Count of Monte Cristo

How can I begin to review this masterpiece? Well, for starters, this was a buddy read that ended up taking a year… and I actually finished… can’t say the same for my buddy. (That’s ok though, we’ll get there someday.) The length is intimidating, but once you get started, it’s incredibly hard to put down. I only did so because life happened, work or study interfered, and I got easily distracted by other books I just ‘had’ to read. But I don’t regret this book taking me a year at all. It was like savoring the finest of meals over a nice, long period of time—enough to really immerse yourself in the world and the characters. I’ve never cared much for France, but this book almost made me want to do a deep dive into 1800s France.

And that is not to ignore the characters, who are one of the best parts of the book—or at least some of them. The Count is endearing, and his transformation from Edmond Dantès to the Count of Monte Cristo is remarkable and extraordinary. As his morals and attitudes ebb and flow, I could only strengthen my support for his resolve. It is hard to find a truly blameless character in the book; certainly, none of the major ones seem to come to mind. (Maybe Mme. Louise d'Armilly?) Nevertheless, many grasp your heartstrings and others provide much schadenfreude. I was pleasantly surprised by the degree to which Dumas keeps account of the numerous amount of side or occasional characters; they all have a part to play, no matter how small.

There are abridged versions of this book, but the unabridged, complete text (and especially the Robin Buss translation if you are an English reader) is worth reading. I assume the abridged versions remove side stories or characters, and while not ‘necessary’ in a strict sense for the plot, these events and characters still color the narrative and complete the sense of immersion that Dumas gives us. To remove them would be like removing the finishing touches from a decadent cake; it will still taste good, but less refined and complete. The transition of the story from beginning to end is well-done, and I applaud Dumas for keeping things mostly straight by the end of it. There were some moments where I had to go back and refresh myself on previous events, but that is probably because it took me a while to finish.

Still, I wouldn’t mind re-reading this, contrary to my usual stance, because this seems like the type of book that keeps giving on every re-read. (I usually don’t like re-reading things.) I’m also quite excited to read Dumas’s other works, particularly The Three Musketeers, but of course, his style is quite endearing to me now, so anything goes. (In comparison to Hugo, at least, Dumas does not drown the reader in chapters upon chapters of extreme description.) I am also very curious as to how the movie adaptations take something so incredible and relay it to the screen—there are a couple I am looking at, but the French one that is 4 hours long seems like the only possible one that may even attempt at covering most of the material in the book. Anyway, I can’t find it in me to say anything more intelligent about this remarkable and fantastic book, so go read it already if you haven’t!