It has been much longer than I had hoped to be back here. There has been many times that I wished to be writing, but for whatever reason, I am back now, at last.
After a very prolonged 3 months, I finally finished reading Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert. Contrary to its fame, I found the book difficult to finish. Despite Flaubert’s success at transcending the boredom of provincial life, I found some of the recurring details repetitive and drawn out. Perhaps he was trying to install Emma Bovary’s anxiousness for readers through this style of writing, in which case he was masterful.
The character development of Emma Bovary was very effective, as I have never been more frustrated with any character than herself. My annoyance with Emma Bovary was so strong that I think it effected my enjoyment with reading the book. Madame Bovary is the perfect example of so much of what I don’t believe. Not because of her societal frowned upon adulteries, they are more like symptoms from her sickness, rather of her never-satisfying nature. She is someone who never looks at what she has and constantly blaming those who love her most for what she doesn’t have. Such people, such sentiment can never find happiness no matter what they gain, because the hollowness comes from within, and the hunger for more never dies. It was a true, true tragedy of greedy, but its one that was long time coming….
And I am glad to be done with such darkness.
