The more I try to think about what I want to say about this novel, the more one thought becomes crystal clear. Everyone in this book is completely crazy.
I mean, every one. Except maybe Morrel. That’s. It.
I read this when I went through my I-love-France-and-French-literature-and-Imma-gonna-read-it-all phase in my teens. I’m completely certain at this point that I read some sort of extremely abridged version, because all I remember is that I loved it and I read it extremely fast. This time, it took me over 2 months. And it was painful. I mean, really;
It got to the point where I was just, ugh.
Get to the revenge business already. Thank God, Dumas got some of that hot air out and got down to it. Were there editors in France at this time? Because there should have been.
Alas, another favorite is no longer a favorite. I didn’t hate it. I just wish it had been about 600 or 700 pages shorter. It would have been such a better book with quite a lot cut out. *sigh* At least I still have my beloved Three Musketeers. It hasn’t been that long since I reread it, so I know I still love it. Now, I’m curious about Victor Hugo. Will I love him as much as I did back then, if I reread some of his work? I’m almost afraid to try….