A Hero of Our Time by Mikhail Lermontov

If you’re in the mood to meet a man who would flirt with your heart just to watch it break—then lean back and enjoy A Hero of Our Time. Mikhail Lermontov’s 1840 classic is the ultimate slow burn of existential ennui wrapped in a Byron-inspired antihero, Grigory Pechorin. Imagine if Heathcliff went to therapy but refused to take any advice, and you’re halfway to understanding this guy.

The novel, split into five interconnected stories, gives us Pechorin through a shattered kaleidoscope of perspectives: we hear about him from other characters, read his diaries, and witness his own morose self-reflection. It’s a clever narrative trick—you’re always one step away from truly knowing him, just like everyone in his life. Pechorin bounces between manipulation, casual cruelty, and bouts of self-awareness that might make you want to throw the book across the room (in a good way).

The writing is lush with that moody Russian atmosphere—Caucasus mountains, pistol duels, doomed love—served with a side of sardonic humor. Lermontov’s tone perfectly captures the disillusioned Russian aristocrat: Pechorin is so bored with life, he’ll toy with yours for sport. He’s the original “bad boy” archetype who has everything except the ability to care.

The novel isn’t just about one man’s existential crisis—it’s a biting critique of the emptiness found in a generation caught between idealism and cynicism. Pechorin’s adventures (if you can call them that) reflect deeper themes of fate, freedom, and the absurdity of human existence, predating the existentialists by a good century. Think Camus in a dashing Cossack coat.

He’s also a textbook case of the “superfluous man,” a literary trope in Russian literature for a brilliant yet aimless aristocrat who squanders his potential and wreaks havoc on everyone around him (sound familiar, Dostoevsky fans?). Through Pechorin’s indifferent conquests—whether it’s wooing Princess Mary out of sheer boredom or antagonizing friends—Lermontov exposes the dark side of unchecked privilege and the destructive allure of nihilism.

This novel lingers like a fog after you finish. Despite Pechorin’s antics, there’s something profoundly relatable in his struggle to find meaning in a world that refuses to cooperate. He’s that voice in the back of your head whispering, “Why bother?”—and yet, we read on, fascinated. It’s no wonder this book became a precursor to the great psychological novels of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy.

The structure is non-linear and at times disorienting, but that’s part of the fun. It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces don’t quite fit—until suddenly they do, and you’re left staring at Pechorin’s smirking face. The pace varies, with moments of high drama (duels, kidnappings) offset by introspective passages where you can feel the weight of Pechorin’s soul-crushing boredom.

This one’s for fans of complex antiheroes and those who enjoy their philosophical musings with a dash of cynicism. If you’ve ever wanted to psychoanalyze a character while simultaneously rolling your eyes at him, this is your book. Just don’t expect a happy ending—or any resolutions, really.

In the end, A Hero of Our Time feels like sitting through a dinner party with the most fascinatingly toxic person you’ve ever met: you can’t wait to leave, but you can’t stop thinking about him long after you’ve gone.