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3.51 AVERAGE
3.51 AVERAGE
Tout à fait extraordinaire!
Nope, I don't really speak French, but this book makes me want to learn. As fabulous as this English translation was, I understand that it is even better if read in it's original French.
The story of Emma was indeed compelling, but I found the events and people surrounding her just as interesting. Vivid details of the landscapes and daily life of the period, complex character development for even the most minor characters, and the extraordinary narration by Simon Vance, made this a delightfully immersive experience.
Nope, I don't really speak French, but this book makes me want to learn. As fabulous as this English translation was, I understand that it is even better if read in it's original French.
The story of Emma was indeed compelling, but I found the events and people surrounding her just as interesting. Vivid details of the landscapes and daily life of the period, complex character development for even the most minor characters, and the extraordinary narration by Simon Vance, made this a delightfully immersive experience.
***Here be spoilers****
I've stretched out this reading over a little more than seven months, so I've only got some scattered comments to make. First, the thing I still like best about it is its indictment of reading crap literature. Emma goes the way she does not just because she's selfish or romantic or has the misfortune of being born a country girl in the 19th century who finds herself stuck in a loveless marriage to a dope--but because she reads crap, and her imagination is limited by both the banalities and the impossible aspirations of her heroines. Second, as A.S. Byatt pointed out in her good essay of which I was only able to read half in the Guardian, Emma is a Don Quixote. And I like thinking about how her adventures, as such, cross genres (romance, rustic comedy, agricultural or medical treatise, tragedy) but for the most part take place in an uneasy juxtaposition of the realist novel and the satire. That uneasiness is something I think I like, but about which I find it difficult to say much, coming out of my extended reading process, not to mention trying to work back and forth between the two languages. The satire/realist thing is interesting, but very alienating--and maybe more interesting for that reason: it calls attention to the artifice of the whole thing, so that ***spoiler*** when Charles Bovary se met en deuil with a vengeance, going out all Emma style with the mausoleums and velvet and throwing himself into the grave.... you don't know if you're supposed to snicker or groan or find it profound in that way that only really deep irony can be--and that is perhaps the great art of the book. People do and feel things in a way that is profound to them; other people (neighbors, readers) look on and find them pathetic; and then we find ourselves involved with the characters, though that judgment, no less than the supercilious Rodolphe, bored Leon, and le bonhomme Homais are. And then there are some yummy pears and glorias to think about, and cozy fires, and nice walks and rides by the river, and humping in coaches while crusty blind men are leering in the curtains (well, not really, but almost). There's something to be learned there, about the act of reading, about being welcomed into a text, repulsed by it, and finding one's own judgment on it co-opted--that's exciting and sinister and tricksy.
Oh, and I just have to requote this, because it's the most deliciously ironic sentence in the whole book. After Emma's gruesome, prolonged, tragic-and-all suicide, the pharmacist bruits around town "son histoire d'arsenic qu'elle avait pris pour du sucre en faisant une crème à la vanille." La crème à la vanille? Pure genius.
I've stretched out this reading over a little more than seven months, so I've only got some scattered comments to make. First, the thing I still like best about it is its indictment of reading crap literature. Emma goes the way she does not just because she's selfish or romantic or has the misfortune of being born a country girl in the 19th century who finds herself stuck in a loveless marriage to a dope--but because she reads crap, and her imagination is limited by both the banalities and the impossible aspirations of her heroines. Second, as A.S. Byatt pointed out in her good essay of which I was only able to read half in the Guardian, Emma is a Don Quixote. And I like thinking about how her adventures, as such, cross genres (romance, rustic comedy, agricultural or medical treatise, tragedy) but for the most part take place in an uneasy juxtaposition of the realist novel and the satire. That uneasiness is something I think I like, but about which I find it difficult to say much, coming out of my extended reading process, not to mention trying to work back and forth between the two languages. The satire/realist thing is interesting, but very alienating--and maybe more interesting for that reason: it calls attention to the artifice of the whole thing, so that ***spoiler*** when Charles Bovary se met en deuil with a vengeance, going out all Emma style with the mausoleums and velvet and throwing himself into the grave.... you don't know if you're supposed to snicker or groan or find it profound in that way that only really deep irony can be--and that is perhaps the great art of the book. People do and feel things in a way that is profound to them; other people (neighbors, readers) look on and find them pathetic; and then we find ourselves involved with the characters, though that judgment, no less than the supercilious Rodolphe, bored Leon, and le bonhomme Homais are. And then there are some yummy pears and glorias to think about, and cozy fires, and nice walks and rides by the river, and humping in coaches while crusty blind men are leering in the curtains (well, not really, but almost). There's something to be learned there, about the act of reading, about being welcomed into a text, repulsed by it, and finding one's own judgment on it co-opted--that's exciting and sinister and tricksy.
Oh, and I just have to requote this, because it's the most deliciously ironic sentence in the whole book. After Emma's gruesome, prolonged, tragic-and-all suicide, the pharmacist bruits around town "son histoire d'arsenic qu'elle avait pris pour du sucre en faisant une crème à la vanille." La crème à la vanille? Pure genius.
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The language was beautiful and the moral of the story left a lasting impression, gave me a lot to think about. But, there was hardly any sense of progression or growth, which I guess is the point but did not make it a very enjoyable read.
medium-paced
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
dark
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The ending was so bleak. Overall quite different than how I imagined it to be. Much less romantic and more mundane almost. Can definitely see how it was seen as modern/shocking. Le réalisme
Charles Bovary se ha trasladado a Tostes para ejercer como médico, donde se casa con una viuda, por petición de su madre. Poco tiempo después del enlace, ella fallece y los ojos de Charles se fijan en la hermosa Emma, con la que se casa. Emma descubrirá que la vida no es como había leído en sus libros y pronto empezará a aburrirse de todo lo que la rodea; sin embargo, Charles hará lo imposible para hacerla feliz.
slow-paced
Loveable characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Good characters and insight into the human heart. Still, a bit of a slog.