noize!"
I usually prefer to know as little as possible about the book I am about to read, including avoid reading the synopsis, or if I have read the synopsis in order to decide whether to read the book I try to forget it (and do very well in the forgetting department, there is a character in this book called M. Fouquet, a name I would like to adopt for future social media shenanigans). Anyway, sometimes this policy backfires. I thought The Man in the Iron Mask was the final volume of The D'Artagnan Romances, alas I was only one third right, The Man in the Iron Mask is the final part of a much longer book, The Vicomte of Bragelonne: Ten Years Later. However, it is the best known part and published in the UK separately as a separate book. This means that I missed out on quite a lot of backstory and plot developments. Fortunately, The Man in the Iron Mask can be read without much difficulty outside of its parent book. You should, however, at least read The Three Musketeers first. Anyway, by the time I realized my mistake I was already well into the book and I didn’t feel like backtracking.
The Man in the Iron Mask is set thirty-five years after The Three Musketeers. In that first book of The D'Artagnan Romances, D’Artagnan was something of a young cocky upstart musketeer, in this book he is in his fifties and the renowned captain of the king's musketeers. His three ex-musketeer BFFs, Aramis, Porthos and Athos, are also of advancing years and living lives of luxury. None of these three are working for King Louis XIV, not having much of a taste for this king who—from his playboy-like behavior—seems unworthy of their services and loyalty. In fact, Aramis is so unimpressed that he elaborately plots to replace Louise with his identical twin brother Philippe, his plan goes smoothly up to a point, the king is put in prison at Bastille and secretly replaced with Philippe. Unfortunately, he then makes the fatal error of confiding in Superintendent M. Fouquet, who, as a
Looking like
You may be thinking I am spoiling the book terribly with the above summary but The Man in the Iron Mask is so densely plotted I have barely scratched the surface of the entire plot. It is not surprising that Dumas was so popular and remains so to this day, the man really knew how to write a fast pace narrative when he wants to, this book is stuffed to the gills with action and intrigues. The scene of D’Artagnan chasing M. Fouquet on horseback is particularly hair-raising, and the conclusion of the chase confounded my expectations. There are several other scenes of similar intensity, but, for me, this one is the most badass.
Dumas’ skill with character development is remarkable. His main characters are all lively, vibrant and believable. Of the original three musketeers the only real mover and shaker is Aramis, who is too clever and ambitious for his own good. His ingenious subterfuges and elaborate schemes are both audacious and hilarious in execution. Porthos is his lovable, not too bright, faithful sidekick who follows him blindly to his own detriment; as for Athos, he does not have much to do in the narrative except growing old and sad. The series’ hero, D’Artagnan, is loyal to the king to a fault, he would carry out the king's orders even if he knows them to be wrong and that innocents will suffer. However, he finally draws the line at killing any of his Three Musketeers friends.
The Man in the Iron Mask is much darker in tone than The Three Musketeers. Several good characters come to a bad end through no fault of their own. Philippe’s fate is particularly miserable (though there is no real evidence that the real historical mysterious Man in the Iron Mask is in anyway related to the king). While the book is a great read, I believe it suffers a bit from being serialized. As authors of serialized books are paid by the word it often cause them to overwrite (hello Mr. Dickens!). Dumas overwrote some parts which drag on unnecessarily, and some of the subplots do not really go anywhere, and have little relationship to the main storyline. Still, the book kept my interest throughout. The writing is a thing of beauty though the dialogue is over elaborate at times.
It has been decades since I read The Three Musketeers (this is my first reading of The Man in the Iron Mask) and it makes me want to reread it soon.
Notes:
• Fabulous Librivox free audio book, read by Mark F. Smith. Amazing job! Different character voices, and narrated with plenty of passion and enthusiasm. Thank you so much!
• I always thought the title of The Three Musketeers was something of a misnomer, as the book was about four of them; though it could be argued that it is really about D'Artagnan’s encounter and friendship with them. However, The Man in the Iron Mask is even more of a misnomer because the eponymous Man (poor Phillippe) is barely in the narrative, and by the second half of the book Dumas seems to have lost interest in him.
I have no idea who to credit for the translation of this public domain edition. It seems very good in term of conveying the story, whether it is a good translation of Dumas’ original text I am not in a position to evaluate.
Quotes:
“Then if you wish me to tell what crime I have committed, explain to me in what a crime consists. For as my conscience does not accuse me, I aver that I am not a criminal.”
“M. Mouston, whose personal corpulency, quite enough at any time to hide one man from another, was effectually doubled by a scarlet coat which the intendant was holding up for his master's inspection, by the sleeves, that he might the better see it all over.”
“D'Artagnan recoiled, as though the sesquipedalian syllables had knocked the breath out of his body.”
Driven insane by his undeserved incarceration, Philippe sayz "Come On Feel The Noize!"
February 8, 2012
It pains me to write this because I am, at heart, a print person. My paycheck depends on people wanting and buying printed materials. But this is one instance where the movie far outshines the book and I'm glad there was a screenwriter with a vision to see beyond this dismal book.
I had just read Three Musketeers by Dumas when I read this book. Perhaps it was the pleasure I took in this early book that spoiled Man in the Iron Mask.
Man in the Iron Mask starts out well. There is all the chivalry and twice the intrigue of Dumas' earlier works. The dialog is fantastic with politics twisting every meaning and clearly communicating the rancor of the time. There is a fantastic scene with Porthos, Aramis and the tailor that made me laugh aloud. I truly like Dartangan, for he displays chivalry and honor even when ordered to do things against his honor.
Then the book starts to go downhill. Characters that one would think were essential to the book disappear midway through and are never heard from again. Aramis becomes less and less sympathetic until we finally view him as merely a court toady who cared little for the sacrifice of his friends.
There are moments in this book; moments of passion, of grief, of love. But they are merely moments. Eventually the book becomes so ponderous, one must force oneself to continue. There are few characters to like in this book. They get themselves into situations for stupid reasons and are too self-centered to get out of them. Sacrifices are made for foolish reasons.
I had just read Three Musketeers by Dumas when I read this book. Perhaps it was the pleasure I took in this early book that spoiled Man in the Iron Mask.
Man in the Iron Mask starts out well. There is all the chivalry and twice the intrigue of Dumas' earlier works. The dialog is fantastic with politics twisting every meaning and clearly communicating the rancor of the time. There is a fantastic scene with Porthos, Aramis and the tailor that made me laugh aloud. I truly like Dartangan, for he displays chivalry and honor even when ordered to do things against his honor.
Then the book starts to go downhill. Characters that one would think were essential to the book disappear midway through and are never heard from again. Aramis becomes less and less sympathetic until we finally view him as merely a court toady who cared little for the sacrifice of his friends.
There are moments in this book; moments of passion, of grief, of love. But they are merely moments. Eventually the book becomes so ponderous, one must force oneself to continue. There are few characters to like in this book. They get themselves into situations for stupid reasons and are too self-centered to get out of them. Sacrifices are made for foolish reasons.
February 5, 2024
So I read The Man in the Iron Mask, only that it was not a story of the "Man in the Iron Mask". I was already halfway into the book when I realized this, so I was left with no choice but to continue. The story of the iron mask is only a trifling subplot because this story is all about the Musketeers that we have come to know. I'm pretty sure that I haven't read this story, yet I remember reading a book by this title. Perhaps it was a children's version that I read. I don't know. All I know is that this book is not what I expected it was. Of course, I knew this is part of a sequel to the D'Artagnan series that began with The Three Musketeers , but I believed that it had a separate story of its own. There I was utterly disappointed.
I also wasn't impressed with the manner Dumas handled his three aging Musketeers. I was never fond of them. But they represented a certain dignity and fierce loyalty. This image was heavily mishandled and that somewhat ruined their characters. Was Dumas in a hurry to end their tale or was he too careless or too tired with them to care? My opinion is that he should have ended their long tale with more care and respect.
