Epic. I wept. These three words sufficiently describe the three-hundred-and-four-evening journey I took through Alexandre Dumas’s sprawling The Count of Monte Cristo. This, among many of my recent reads and plays, was more a project than a diversion. And while I irrationally feel that the review should be as substantial as the read, I’d rather default to my usual concision.
This was an excellent literary experience. A revenge tale unlike any other. A multi-layered narrative that demands both close attention and long memory. This was my “few pages before sleep” read, and it only drove me away once—when I lost patience and felt the need to drift off to something a little pulpier.
I feel as accomplished as I did when I completed Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, and this reading made me realize how much more patient I’ve become. How does one drink the ocean? A teaspoon at a time. And it isn’t simply the robotic, repetitive action of bringing the salt-laden spoon to one’s lips. You have to savor every sip and understand what each swallow means.
Go read some literature. Crack a book that’s uncomfortably heavy to hold. Your soul will thank you.
2024.05.07 – 2025.03.06