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classics_and_chamomile 's review for:
The Three Musketeers
by Alexandre Dumas
What a ride.
I ate through those 671 pages like it was a caprese panini. (I love those)
I didn't expect to love Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan as much as I did. They are, in fact, now my children. I've adopted them. The bittersweet ending lends itself only to me reading the next book sometime in the future, so long as it doesn't make my heart hurt more. I console myself with the thought that d'Artagnan's dream of becoming a musketeer came true, and that each one of them is alive and healthy—incredibly surprising given... you know, they're them. They
I'm almost tempted to recount all of their adventures here, but that would just be a summary of the book. What I can really tell from this urge, though, is that Dumas deserves every bit of credit he gets for this book. I feel like an old soldier, recounting my days of running about with my company and doing stupid things. I have an immense amount of nostalgia for something that happened in the 1600s. That takes some doing, but here it has indeed been done.
I wish that YA writers nowadays would take something from The Three Musketeers. The main character does not have to be burning up with some sort of vengeance from the very start. They don't have to be going on an adventure because the universe is going to explode if they don't. The prose doesn't have to be dark and moody and melodramatic—quite possibly, it is much better if it is the reverse. D'Artagnan's little *shenanigans* have proved that it is entirely possible to write a compelling adventure novel, 600-plus pages in length, which keeps the reader very much engaged and also builds a great deal of fondness for the characters, without being too self-serious about it. There are lessons to be taken here, which as a writer I will save for myself as well.
I will always look at this book fondly and remember the good times. I'll probably reread it in the near future. It was very accessible and went down easy—I never had to struggle to understand what was going on because of the language (although the excessive footnotes in the back made me laugh at the sheer amount of research that went into them that ultimately was irrelevant to the book). I'm glad I can look back on it and say I've read it, and the charming cover of the edition I just happened to find always makes me laugh. That affection mixed with melancholy that it's left me feeling is proof that it is the best semi-trashy, adventure-slash-action-slash-romance-slash-political intrigue novel I've ever read. <3
I ate through those 671 pages like it was a caprese panini. (I love those)
I didn't expect to love Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan as much as I did. They are, in fact, now my children. I've adopted them. The bittersweet ending lends itself only to me reading the next book sometime in the future, so long as it doesn't make my heart hurt more. I console myself with the thought that d'Artagnan's dream of becoming a musketeer came true, and that each one of them is alive and healthy—incredibly surprising given... you know, they're them. They
Spoiler
went on an epic quest for the queen of France and immediately stopped to brawl in a tavern with a rando. They have little to no common sense, and I love them for it, but this is truly plot armor at its most obvious. Well done, Dumas.I'm almost tempted to recount all of their adventures here, but that would just be a summary of the book. What I can really tell from this urge, though, is that Dumas deserves every bit of credit he gets for this book. I feel like an old soldier, recounting my days of running about with my company and doing stupid things. I have an immense amount of nostalgia for something that happened in the 1600s. That takes some doing, but here it has indeed been done.
I wish that YA writers nowadays would take something from The Three Musketeers. The main character does not have to be burning up with some sort of vengeance from the very start. They don't have to be going on an adventure because the universe is going to explode if they don't. The prose doesn't have to be dark and moody and melodramatic—quite possibly, it is much better if it is the reverse. D'Artagnan's little *shenanigans* have proved that it is entirely possible to write a compelling adventure novel, 600-plus pages in length, which keeps the reader very much engaged and also builds a great deal of fondness for the characters, without being too self-serious about it. There are lessons to be taken here, which as a writer I will save for myself as well.
I will always look at this book fondly and remember the good times. I'll probably reread it in the near future. It was very accessible and went down easy—I never had to struggle to understand what was going on because of the language (although the excessive footnotes in the back made me laugh at the sheer amount of research that went into them that ultimately was irrelevant to the book). I'm glad I can look back on it and say I've read it, and the charming cover of the edition I just happened to find always makes me laugh. That affection mixed with melancholy that it's left me feeling is proof that it is the best semi-trashy, adventure-slash-action-slash-romance-slash-political intrigue novel I've ever read. <3