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I've been meaning to read this one for a while. It's one of those Russian classics that's always on those lists. A Hero of Our Time has an interesting format. It's split into sections but these sections are all very different and sometimes don't even involve our "hero" Pechorin. This is all well and good but for a novel that's under 200 pages you'd think that Lermontov would have actually focused on some sort of plot instead of piss arseing around with the structure. Not to mention that this novel is basically Caucasus fanfiction. At points you'd think Lermontov got off with the mountains or something the way he writes about them. It's like Tolkien and his blades of fucking grass. However, eventually the story does actually being at some point near the end and we are presented with an enjoyable and classic love story, Russian style (which is shorthand for death). Why would you read this? Well because it's basically Russian literature's equivalent of David Copperfield and the main character, Pechorin, is a whiny cunt. I mean he hates everything and is constantly complaining about women and life and life and women, he's basically the Russian Holden Caulfield but without the brother issues. I saw a lot of myself in Pechorin. Which worried me slightly.