But looking at the bright side, I enjoyed the historical setting and characters, and I truly liked D'Artagnan's character. His loyalty to his King, his loyalty and love for his friends, and his fearlessness to act according to his conscience even at the risk of invoking royal wrath is admirable. In truth, it is his character, the light and humorous writing of Dumas, and the Royal Court of Louis XIV that helped me endure the read.
I also wasn't impressed with the manner Dumas handled his three aging Musketeers. I was never fond of them. But they represented a certain dignity and fierce loyalty. This image was heavily mishandled and that somewhat ruined their characters. Was Dumas in a hurry to end their tale or was he too careless or too tired with them to care? My opinion is that he should have ended their long tale with more care and respect.
But looking at the bright side, I enjoyed the historical setting and characters, and I truly liked D'Artagnan's character. His loyalty to his King, his loyalty and love for his friends, and his fearlessness to act according to his conscience even at the risk of invoking royal wrath is admirable. In truth, it is his character, the light and humorous writing of Dumas, and the Royal Court of Louis XIV that helped me endure the read.
July 26, 2025
All of the characters in 'The Man in the Iron Mask' by Alexandre Dumas live behind an iron mask-built of honor first and foremost. Honor is first before riches or political place or family or work.
I am torn. As much as I am in love with the Musketeers I cannot accept the code of honor they live by. Because they adhere so religiously to their honor code they are led into life threatening and adventurous episodes which entertain much in reading about them, but I was left mystified by the underlying dismal outcomes in most cases.
The characters who followed the fashion of honor, which was taught them how to be as a member of the French Musketeers, were all most pleased with themselves on that score and often had only their "honor" to comfort them when being honorable laid waste to their families, friends and fortunes. Our century's definition of satisfying honor is not about sacrificing all to it. Western culture anyway finds honor in sacrificing one to save many (remember Spock's death?).
Since the actual event of the man being masked is such a small part of the book I think my guess that the title is meant more metaphysically than literally is correct. Regardless, while the books entertain with adventure-war-sword fights-romantic love-silly and admirable and evil characters, along with thoughtful road trips into religion-politics-wealth-aristocrat and servant relationships-marriage, honor is the air, water, food, shelter and emotion underpinning all motivations, even those with selfish, mean or evil intentions. The only characters not given any sympathy by the author are those who behave without any of the aspects of honor as honor is believed to be in these books. Dumas forgives all else with understanding. The other thing I noticed is how heroic the heroes noticed themselves being by which they gave themselves permission to do everything. This kind of heroics seemed shockingly self-centered at times, sacrificing a hell of a lot needlessly in reality while our heroes glowed with self-appreciation. The musketeers are delusional with heroic intentions and ignore the actual failures of their heroism half of the time.
I would have had more fun in reading if I was a kid and male. As it was, my irritation with the cultural blindness so ably represented in these novels got in the way of my enjoyment. But I still felt grief for the characters too when I was supposed to as well as joy when they had success or fun. These guys are lovable to the max. This book is the last chapter of the Musketeers who are now in their 60's still living with honor at the end of their careers. Underneath all of it is disquiet at the messiness of being real heroes in a real world. (Yes, I know it's a fictional novel, but while it's a romantic history it's also NOT a fantasy or a Superman comic. The author wanted characters who were real people in the real world of the 17th century.) Dumas admired his heroes without reservations I think. Not so me, but I liked the adventure.
I am torn. As much as I am in love with the Musketeers I cannot accept the code of honor they live by. Because they adhere so religiously to their honor code they are led into life threatening and adventurous episodes which entertain much in reading about them, but I was left mystified by the underlying dismal outcomes in most cases.
The characters who followed the fashion of honor, which was taught them how to be as a member of the French Musketeers, were all most pleased with themselves on that score and often had only their "honor" to comfort them when being honorable laid waste to their families, friends and fortunes. Our century's definition of satisfying honor is not about sacrificing all to it. Western culture anyway finds honor in sacrificing one to save many (remember Spock's death?).
Since the actual event of the man being masked is such a small part of the book I think my guess that the title is meant more metaphysically than literally is correct. Regardless, while the books entertain with adventure-war-sword fights-romantic love-silly and admirable and evil characters, along with thoughtful road trips into religion-politics-wealth-aristocrat and servant relationships-marriage, honor is the air, water, food, shelter and emotion underpinning all motivations, even those with selfish, mean or evil intentions. The only characters not given any sympathy by the author are those who behave without any of the aspects of honor as honor is believed to be in these books. Dumas forgives all else with understanding. The other thing I noticed is how heroic the heroes noticed themselves being by which they gave themselves permission to do everything. This kind of heroics seemed shockingly self-centered at times, sacrificing a hell of a lot needlessly in reality while our heroes glowed with self-appreciation. The musketeers are delusional with heroic intentions and ignore the actual failures of their heroism half of the time.
I would have had more fun in reading if I was a kid and male. As it was, my irritation with the cultural blindness so ably represented in these novels got in the way of my enjoyment. But I still felt grief for the characters too when I was supposed to as well as joy when they had success or fun. These guys are lovable to the max. This book is the last chapter of the Musketeers who are now in their 60's still living with honor at the end of their careers. Underneath all of it is disquiet at the messiness of being real heroes in a real world. (Yes, I know it's a fictional novel, but while it's a romantic history it's also NOT a fantasy or a Superman comic. The author wanted characters who were real people in the real world of the 17th century.) Dumas admired his heroes without reservations I think. Not so me, but I liked the adventure.
October 1, 2019
Ok. Let me try to properly review the novel that concludes the chronicles of the greatest friendship of all time.
For a novel that claims to be about a tyrant king and his struggle for the throne against his identical brother, that's actually a pretty minor part of this novel. In fact, that whole storyline feels pretty incomplete by the end of the novel, but perhaps that's just because it's actually concluded so early that it seems to suggest further intrigue. However, I'm not complaining. These musketeers have the most epic bromance of all time and I love reading about it, especially in that typical Dumas way where they can be fighting for completely different things and still be loyal, honest and true to their friendship. This is more about how, despite the different paths their lives have taken, their friendship has endured. There are some absolutely gut-wrenching moments and I caught myself reading open-mouthed on several occasions. This has all the action of The Three Musketeers, but it's a much darker setting than the original, with much more villainy. Time has caught up with our friends and the original cast has mostly moved on to make way for others less appealing, making the France we return to appear almost as a washed out painting of former glory.
The action is much easier to follow than that of the intervening novels, so the pace matches that of the first novel. While the language is elegant and lengthy enough to sometimes lose track of the meaning, I never once lost the thread of the story. It's utterly absorbing, the way words can be used to communicate feeling and evoke vision. That being said, this particular version was terribly translated. I miss the cries of "Mon dieu!' and the various phrases that sounded so much better in French, the meanings of which always made perfect sense in their contexts. This translation made me cringe every time I had to read my 17th Century musketeers saying 'c'mon' and other such ugly, modern phrases.
Dumas is my favourite author for a reason. He manipulates words beautifully but uses them to tell stories full of action, intrigue, heroes and adventure. I always feel devastated when I remember he's no longer around to be producing works of such unique calibre.
This is a glorious conclusion to the series, but it's not for the faint of heart. Still, what kind of friends would we be if we abandoned our musketeer companions before their story concluded?
Read my most recent review here.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 12, 2023
Absolutely thrilling. Although I didn't start with the first book, "The Three Musketeers", I could still feel the intensity of the position. I could feel the connections and all the sentiments they had for each other, and above all, for France. Thoroughly exhilarating piece of literature. Now going to rectify my mistake and start with the first book.
