I realize that I've filed The Three Musketeers under "historical fiction", which isn't altogether accurate -- yes, this is fiction set in the past, but it's almost an alternate history type of fiction; while some of the characters portrayed here (Louis XIII, Cardinal Richeliu, Anne of Austria, the Duke of Buckingham, D'Artagnan himself) are clearly historical, the specific interactions are not. Also, in "I am a big dummy" news, the author's preface states that the following novel is based entirely on some obscure memoirs he found. Imagine my surprise when I realized this wasn't a literary device, but an admission he was borrowing from an earlier novel.
Dumas sets a good pace and keeps it up -- the novel never drags, which is impressive for something that was originally serialized, as that can tend to lead to filler. The one exception was later in the novel, when one character was imprisoned, and there were several chapters from their viewpoint that I didn't find particularly engaging.
The one criticism I would make was that while the musketeers are trusted members of the king's guard, the scope seems a little small, and the denouement seems out-of-place and petty, as does the resolution to another conflict. But this is a fun, well-paced novel that's worth reading once.
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Madeleine
Published after her death, this is Andre Gide's account of his marriage, as well as entries concerning his wife that had been excised from his published journals. Gide was relatively silent on his wife and his relationship with her while she was alive (indeed, it was only after her death that the general public became aware of her name, as she was always "Emmanuelle" in his writings) as she was relatively withdrawn and self-effacing. So this is the first look at an important part of the writer's life (which he termed "the central drama of my existence"). However, it's extraordinarily self-indulgent.
Madeleine is divided into three parts -- Et Nunc Manet in Te (from what may be Virgil. ". . .and now lives in you. . ." or something similar), the aforementioned journal entries (1916-1939), and a letter to an unidentified correspondent (who had apparently written Gide for advice on getting married. Alternatively, it's Gide writing to his younger self, which is may be too meta to be the case.)
Et Nunc Manet in Te is Gide's account of his marriage, in which he attempts to explain why he wanted to marry his cousin, and why he behaved the way he did. On the one hand, it's a revealing look into the Gide and his reasons. On the other, it's an autoapologetic that must omit much, as it never mentions his illegitimate daughter (!) with another woman. Even if one buys Gide's crocodile tears, it's cringe inducing. The following journal entries aren't all that illuminating (perhaps they're better if one has read Gide's journals), and the letter is short and quite relevant, if covered earlier. The prose is lovely, but I wish I'd never been aware of this.
Madeleine is divided into three parts -- Et Nunc Manet in Te (from what may be Virgil. ". . .and now lives in you. . ." or something similar), the aforementioned journal entries (1916-1939), and a letter to an unidentified correspondent (who had apparently written Gide for advice on getting married. Alternatively, it's Gide writing to his younger self, which is may be too meta to be the case.)
Et Nunc Manet in Te is Gide's account of his marriage, in which he attempts to explain why he wanted to marry his cousin, and why he behaved the way he did. On the one hand, it's a revealing look into the Gide and his reasons. On the other, it's an autoapologetic that must omit much, as it never mentions his illegitimate daughter (!) with another woman. Even if one buys Gide's crocodile tears, it's cringe inducing. The following journal entries aren't all that illuminating (perhaps they're better if one has read Gide's journals), and the letter is short and quite relevant, if covered earlier. The prose is lovely, but I wish I'd never been aware of this.
Labels:
andre gide,
France,
reading,
The Counterfeiters
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