Sunday, April 11, 2010

Book #9 of 2010

Author/Editor: Gustave Flaubert
Year Published: 1856
Category: Literature, French.

In a year of quite a few firsts for me in both books and film, this masterpiece represents my formal entry into classic French literature. And I'm glad I didn't read this earlier, to be honest, because I would have probably missed or misunderstood a lot of it (and I'm sure I'll get more from it when I re-read it, which I'll surely do after a reasonable period).

An utterly beguiling, entrancing book, peopled with idiosyncratic characters and brimming with arresting details, leading to a wrenching finale.

"Gone were those tender words that had moved her to tears, those tempestuous embraces that had sent her frantic. The grand passion into which she had plunged seemed to be dwindling around her like a river sinking into its bed; she saw the slime at the bottom. She refused to believe it. She redoubled her tenderness. And Rodolphe took less and less care to hide his indifference." (Part II, Chapter Ten)
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