June 10, 2015
طبق این داستان لوئی چهاردهم برادر دوقلوئی داشته و برای اینکه در آینده هرج و مرج بر سر سلطنت پیش نیاید، یکی از دوقلو ها را در جزیره ای زندانی کرده اند با نقابی آهنین بر صورتش
این مرد نمیداند کیست و فقط در خاطرات کودکی اش ،زنی(مادرش ملکه) را بیاد می آورد که گاهی به دیدنش می آمد
بعدها بدون آنکه علتش را بداند عده ای وی را گرفتند و ماسکی بر صورتش زدند و سالها او را زندانی کرده اند
...بازهم تفنگداران بر می گردند
آتوس و آرامیس جزو جبهه ای هستند که میخواهند لوئی چهاردهم مستبد را از تخت سلطنت فرود بیاورند و برادر دوقلویش را جانشینش کنند بدون آنکه حتی کسی بوئی ببرد و بفهمد این لوئی آن لوئی نیست
؛)
دارتن یان و پورتوس هم برای لوئی چهاردهم خدمت می کنند
یکی برای اینکه مزد این همه خدمتی که سالها انجام داده را بگیرد و دیگری برای بدست آوردن نشان بارون
روبه رو شدن تفنگداران باهم تماشایی است
فیلمی بر اساس این کتاب ساخته شده ولی اصلا وفادار به داستان نیست
با این حال از دیدن فیلمش هم لذت بردم
ژرارد دوپاردیو در نقش پورتوس و "گابریل بیرن" در نقش دارتانیان با چیزی که در کتاب خونده بودم شباهت زیادی داشتند ولی اصلا نمیتوانستم تصور کنم "جان مالکوویچ" آتوس است و "جرمی آیرونز " آرامیس
البته نقش لوئی چهاردهم بیشتر از برادر دوقلوی معصومش به دی کاپریو می آمد
بنظرم نقش هایی که لئوناردو دی کاپریو در فیلم هایی مثه "اگه میتونی منو بگیر" ، "گرگ وال استریت" ، "دارودسته نیویورکی" ، "الماس خونین" و و"جانگو"بازی کرده،خیلی بیشتر از دیگر نقشهای مثبت به چهره اش میاد
این مرد نمیداند کیست و فقط در خاطرات کودکی اش ،زنی(مادرش ملکه) را بیاد می آورد که گاهی به دیدنش می آمد
بعدها بدون آنکه علتش را بداند عده ای وی را گرفتند و ماسکی بر صورتش زدند و سالها او را زندانی کرده اند
...بازهم تفنگداران بر می گردند
آتوس و آرامیس جزو جبهه ای هستند که میخواهند لوئی چهاردهم مستبد را از تخت سلطنت فرود بیاورند و برادر دوقلویش را جانشینش کنند بدون آنکه حتی کسی بوئی ببرد و بفهمد این لوئی آن لوئی نیست
؛)
دارتن یان و پورتوس هم برای لوئی چهاردهم خدمت می کنند
یکی برای اینکه مزد این همه خدمتی که سالها انجام داده را بگیرد و دیگری برای بدست آوردن نشان بارون
روبه رو شدن تفنگداران باهم تماشایی است
فیلمی بر اساس این کتاب ساخته شده ولی اصلا وفادار به داستان نیست
با این حال از دیدن فیلمش هم لذت بردم
ژرارد دوپاردیو در نقش پورتوس و "گابریل بیرن" در نقش دارتانیان با چیزی که در کتاب خونده بودم شباهت زیادی داشتند ولی اصلا نمیتوانستم تصور کنم "جان مالکوویچ" آتوس است و "جرمی آیرونز " آرامیس
البته نقش لوئی چهاردهم بیشتر از برادر دوقلوی معصومش به دی کاپریو می آمد
بنظرم نقش هایی که لئوناردو دی کاپریو در فیلم هایی مثه "اگه میتونی منو بگیر" ، "گرگ وال استریت" ، "دارودسته نیویورکی" ، "الماس خونین" و و"جانگو"بازی کرده،خیلی بیشتر از دیگر نقشهای مثبت به چهره اش میاد
April 6, 2013
Edited and annotated by David Coward, from an older translation. Well, the mammoth saga of the once-invincibles comes to a rather sad end. Porthos dies because his strength gives out. Aramis flees France in disgrace because his schemes come to ruin. And Athos dies because the one thing dearer to him to God, his son, leaves his company to go die in the Africa campaigns under the Duke of Beaufort. And d’Artagnan – well, d’Artagnan’s star does not decline under the sun king, but that’s only because this once so haughty Gascon spirit humbles itself rather abjectly before the iron will of Louis (chapter 81, simply and appropriately titled “King Louis XIV”). I have one complaint with this action-packed adventure, during which in the course of 570 pages the suspense hardly slackens. Why did Aramis, General of the Jesuits, master planner always with an out at his disposal, admit defeat instantly when Fouquet announced he would denounce him? Up to that point, Fouquet had been a pawn of Aramis. Suddenly, Aramis had to flee for his life on the word alone of Fouquet. Well, maybe it was the onset of age that weakens Aramis’ resolve.
June 24, 2019
It was not as bad as you would have expected it to be.
October 27, 2023
The usual Dumas stuff that made him so famous: history and fiction melted together.
Quite a good one indeed, the only reason of rating so low is the sadness of the story...
Quite a good one indeed, the only reason of rating so low is the sadness of the story...
January 27, 2025
“I am strong against everything, except against the death of those I love. He who dies gains; he who sees others die loses.”
Alexandre Dumas’ The Man in the Iron Mask is the thrilling conclusion to his D'Artagnan Romances series. The novel weaves betrayal, political intrigue, and secret identities into a tale that feels as timeless as its main characters. The infamous musketeers—D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—are back, and this time, they are confronted with a mysterious prisoner whose face is hidden behind an iron mask. But who is he? And why is he locked away? Well, you’ll have to dive into this 19th-century classic to find out (don’t worry, I won’t spoil the fun).
The plot, while a bit meandering at times, ultimately builds toward a series of dramatic reveals. The main conflict? The question of justice, loyalty, and power, which Dumas explores with gusto. But, of course, no plot would be complete without a colorful cast. The musketeers remain as lovable as ever—each with their own quirks and growth. D'Artagnan’s courage is tested, while Aramis… well, he’s still a schemer, just as charming and devious as ever.
Dumas’ prose is as engaging as a rousing sword fight, but the pacing could use a little sharpening here and there. The narrative sometimes lingers when it could be racing forward. But overall, it’s a story of honor, mystery, and emotional depth. The twists keep you hooked, even if it occasionally feels like the plot is a bit too grand for its own good.
Conclusion: A must-read for fans of historical fiction, loyal musketeers, and anyone who enjoys a good, old-fashioned twist.
Alexandre Dumas’ The Man in the Iron Mask is the thrilling conclusion to his D'Artagnan Romances series. The novel weaves betrayal, political intrigue, and secret identities into a tale that feels as timeless as its main characters. The infamous musketeers—D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—are back, and this time, they are confronted with a mysterious prisoner whose face is hidden behind an iron mask. But who is he? And why is he locked away? Well, you’ll have to dive into this 19th-century classic to find out (don’t worry, I won’t spoil the fun).
The plot, while a bit meandering at times, ultimately builds toward a series of dramatic reveals. The main conflict? The question of justice, loyalty, and power, which Dumas explores with gusto. But, of course, no plot would be complete without a colorful cast. The musketeers remain as lovable as ever—each with their own quirks and growth. D'Artagnan’s courage is tested, while Aramis… well, he’s still a schemer, just as charming and devious as ever.
Dumas’ prose is as engaging as a rousing sword fight, but the pacing could use a little sharpening here and there. The narrative sometimes lingers when it could be racing forward. But overall, it’s a story of honor, mystery, and emotional depth. The twists keep you hooked, even if it occasionally feels like the plot is a bit too grand for its own good.
Conclusion: A must-read for fans of historical fiction, loyal musketeers, and anyone who enjoys a good, old-fashioned twist.
February 13, 2026
Mission 2026: Binge reviewing (and rereading on occasion) all previous Reads, I was too slothful to review, back when I read them.
Most readers come to this book with a simple expectation: a mystery about a hidden twin, a dramatic reveal, a secret royal identity. But Dumas refuses simplicity. From the outset, the novel unsettles your relationship with truth. It asks quietly but persistently: ‘Do we ever actually know another person’s interior life?’
