Quixote was dubbed a knight by a local innkeeper who agreed to "play along." Then he returned to his village to pick up a squire. After a few misadventures, he received a drubbing and blamed his horse. A kind neighbor brought Quixote home to his niece and two faithful friends who blamed his books on chivalry for his madness.
Next, the trio hysterically sort through the books to decide which to preserve and which to burn; however, they may burn the books, but the stories were forever ingrained in Quixote's mind. Nonetheless, when he recovered, he and his squire, Sancho Panza, who was promised a title and an island for his service, headed out to do good deeds in the name of humanity. Many of the deeds would be done in the honor of Quixote's lady, Dulcinea.
Unfortunately, the pair were met with clobberings and batterings. Quixote called them "crossroads." Quixote expressed logically why the world had knights: as times went on and wickedness increased, the order of knight-errantry was instituted to defend maidens, to protect widows, and to rescue orphans and distressed persons.
Even Sancho defended knight-errantry: a knight-errant is something that, in two words, is cudgeled and an emperor. Today he is the most wretched and most needful creature in the world, but tomorrow he will have two or three crowns of kingdoms to give to his squire.
Oftentimes, Quixote blamed his and Sancho's misadventures on enchantments. It was an excuse that came in handy when Sancho was ill-used, or "blanketed," at the "enchanted inn." It was clear that Sancho was simple, commonsensical, and full of wisdom -- not the dull squire Quixote treated him to be.
Throughout part one, there were stories within stories and multiple characters who crossed paths with the knight and squire. Whole chapters were given over to these substories, where Quixote was an observer, like the reader; and sometimes he gave logical monologues, demonstrating his clear-headedness, particularly when he spoke on any topic besides chivalry.
Eventually, Sancho met with Quixote's two friends, who schemed to get the knight safely home. It was a major production and every character played a role. They all ended up at the first enchanted inn where there were complex substories, including storytelling, acting, romance, knightly combat, poetry, and song. For two chapter, Quixote provided a long soliloquy on knights. It was deep.
By chapter forty-six, the gig was up, and Quixote was caged -- enchanted, of course -- and taken home, while his friends discussed books on chivalry again, and plays, and even threw literature under the bus...or cart. They questioned Quixote on the existence of knights and blamed the authors of such false stories; but Quixote responded to these accusations that everyone else was crazy. Not him. He derived pleasure from these stories. Since being dubbed a knight, he declared himself to be valiant, courteous, generous, polite, bold, and more. In other words, he was a better man for it, and it was all worth it.
I have read part two many years ago, but I am stopping here, for now. Don Quixote is a long commitment, but always enjoyable, hysterical, entertaining, and sometimes even solemn. I could definitely sense the urgent dialogue Cervantes was having with his readers.
I will leave you with this quote by Cervantes, in chapter twenty-eight, which subtly summarizes his message about the times of Don Quixote:
Most happy and fortunate was the age in which the bravest of knights, Don Quixote of La Mancha, was launched into the world, since through his noble determination to revive and restore to the world the lost and almost defunct order of knight-errantry, we may enjoy today, in an age devoid of cheerful entertainment, not only the delights of his own truthful history, but also the tales and episode it contains.
We were told that his brains dried up to such a degree that he lost the use of his reason....in his mind, he accounted no history in the world more authentic. All this was due to his reading fantastical books about the adventures of knights.
He lost his wits completely...and stumbled upon the oddest fancy that ever entered a madman's brain. He believed that it was necessary, both for his own honor and for service of the state, that he should become a knight-errant, roaming through the world with his horse and armor in quest of adventures and practicing all that had been performed by the knights-errant of whom he had read.
So began the story of Don Quixote, a government unto himself, to right wrongs and settle grievances.