The Count of Monte Cristo in WF Bookworms

Dec 22, 2021 Sabareesh rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: literature, classics, french-lit

I have been on what would at first sight appear to be a two-month long hiatus from reading. Au contraire, I was engaged in reading this monster of a tome, the likes, in size, of which I have never before dared to undertake reading, save for in high-fantasy novels which in addition to being fast-paced and relatively full of padding and fluff also hold a special place in my heart. By saying that I do not mean to imply that The Count of Monte Cristo is not a fantasy novel – although it might not be I have been on what would at first sight appear to be a two-month long hiatus from reading. Au contraire, I was engaged in reading this monster of a tome, the likes, in size, of which I have never before dared to undertake reading, save for in high-fantasy novels which in addition to being fast-paced and relatively full of padding and fluff also hold a special place in my heart. By saying that I do not mean to imply that The Count of Monte Cristo is not a fantasy novel – although it might not be one in the traditional sense, it is a tale of that most satisfying and slaking of fantasies that has colored the conscience of every living breathing human being at some point in their lives: revenge. The universal nature of this theme is probably the reason this novel is so ubiquitously known, in fact so well known that I had assumed earlier that it was a children’s book – simply because I was acquainted with its name even in my childhood when I read no books that were not academic. The utter size and the delightful literary language of The Count of Monte Cristo is the reason it took me two and a half months to read it, savoring its beautiful prose, but for all its heft, it is far from dragging. It is a testament to the abilities of Dumas that there are no chapters which the reader enters and finds himself merely slogging through it to get back to the main story: this is a feat even most fantasy novels struggle to accomplish.

Before diving into the novel, a short, but not sweet, note on the introduction: If you happen to find yourself in the possession of a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo with an introduction by Umberto Eco, my foremost recommendation would be to tear out the introductory pages, dip them in gasoline and set them on fire, and there could be no better way to deal with this introduction for it is nothing short of an utter disgrace. Umberto Eco introduces this historied, famous novel with all the enthusiasm Edison would’ve showed for writing a review of Nikola Tesla’s paper on the invention of AC current. His introduction is as egregious as it is simply false. A lukewarm or even generic introduction would have been far better than the butchery Eco undertakes to commit – it is tempting to call it a jealous attack on the text he is introducing. I was actually so put off by the introduction that I feared it would ruin my enjoyment of the book, but thankfully, Dumas is a writer excellent enough to make his work stand up in its own defense against petty attacks on its posthumous father.

The first thing that stands out about the book is the beautiful language. Since I read it in English and not in the original French, the second thing that stands out is the complete omission of the name of the translator anywhere in the book. Some Googling tells me that what I read is an anonymous 1846 translation, possibly first revised by Coward, then revised again by Peter Washington – whoever it was, the job was wonderfully done, the strength of the language was brought out beautifully.

Alexandre Dumas weaves this immense tale of treachery, jealousy, morality, rectitude and revenge with the skill of Medusa and the prodigality of Aragog. The characters contained herein vary widely from titled aristocracy to common workmen, from priests to smugglers and bandits, assassins to soldiers, but the one commonality all of them, without fail, share is a fully rendered and fleshed out inner life and internal consistency of manner and being. Even the extras that make a 2-minute appearance have their own goals and thoughts. Throughout this steamrolling juggernaut of words, Dumas never falters or turns in a low-effort page on a sick day. Every single page is as well wrought and thoughtful as every character is exquisite.

When it comes to works on a grand scale such as this, authors often display a propensity to copy-paste and mix-and-match a repetitive bunch of character traits, sometimes with inversion for supposed variety, but Dumas stands testament that this merely stems from the incapability of lesser minds to envision real characters that number in double digits. Dumas, by contrast, contraposes the wants and goals of his myriad characters and handles conflicting and overlapping ends and means with extreme dexterity, keeping true to the natures of the characters and taking no cheap shortcuts.

When I started reading the book, balking as I was at its sheer enormity, I had my doubts over whether I’d actually end up finishing it. When it comes to long tales, it is natural to me to lose interest after a while. But Dumas, despite (or perhaps because of) his frequent foreshadowing, keeps the reader interested in the book until the very last page. These days it’s common to accomplish this by virtue of “twist endings” and leaving the mystery raveled until the end when some new fact is exposed with a flourish. The Count of Monte Cristo, however, proves itself above such parlor tricks and instead manages to maintain genuine interest in the fates of the characters. Dumas breaks the popular narrative structure by setting an arc of redemption that is thrice as long as the arc of misery, an act which had me doubtful in its probable efficacy while reading, but he manages to pull it off excellently.

I started reading this book some latent preconceptions about it – some of which were confirmed and some of which were disproved, but one aspect that struck me completely by surprise was the presence of a lesbian character in this early 19th century tale. Lest I should give away details, I will merely state that although the lesbian character is portrayed in a slightly less favorable light to the other ones, keeping in mind that this novel was written contemporaneously to the presence of illiberal Victorian values, Dumas must be credited for rendering her as a true character and, save for the mild aspersions he would have had to include to please the extant climate, he does actually endeavor to portray her in a positive light.

I’d rate this a strong 4.5 stars.
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