The titular iron mask — the symbol of enforced anonymity — is not just a plot device but an evolving philosophical question about transparency, concealment, and the ethics of spectatorship. In the present age, when public and private selves increasingly collide online, this question feels urgent rather than quaint.
The story centers on a prisoner whose head is concealed, his face obscured by a mask welded onto his skull. He is, by design, unknowable — not merely hidden but ‘dehumanized’. This enforced invisibility reverberates beyond the text.
In our era, where digital platforms render identity both hyper-visible and eerily fluid, the Iron Mask becomes a chilling emblem of how modern power can demand exposure while simultaneously erasing personhood. It is a punishment not just of the body but of presence itself.
The novel’s ambiguity begins here: is the “man in the iron mask” a trapped twin of King Louis XIV? A political pawn in the machinations of court and monarchy? Or an idea — a literary hollow used to test the boundaries of selfhood, legitimacy, and authority?
‘Dumas plays with all of these possibilities not as alternatives but as layers that cannot be disentangled.
The story’s uncanny persistence over centuries is not only because of its drama, but because it refuses closure: identity is both revealed and obscured at once.
This tension extends outward into the very structure of ‘Dumas’s narrative. The novel belongs to a genre — historical romantic adventure — that usually privileges resolution. Instead, ‘Dumas’s prose luxuriates in detours, personality sketches, moral digressions, and reflections on justice. The narrative accumulates characters whose motivations are ever more tangled than the political intrigues that surround them. Even the heroic musketeers — Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan — embody contradictions: loyalty and betrayal, courage and doubt, public glory and private insecurity. They do not simply serve the plot; the plot exposes them.
In reading this now, what becomes fascinating is how the novel decodes the very mechanics of power. All authority in the book is an illusion mediated by narrative. King Louis XIV is adored because he is ‘seen’ to be strong; the masked twin is feared because he is ‘not seen at all’.
The irony is not merely visual — it is epistemological. We worship visibility; we fear opacity. Yet ‘Dumas invites us to ask why. Why do we grant power to those we can watch and penalize those we cannot? The mask becomes a cipher for this social intensification of spectacle, a condition of modernity that predates mass media but now oversaturates our daily experience.
The postmodern reader attends to the story’s layering of identities — and the ways in which these layers resist final definition. The “true self” in ‘Dumas’s world is always provisional, always constructed through language, action, and the gazes of others.
The iron-masked prisoner, in this sense, becomes a projection field, onto which characters and readers alike project their fears, hopes, and desires. He is fiction’s ultimate blank canvas — yet his blankness reveals the contours of narrative itself: identity is less discovered than negotiated.
It is worth pausing here to consider how ‘Dumas’s treatment of secrecy anticipates our contemporary anxieties about data, surveillance, and authorship. In an age when individuals broadcast intimate details of their lives online — voluntarily or otherwise — the very notion of privacy feels archaic and precious. The iron mask, welded on as an instrument of erasure, prompts a paradoxical sympathy for concealment. Might anonymity be not just protection from exposure, but space for a fragmented self to exist without permanent imprint?
‘Dumas’s masked man embodies this paradox: a person who cannot be seen yet whose potentiality haunts every other character.
As a narrative, the text is relentlessly self-aware — not in the obvious metafictional contemporary sense, but in its recognition that stories are circulations of power. Every character negotiates their identity through narrative: how they are spoken of, how they perform themselves, how they choose to remember or forget events.
The masked twin — whether he is real, imagined, or symbolic — becomes the hinge on which other characters redefine themselves. He is absence and presence simultaneously, the negative space that shapes every plot turn.
This doubling — identity and non-identity, visibility and erasure — structures the text as mirror and shadow. D’Artagnan’s loyalty, for instance, is never uncomplicated; it reflects a devotion not only to individuals but to the ‘story’ of honor itself. Athos’s cynicism reveals the costs of idealism when repeated narrative fails to match moral reality. Aramis’s theological introspections dramatize the tensions between belief and power. Porthos’s yearning for recognition underscores how social esteem becomes a form of self-construction. Every musketeer is bound by the same narrative logic that animates the iron-masked prisoner: identity is both performance and interpretation.
The politics embedded in these negotiations — monarchy, absolutism, aristocracy, rebellion — take on additional resonance in the present day, as we are ourselves habituated to distributed authority. Power no longer resides solely in kings or parliaments; it circulates through platforms, algorithms, attentions, and micro-influences.
‘Dumas’s novel, in its insistence that power is spectacle + narrative + sanction, feels oddly predictive. The king rules not because he is wise, but because the mechanisms of visibility (ceremony, pageantry, rumour) insist upon his sovereignty. Today, where personal brands parallel national brands, this logic feels familiar: authority is not intrinsic, it is ‘performed’ and ‘consumed’.
Yet the novel resists cynicism. ‘Dumas’s moral imagination is not bleak; it is expansive. He shows the iron mask as symbol of imprisonment, but also as a challenge to the reigning certainties of his age: that monarchy is natural, that identity is singular, and that history has only one witness. ‘Dumas invites multiplicity, ambivalence, and reflection.
He does not give us the “true” identity of the masked man with finality — but neither does he reduce it to a trick. Instead, he asks us to consider what identity ‘means’ when it is hidden, revealed, theorized, and speculated upon.
In the end, the novel becomes a meditation on narrative itself — its powers, its hypocrisies, its violences. Stories can create hierarchies and erase evidence; they can exalt and they can bury. The iron mask symbolizes not only the erasure of one individual’s face but the way storytelling can conceal as much as it reveals.
The masked twin’s fate is the fate of every character who is forced to perform a role rather than live an essence. ‘Dumas’s genius, postmodern readers might say, lies in dramatizing this tension without dissolving it.
A postmodern reading emphasizes not only ambiguity but ‘plurality’. The masked man is no single figure; he is figure-as-function: the narrative’s blind spot, the reader’s blank page, the symbol of undeclared possibility.
To say ‘he might be Louis’s twin’ is not to resolve the story, but to remind us how many narratives circulate beneath the official one. What happens when identity is outsourced to speculation? When authority is derived not from proof but from consensus? When visibility becomes currency? ‘Dumas’s story, astonishingly, anticipates these questions long before they were articulated as central cultural dilemmas.
This reading does not ask whether ‘Dumas was correct in his history. The novel is not historiography; it is ‘narrative philosophy’. Its power lies in how fictional constructs illuminate real anxieties about presence and absence, appearance and essence, speech and silence.
In the world of today, when generative AI is reshaping what we mean by authorship, invention, and authenticity, the iron mask resonates in unexpected ways:
1) What is hidden?
2) What is manufactured?
3) What is acknowledged?
4) What is claimed?
‘Dumas’s prose — capacious, digressive, shimmering with moral turbulence — refuses the flat efficiency of modern thriller pacing. There are long rooms of rhetoric, arguments about honor, digressions about loyalty and statecraft.
To some modern readers this may feel dated; to others it feels generous. The novel is not a puzzle to be solved but a space to enter, inhabited by people wrestling with uncertainty. In an age of bite-sized content optimized for instant gratification, this resistance to compression feels re-energizing. It suggests that stories can be slow, reflective, and open-ended without losing their power.
Perhaps the central lesson of ‘The Man in the Iron Mask’ itoday, is that identity — whether masked, revealed, or contested — is never singular. Even the idea of a secret twin reveals itself as a narrative engine: the fear of hidden alternatives, the dread of replacement, the anxiety that what is shown is not all that exists. ‘Dumas recognizes that stories harbor other stories, that identity is networked, and that every face has a hinterland.
This is why the novel continues to matter: not because it tells a secret about a masked prisoner, but because it dramatizes the conditions of narrative itself. We read not to reach an answer but to inhabit uncertainty. We read not to confirm identities but to understand how they are constructed, mediated, and performed.
The iron mask is not a plot resolution; it is a question posed to every reader about the nature of truth, selfhood, and power.
