Redmond believed—no, knew!—he was a gentleman who belonged in the aristocracy. But events brought his Irish family low, and Redmond came of age feeling victimized, stewing unhappily among the unwashed.
Barry Lyndon is written in Redmond's pompous, earnest voice, and he tells of his travels, military enlistments, ruined affairs, con jobs, rivalries, and retributions.
After scrambling a while, Redmond’s ambitions gain traction finally when he unites with his uncle, a fellow adventurer and conman. Redmond then marries into wealth, his mark being the Countess of Lyndon. Redmond promptly spends her money, runs out of luck, and ends up living on an allowance in prison.
Redmond has scores of confidence and self-belief but belongs nowhere and is without principles.
I saw Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation, “Barry Lyndon,” years ago. I loved the film, which is different from the novel, but the novel is a fun, special read on its own—largely because Redmond’s phrasings are incredibly droll.
Note: Barry Lyndon is considered a picaresque novel. It was written by William Makepeace Thackeray and first published as a serial in 1844.