In closing, the magic of ‘The Man in the Iron Mask’ lies in its refusal to be only one thing: not simply adventure, not merely historical fiction, not a morality play. It is all these and more, a tapestry woven from contradictions that never fully settle, a story that imagines hidden faces in order to reveal the complexity of the faces we wear.
So, when you pick up this book in 2026, what strikes you most is not how Victor ‘Dumas tells a story — it’s how the story insists on telling ‘you’. A century and a half after its first publication as part of ‘The Vicomte de Bragelonne’, this final installment of ‘Dumas’s sprawling ‘d’Artagnan Romances’ reads less like historical fiction and more like an interrogation of narrative authority: who gets to tell a story, whose identity is erased, and how masks become metaphors for power, anonymity, and the anxiety of being watched.
In a world obsessed with visibility, transparency, and certainty, ‘Dumas asks a bracing question: What if the most important truths are the ones we can neither see nor proclaim with confidence?
That is the legacy of the iron mask in 2026 — not as a secret to be unveiled, but as a prism through which we understand how stories make us, and how we make stories in return.
A classic for all times.
Most readers come to this book with a simple expectation: a mystery about a hidden twin, a dramatic reveal, a secret royal identity. But Dumas refuses simplicity. From the outset, the novel unsettles your relationship with truth. It asks quietly but persistently: ‘Do we ever actually know another person’s interior life?’
The titular iron mask — the symbol of enforced anonymity — is not just a plot device but an evolving philosophical question about transparency, concealment, and the ethics of spectatorship. In the present age, when public and private selves increasingly collide online, this question feels urgent rather than quaint.
The story centers on a prisoner whose head is concealed, his face obscured by a mask welded onto his skull. He is, by design, unknowable — not merely hidden but ‘dehumanized’. This enforced invisibility reverberates beyond the text.
In our era, where digital platforms render identity both hyper-visible and eerily fluid, the Iron Mask becomes a chilling emblem of how modern power can demand exposure while simultaneously erasing personhood. It is a punishment not just of the body but of presence itself.
The novel’s ambiguity begins here: is the “man in the iron mask” a trapped twin of King Louis XIV? A political pawn in the machinations of court and monarchy? Or an idea — a literary hollow used to test the boundaries of selfhood, legitimacy, and authority?
‘Dumas plays with all of these possibilities not as alternatives but as layers that cannot be disentangled.
The story’s uncanny persistence over centuries is not only because of its drama, but because it refuses closure: identity is both revealed and obscured at once.
This tension extends outward into the very structure of ‘Dumas’s narrative. The novel belongs to a genre — historical romantic adventure — that usually privileges resolution. Instead, ‘Dumas’s prose luxuriates in detours, personality sketches, moral digressions, and reflections on justice. The narrative accumulates characters whose motivations are ever more tangled than the political intrigues that surround them. Even the heroic musketeers — Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan — embody contradictions: loyalty and betrayal, courage and doubt, public glory and private insecurity. They do not simply serve the plot; the plot exposes them.
In reading this now, what becomes fascinating is how the novel decodes the very mechanics of power. All authority in the book is an illusion mediated by narrative. King Louis XIV is adored because he is ‘seen’ to be strong; the masked twin is feared because he is ‘not seen at all’.
The irony is not merely visual — it is epistemological. We worship visibility; we fear opacity. Yet ‘Dumas invites us to ask why. Why do we grant power to those we can watch and penalize those we cannot? The mask becomes a cipher for this social intensification of spectacle, a condition of modernity that predates mass media but now oversaturates our daily experience.
The postmodern reader attends to the story’s layering of identities — and the ways in which these layers resist final definition. The “true self” in ‘Dumas’s world is always provisional, always constructed through language, action, and the gazes of others.
The iron-masked prisoner, in this sense, becomes a projection field, onto which characters and readers alike project their fears, hopes, and desires. He is fiction’s ultimate blank canvas — yet his blankness reveals the contours of narrative itself: identity is less discovered than negotiated.
It is worth pausing here to consider how ‘Dumas’s treatment of secrecy anticipates our contemporary anxieties about data, surveillance, and authorship. In an age when individuals broadcast intimate details of their lives online — voluntarily or otherwise — the very notion of privacy feels archaic and precious. The iron mask, welded on as an instrument of erasure, prompts a paradoxical sympathy for concealment. Might anonymity be not just protection from exposure, but space for a fragmented self to exist without permanent imprint?
‘Dumas’s masked man embodies this paradox: a person who cannot be seen yet whose potentiality haunts every other character.
As a narrative, the text is relentlessly self-aware — not in the obvious metafictional contemporary sense, but in its recognition that stories are circulations of power. Every character negotiates their identity through narrative: how they are spoken of, how they perform themselves, how they choose to remember or forget events.
The masked twin — whether he is real, imagined, or symbolic — becomes the hinge on which other characters redefine themselves. He is absence and presence simultaneously, the negative space that shapes every plot turn.
This doubling — identity and non-identity, visibility and erasure — structures the text as mirror and shadow. D’Artagnan’s loyalty, for instance, is never uncomplicated; it reflects a devotion not only to individuals but to the ‘story’ of honor itself. Athos’s cynicism reveals the costs of idealism when repeated narrative fails to match moral reality. Aramis’s theological introspections dramatize the tensions between belief and power. Porthos’s yearning for recognition underscores how social esteem becomes a form of self-construction. Every musketeer is bound by the same narrative logic that animates the iron-masked prisoner: identity is both performance and interpretation.
The politics embedded in these negotiations — monarchy, absolutism, aristocracy, rebellion — take on additional resonance in the present day, as we are ourselves habituated to distributed authority. Power no longer resides solely in kings or parliaments; it circulates through platforms, algorithms, attentions, and micro-influences.
‘Dumas’s novel, in its insistence that power is spectacle + narrative + sanction, feels oddly predictive. The king rules not because he is wise, but because the mechanisms of visibility (ceremony, pageantry, rumour) insist upon his sovereignty. Today, where personal brands parallel national brands, this logic feels familiar: authority is not intrinsic, it is ‘performed’ and ‘consumed’.
Yet the novel resists cynicism. ‘Dumas’s moral imagination is not bleak; it is expansive. He shows the iron mask as symbol of imprisonment, but also as a challenge to the reigning certainties of his age: that monarchy is natural, that identity is singular, and that history has only one witness. ‘Dumas invites multiplicity, ambivalence, and reflection.
He does not give us the “true” identity of the masked man with finality — but neither does he reduce it to a trick. Instead, he asks us to consider what identity ‘means’ when it is hidden, revealed, theorized, and speculated upon.
In the end, the novel becomes a meditation on narrative itself — its powers, its hypocrisies, its violences. Stories can create hierarchies and erase evidence; they can exalt and they can bury. The iron mask symbolizes not only the erasure of one individual’s face but the way storytelling can conceal as much as it reveals.
The masked twin’s fate is the fate of every character who is forced to perform a role rather than live an essence. ‘Dumas’s genius, postmodern readers might say, lies in dramatizing this tension without dissolving it.
A postmodern reading emphasizes not only ambiguity but ‘plurality’. The masked man is no single figure; he is figure-as-function: the narrative’s blind spot, the reader’s blank page, the symbol of undeclared possibility.
To say ‘he might be Louis’s twin’ is not to resolve the story, but to remind us how many narratives circulate beneath the official one. What happens when identity is outsourced to speculation? When authority is derived not from proof but from consensus? When visibility becomes currency? ‘Dumas’s story, astonishingly, anticipates these questions long before they were articulated as central cultural dilemmas.
This reading does not ask whether ‘Dumas was correct in his history. The novel is not historiography; it is ‘narrative philosophy’. Its power lies in how fictional constructs illuminate real anxieties about presence and absence, appearance and essence, speech and silence.
In the world of today, when generative AI is reshaping what we mean by authorship, invention, and authenticity, the iron mask resonates in unexpected ways:
1) What is hidden?
2) What is manufactured?
3) What is acknowledged?
4) What is claimed?
‘Dumas’s prose — capacious, digressive, shimmering with moral turbulence — refuses the flat efficiency of modern thriller pacing. There are long rooms of rhetoric, arguments about honor, digressions about loyalty and statecraft.
To some modern readers this may feel dated; to others it feels generous. The novel is not a puzzle to be solved but a space to enter, inhabited by people wrestling with uncertainty. In an age of bite-sized content optimized for instant gratification, this resistance to compression feels re-energizing. It suggests that stories can be slow, reflective, and open-ended without losing their power.
Perhaps the central lesson of ‘The Man in the Iron Mask’ itoday, is that identity — whether masked, revealed, or contested — is never singular. Even the idea of a secret twin reveals itself as a narrative engine: the fear of hidden alternatives, the dread of replacement, the anxiety that what is shown is not all that exists. ‘Dumas recognizes that stories harbor other stories, that identity is networked, and that every face has a hinterland.
This is why the novel continues to matter: not because it tells a secret about a masked prisoner, but because it dramatizes the conditions of narrative itself. We read not to reach an answer but to inhabit uncertainty. We read not to confirm identities but to understand how they are constructed, mediated, and performed.
The iron mask is not a plot resolution; it is a question posed to every reader about the nature of truth, selfhood, and power.
In closing, the magic of ‘The Man in the Iron Mask’ lies in its refusal to be only one thing: not simply adventure, not merely historical fiction, not a morality play. It is all these and more, a tapestry woven from contradictions that never fully settle, a story that imagines hidden faces in order to reveal the complexity of the faces we wear.
So, when you pick up this book in 2026, what strikes you most is not how Victor ‘Dumas tells a story — it’s how the story insists on telling ‘you’. A century and a half after its first publication as part of ‘The Vicomte de Bragelonne’, this final installment of ‘Dumas’s sprawling ‘d’Artagnan Romances’ reads less like historical fiction and more like an interrogation of narrative authority: who gets to tell a story, whose identity is erased, and how masks become metaphors for power, anonymity, and the anxiety of being watched.
In a world obsessed with visibility, transparency, and certainty, ‘Dumas asks a bracing question: What if the most important truths are the ones we can neither see nor proclaim with confidence?
That is the legacy of the iron mask in 2026 — not as a secret to be unveiled, but as a prism through which we understand how stories make us, and how we make stories in return.
A classic for all times.
August 19, 2023
যেমন সুন্দর শুরু তেমন সুন্দর শেষ।
October 30, 2012
I didn't know how to review this book and just started writing randomly until some thoughts about the book illuminated me and I could write some a proper rant about this book review.
So, here it is.
First, I never really figured out it was part of a series "The D'Artagnan Romances", so when I found this book free for being public domain I couldn't stop myself and got it immediately. I was really excited to start this book. I don't really remember the movie but I remember I liked it, that's why I thought I would absolutely adore this book.
I thought this book was going to be about Phillipe, the man in the iron mask and how he was being punished that way because the king Louis XIV wouldn't risk his royalty, and the battle to free him, something like that. The truth is this book was more about the musketeers and the man in the iron mask is only a subplot of it.
I didn't really enjoy the story, only in parts, small moments in the overall story that took forever to get to, and I can't find that appealing at all. I can't be bored reading for one hour and only enjoy 3 minutes of it, that's not what I call entertaining or interesting. I really cannot give it more than 2 stars.
I'm not sure if it has to do with the fact that I didn't read The Three Musketeers or Twenty Years After first, but I just didn't find the characters likeable at all, probably that's why I didn't like this book more.
There were some parts that I didn't understand and just feel stupid for some reason.
For example:
Aramis plotted all the thing to switch the king with the prisoner, and did it amazing, it worked, and then he has to go to M. Fouquet and tell him everything he did, so he would go and spoil everything.
Why did he do that???
It doesn't make any sense!
I mean, he goes there and says that he will tell him everything because he's a friend and he doesn't want to hide anything, but he knows if he do that he will go and liberate Louis XIV from the prison and send Phillipe back to it... That'snot NOT right!
If Aramis is so damn cunning that he could manage to switch them without anyone noticing, it doesn't make any sense why he went to reveal everything...
And that's about the most interesting thing that happens in this book, the rest is boring and I didn't like it.
And obviously this makes me mad.
So, here it is.
First, I never really figured out it was part of a series "The D'Artagnan Romances", so when I found this book free for being public domain I couldn't stop myself and got it immediately. I was really excited to start this book. I don't really remember the movie but I remember I liked it, that's why I thought I would absolutely adore this book.
I thought this book was going to be about Phillipe, the man in the iron mask and how he was being punished that way because the king Louis XIV wouldn't risk his royalty, and the battle to free him, something like that. The truth is this book was more about the musketeers and the man in the iron mask is only a subplot of it.
I didn't really enjoy the story, only in parts, small moments in the overall story that took forever to get to, and I can't find that appealing at all. I can't be bored reading for one hour and only enjoy 3 minutes of it, that's not what I call entertaining or interesting. I really cannot give it more than 2 stars.
I'm not sure if it has to do with the fact that I didn't read The Three Musketeers or Twenty Years After first, but I just didn't find the characters likeable at all, probably that's why I didn't like this book more.
There were some parts that I didn't understand and just feel stupid for some reason.
For example:
Aramis plotted all the thing to switch the king with the prisoner, and did it amazing, it worked, and then he has to go to M. Fouquet and tell him everything he did, so he would go and spoil everything.
Why did he do that???
It doesn't make any sense!
I mean, he goes there and says that he will tell him everything because he's a friend and he doesn't want to hide anything, but he knows if he do that he will go and liberate Louis XIV from the prison and send Phillipe back to it... That's
If Aramis is so damn cunning that he could manage to switch them without anyone noticing, it doesn't make any sense why he went to reveal everything...
And that's about the most interesting thing that happens in this book, the rest is boring and I didn't like it.
And obviously this makes me mad.
February 11, 2019
I was reluctant to read this due to the ubiquity of the Musketeers and because for whatever reason i had assumed Dumas to be a high-brow difficult author. Boy was i wrong, this had such an easy almost pulpy tone to it, perhaps a tad hard to parse during some dialogue but overall very smooth and a nice style.
I was in, the first 20% was 5-stars even with some interruptions to worldbuild, but then after a climax it suddenly switches characters. Which it will continue to do throughout the novel as there isn't actually any main character. Its a terrible structure where the momentum drops at each switch and has to start to build up again. Still Dumas manages to make it work, and the awful structure does at least mean you never know what might happen next.
Dumas even gets some use out of Raoul, the most worthless of side characters, in his first major section at least.
So not 5-stars but still a solid 4... until we reach the conclusion, if i can use that term since its about 10 chapters long. One major character goes through a complete personality switch for no reason and the rest is just turgid wrapping up and politic history lessons and absolutely none of it has anything to do with the actual title of the book.
An 80% of good to great with a soft squidgy mess at the end. Like driving a sports car into a swamp.
I was in, the first 20% was 5-stars even with some interruptions to worldbuild, but then after a climax it suddenly switches characters. Which it will continue to do throughout the novel as there isn't actually any main character. Its a terrible structure where the momentum drops at each switch and has to start to build up again. Still Dumas manages to make it work, and the awful structure does at least mean you never know what might happen next.
Dumas even gets some use out of Raoul, the most worthless of side characters, in his first major section at least.
So not 5-stars but still a solid 4... until we reach the conclusion, if i can use that term since its about 10 chapters long. One major character goes through a complete personality switch for no reason and the rest is just turgid wrapping up and politic history lessons and absolutely none of it has anything to do with the actual title of the book.
An 80% of good to great with a soft squidgy mess at the end. Like driving a sports car into a swamp.
April 30, 2011
I wish I could give this three stars, but this book truly was "just okay." The Three Musketeers and Twenty Years After must be read before this book, otherwise you will be very confused. I'm surprised that The Man in the Iron Mask is more famous than Twenty Years After (although neither are good stand-alone novels; they really require reading the previous novels first) because I found TYA to be much more humorous, more exciting, and more engaging all around. The only thing I liked more about TMitIM is that the particular translation I read, which is much newer than the translation of TYA that I had read, made for smooth and easy reading. (The translations of TTM and TYA I read were tiring to read at times.) The last ~300 pages of TMitIM are not very interesting, although I will give Dumas credit for always writing good "death and grieving" scenes. I read this trilogy because The Count of Monte Cristo is my favorite book and I was hoping for something similar, but these three books are nothing like it. The first two are humorous, light-hearted, and adventurous, but the last one (TMitIM) is not particularly engaging and its only purpose seems to be to conclude the story and lives of the four protagonists.
April 28, 2012
Magnificent, incredible, et cetera. I can't overstate how much I loved this story. I think Dumas is among the most entertaining of the classical writers. A huge cast of character and an epic story full of love, hate, friendship, betrayal, politics and actions. A favorite of mine.
October 24, 2025
Slow read for me ♡
This novel carries beauty, but also a heaviness that sometimes slows its charm. The writing is richly detailed - something I usually enjoy but in this context, it can make it easy to drift away from the story’s heart. The themes of loyalty, friendship, and fate shimmer through, yet the pacing turns it into more of a quiet struggle than a sweeping adventure, especially for beginners to classics. Beneath the politics and secrecy lies a tenderness only visible to readers who take their time. The Musketeers’ loyalty feels aged like fine wine, their heartbreak dignified, their courage almost sacred. An average read for me overall, as it’s not the kind of story I’d usually reach for ♡🦢
This novel carries beauty, but also a heaviness that sometimes slows its charm. The writing is richly detailed - something I usually enjoy but in this context, it can make it easy to drift away from the story’s heart. The themes of loyalty, friendship, and fate shimmer through, yet the pacing turns it into more of a quiet struggle than a sweeping adventure, especially for beginners to classics. Beneath the politics and secrecy lies a tenderness only visible to readers who take their time. The Musketeers’ loyalty feels aged like fine wine, their heartbreak dignified, their courage almost sacred. An average read for me overall, as it’s not the kind of story I’d usually reach for ♡🦢
September 21, 2014
Curiously unengaging. The "Man in the Iron Mask" is dispensed with in the first half of the book. I read the other D'Artagnan Romances following Three Musketeers so that I could approach this book fully informed. I expected a juggernaut. Well, Count of Monte Cristo delivered on its promise, but this book did not. The action largely trails off unsatisfactorily. Porthos is presented for comedy except for a moment of tragedy. The action is largely French against French. Louis XIV seems to be a complete jerk. Proud D'Artagnan humbles himself.
As history it is fairly interesting, and Dumas does a good job of displaying the historical events. He is an engaging writer, and this book does continue the feel of being there. It is not a bad book, just not as good as it is made out to be.
Additionally, since D'Artagnan and the Three Musketeers are displayed against actual history, a nodding knowledge of history will show that some desired plot points could never come to pass. Fouquet struggles in vain; Raoul's love for Louise de la Valliere is impossible.
The plot points come together too easily at the end. This is a pat end to characters that have had their ups and downs in uneven works by Dumas. At their height they are truly engaging. To end as they did is a cop out. I felt that Dumas realized he had to end this serial and just phoned in the ending.
It's free on gutenberg.org and the reading goes quickly, so read this as a painless romp through French history. Just don't expect the quality of other Dumas works.
As history it is fairly interesting, and Dumas does a good job of displaying the historical events. He is an engaging writer, and this book does continue the feel of being there. It is not a bad book, just not as good as it is made out to be.
Additionally, since D'Artagnan and the Three Musketeers are displayed against actual history, a nodding knowledge of history will show that some desired plot points could never come to pass. Fouquet struggles in vain; Raoul's love for Louise de la Valliere is impossible.
The plot points come together too easily at the end. This is a pat end to characters that have had their ups and downs in uneven works by Dumas. At their height they are truly engaging. To end as they did is a cop out. I felt that Dumas realized he had to end this serial and just phoned in the ending.
It's free on gutenberg.org and the reading goes quickly, so read this as a painless romp through French history. Just don't expect the quality of other Dumas works.
December 28, 2013
After all the adventures of D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, it's impossible not to fall in love with these characters. Their friendship, courage, loyalty, fidelity, and honor are the thread that conducts all the deeds, intrigues and adventures they go through.
In The Man in the Iron Mask we set out on the last journey for the four musketeers.
In The Man in the Iron Mask we set out on the last journey for the four musketeers.
September 15, 2017
what the f did I just read?
October 7, 2023
Well that was a depressing end..
September 12, 2013
This is a superb novel -- and a frequently misunderstood one. The Man in the Iron Mask is only tangentially about the mysterious masked figure. I have read this book so long ago, and in the interval I have seen several filmed version of the story which turned it into a novel of derring-do, as if it were a young man's book, like The Three Musketeers. No, Alexandre Dumas had other fish to fry. He had done adventure. Here, he writes about a most solemn subject: The end of life.
Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan are not young men in any of the sequels to The Three Musketeers. In The Man in the Iron Mask, two of the Musketeers, Aramis and Porthos, commit an act of derring-do: They attempt to replace Louis XIV with his brother, a prisoner in the Bastille. But the whole plot backfires, and Louis undergoes a change of personality, becoming more decisive and powerful, partly thanks to his new Superintendent of Finances, Colbert. With this change, the Musketeers become relics in a time and place that they have ceased to understand.
Attending the double funeral of Athos and his son, the Vicomte de Bragelonne, d'Artagnan begins to muse about his own mortality:
Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan are not young men in any of the sequels to The Three Musketeers. In The Man in the Iron Mask, two of the Musketeers, Aramis and Porthos, commit an act of derring-do: They attempt to replace Louis XIV with his brother, a prisoner in the Bastille. But the whole plot backfires, and Louis undergoes a change of personality, becoming more decisive and powerful, partly thanks to his new Superintendent of Finances, Colbert. With this change, the Musketeers become relics in a time and place that they have ceased to understand.
Attending the double funeral of Athos and his son, the Vicomte de Bragelonne, d'Artagnan begins to muse about his own mortality:
The captain [d'Artagnan] watched the departure of the horses, horsemen, and carriage; then crossing his arms upon his swelling chest, "When will it be my turn to depart?" said he, in an agitated voice, "What is there left for man after youth, after love, after glory, after friendship, after strength, after riches? That rock, under which sleeps Porthos, who possessed all I have named; this moss, under which repose Athos and Raoul [de Bragelonne], who possessed still much more!"And yet the book is crammed full of adventures. It is just that entropy has reared its ugly head, and the eternal youth and joy of the Four Musketeers does eventually come to an end.
He hesitated a moment with a dull eye; then, drawing himself up, "Forward! still forward!" said he. "When it shall be time, God will tell me, as he has told others."
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 7, 2007
Another boring work from Monsieur Dumas after The Three Musketeers.
Okay okay, not that boring. Perhaps I'm not accustomed in reading "royal conversations" or whatever high level language used by Dumas, but I find it really dull. It was a struggle for me to finish that book, with more than 350 pages. I can read Victor Hugo's 1000-pages (at least) Les Miserables, but this book? There's just too many descriptions and the dialogues made me kinda dizzy.
Why I do not give only one stars in this review is because the characters are very strong. Who could forget Athos' nobility, Aramis' vast resources/talents, Porthos' loyalty and last but not least, D'Artagnan's heroism? The beginning and the middle part of the book make you sleepy, but not the ending. Hence, the three stars :D
One more thing, the movie (with Leonardo di Caprio) really sucked. Those Hollywood morons always manage to destroy literatures.
Okay okay, not that boring. Perhaps I'm not accustomed in reading "royal conversations" or whatever high level language used by Dumas, but I find it really dull. It was a struggle for me to finish that book, with more than 350 pages. I can read Victor Hugo's 1000-pages (at least) Les Miserables, but this book? There's just too many descriptions and the dialogues made me kinda dizzy.
Why I do not give only one stars in this review is because the characters are very strong. Who could forget Athos' nobility, Aramis' vast resources/talents, Porthos' loyalty and last but not least, D'Artagnan's heroism? The beginning and the middle part of the book make you sleepy, but not the ending. Hence, the three stars :D
One more thing, the movie (with Leonardo di Caprio) really sucked. Those Hollywood morons always manage to destroy literatures.
April 14, 2016
**spoilers**
"Disappointed" would be too strong a word: I enjoyed this last installment of the D'Artagnan romances. But I found it less compelling than expected, less compelling than, for example, much-maligned book 3.2 (LdLV), which brilliantly ramps up the tension of court intrigue and then explodes. Why is 3.3 not so compelling?
1. Bragelonne's love-sickness to death stops being pitiable and merely becomes pathetic. He should have done like his father and taken to drink.
2. Fouquet is set up as the noblest and most king-like character in the book, someone worthy of the fawning artistic groupies and the devotion of men like Aramis (and someone who therefore must be taken out of the picture if Louis is to grow into the role of true king). But the portrait is not convincing. We see generosity--but it is not really generosity, it is impulsive prodigality, and one seriously questions his fitness to be superintendent of finances. We see lack of decisiveness throughout most of the story. We see bizarre machinations and secret tunnels that allow him to communicate privately with a mistress--reminiscent of the king indeed, but not in a particularly flattering way. In the end we see loyalty, when he storms the Bastille-- but this actual virtue is the virtue of a subject, not a sovereign.
3. Philippe's role in the story is so marginal. I realize that Dumas was weaving together many threads of real history, and the existence of a masked and possibly royal prisoner was just one, and that Dumas himself did not give book 3.3 its title, but Philippe's thread of the story is dropped so coldly, it cries out for a reprise. It is severely disappointing not to get one.
4. Colbert becomes a different person at the end of the book, and so does Louis. Maybe that's the point--in order for Louis to become a great and good king (and ditto for Colbert as minister), he first had to be a ruthless consolidator of power. But it is humanly unconvincing. (When Louis changes after Nantes-- changes his daily habits, shuns and arrests and declares new intentions toward D'Artagnan, relents toward Aramis-- I more than half expected D'Artagnan to discover that Athos had committed the perfect crime, substituting Philippe again for Louis. That would have been satisfying on so many levels.) It is also politically naive, in a dangerous way. Is it credible that one who craves power and seizes it by ruthless and underhanded means will then shift gears and become mild and just?
"Disappointed" would be too strong a word: I enjoyed this last installment of the D'Artagnan romances. But I found it less compelling than expected, less compelling than, for example, much-maligned book 3.2 (LdLV), which brilliantly ramps up the tension of court intrigue and then explodes. Why is 3.3 not so compelling?
1. Bragelonne's love-sickness to death stops being pitiable and merely becomes pathetic. He should have done like his father and taken to drink.
2. Fouquet is set up as the noblest and most king-like character in the book, someone worthy of the fawning artistic groupies and the devotion of men like Aramis (and someone who therefore must be taken out of the picture if Louis is to grow into the role of true king). But the portrait is not convincing. We see generosity--but it is not really generosity, it is impulsive prodigality, and one seriously questions his fitness to be superintendent of finances. We see lack of decisiveness throughout most of the story. We see bizarre machinations and secret tunnels that allow him to communicate privately with a mistress--reminiscent of the king indeed, but not in a particularly flattering way. In the end we see loyalty, when he storms the Bastille-- but this actual virtue is the virtue of a subject, not a sovereign.
3. Philippe's role in the story is so marginal. I realize that Dumas was weaving together many threads of real history, and the existence of a masked and possibly royal prisoner was just one, and that Dumas himself did not give book 3.3 its title, but Philippe's thread of the story is dropped so coldly, it cries out for a reprise. It is severely disappointing not to get one.
4. Colbert becomes a different person at the end of the book, and so does Louis. Maybe that's the point--in order for Louis to become a great and good king (and ditto for Colbert as minister), he first had to be a ruthless consolidator of power. But it is humanly unconvincing. (When Louis changes after Nantes-- changes his daily habits, shuns and arrests and declares new intentions toward D'Artagnan, relents toward Aramis-- I more than half expected D'Artagnan to discover that Athos had committed the perfect crime, substituting Philippe again for Louis. That would have been satisfying on so many levels.) It is also politically naive, in a dangerous way. Is it credible that one who craves power and seizes it by ruthless and underhanded means will then shift gears and become mild and just?
November 24, 2018
Η έκδοση είναι εξαιρετική, σκληροδετη, προσεγμένη και με καλή γραμματοσειρά.
Όσο αφορά το βιβλίο ξεκινά καλά στην συνέχεια όμως κάνει μια τεράστια κοιλιά όπου δεν σε προδιαθέτει να το συνεχίσεις. Προσπερνώντας αυτή τη σκόπελο προσδοκούμε να διαβάσουμε τι γίνεται με το Σιδηρούν Προσωπείο το οποίο αναφέρεται μια φορά και αυτό είναι όλο. Αυτός που το φορά μας απασχολεί μόνο σε 50 σελίδες του βιβλιου και πολλές λέω από τις 720! Απορώ γιατί δόθηκε αυτός ο τίτλος. Αντίθετα βλέπουμε την ζωή των σωματοφυλακων και το τέλος τους. Και εδώ είναι το ζουμί και αυτό το κομμάτι μου άρεσε. Όμως ο τίτλος είναι εντελώς άσχετος με αυτό που διάβασα. Ασφαλώς προτιμώ την ταινία!
Όσο αφορά το βιβλίο ξεκινά καλά στην συνέχεια όμως κάνει μια τεράστια κοιλιά όπου δεν σε προδιαθέτει να το συνεχίσεις. Προσπερνώντας αυτή τη σκόπελο προσδοκούμε να διαβάσουμε τι γίνεται με το Σιδηρούν Προσωπείο το οποίο αναφέρεται μια φορά και αυτό είναι όλο. Αυτός που το φορά μας απασχολεί μόνο σε 50 σελίδες του βιβλιου και πολλές λέω από τις 720! Απορώ γιατί δόθηκε αυτός ο τίτλος. Αντίθετα βλέπουμε την ζωή των σωματοφυλακων και το τέλος τους. Και εδώ είναι το ζουμί και αυτό το κομμάτι μου άρεσε. Όμως ο τίτλος είναι εντελώς άσχετος με αυτό που διάβασα. Ασφαλώς προτιμώ την ταινία!
May 29, 2014
Since I seem to be giving up books at the moment. I probably will come back to this at some point, but the friend I've been reading it with agrees that the Frenchmen are not sassy enough for our readalong, and the whole thing lacks the charm of Musketeers, so we are swapping it out for the Scarlet Pimpernel as soon as either of us can get our hands on a copy. Decent book, but not fit for current purpose.
February 1, 2023
Having seen the movie I knew this was going to be an emotional read, I’ve enjoyed the whole series and would highly recommend all the 6 books to everyone The Three Musketeers was definitely one of my favourite reads and this comes a close second
June 23, 2019
1. The Count of Monte Cristo is one of the greatest books I've ever read.
2. This is not the Count of Monte Cristo.
3. This is a steaming, stinking pile of brain excrement.
But if you're in to tragedy, depression, failure, death, good deeds being punished, misplaced loyalty, honor suicide and one blindingly glaring plot fail, and zero redemption go ahead and read it.
2. This is not the Count of Monte Cristo.
3. This is a steaming, stinking pile of brain excrement.
But if you're in to tragedy, depression, failure, death, good deeds being punished, misplaced loyalty, honor suicide and one blindingly glaring plot fail, and zero redemption go ahead and read it.
June 19, 2010
Not as readable in my opinion as the Three Musketeers. If you've only seen film adaptions you don't know the story. Try the book. It seems that movie makers can't resist changing the story here to the point of "unrecognizably". Why? It's not all that happy. Still, good book, interesting story.
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