Madame Bovary

I just finished reading the book. Why on earth did I wait until now - I don't know. However, here are my favorite parts from "Madame Bovary":

(Part 2, Chapter I) The chemist answered: "I have a religion, my religion, and I even have more than all these others with their mummeries and their juggling. I adore God, on the contrary. I believe in the Supreme Being, in a Creator, whatever he may be. I care little who has placed us here below to fulfil our duties as citizens and fathers of families; but I don't need to go to church to kiss silver plates, and fatten, out of my pocket, a lot of good-for-nothings who live better than we do. For one can know Him as well in a wood, in a field, or even contemplating the eternal vault like the ancients. My God! Mine is the God of Socrates, of Franklin, of Voltaire, and of Beranger! I am for the profession of faith of the 'Savoyard Vicar,' and the immortal principles of '89! And I can't admit of an old boy of a God who takes walks in his garden with a cane in his hand, who lodges his friends in the belly of whales, dies uttering a cry, and rises again at the end of three days; things absurd in themselves, and completely opposed, moreover, to all physical laws, which prove to us, by the way, that priests have always wallowed in turpid ignorance, in which they would fain engulf the people with them."

(Part 2, Chapter IV) … Her husband, was he not something belonging to her? As to Emma, she did not ask herself whether she loved. Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightnings--a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionises it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss. She did not know that on the terrace of houses it makes lakes when the pipes are choked, and she would thus have remained in her security when she suddenly discovered a rent in the wall of it.

(Part 2, Chapter VII) The flames, however, subsided, either because the supply had exhausted itself, or because it had been piled up too much. Love, little by little, was quelled by absence; regret stifled beneath habit; and this incendiary light that had empurpled her pale sky was overspread and faded by degrees. In the supineness of her conscience she even took her repugnance towards her husband for aspirations towards her lover, the burning of hate for the warmth of tenderness; but as the tempest still raged, and as passion burnt itself down to the very cinders, and no help came, no sun rose, there was night on all sides, and she was lost in the terrible cold that pierced her.

(Part 2, Chapter X) But she was so pretty. He had possessed so few women of such ingenuousness. This love without debauchery was a new experience for him, and, drawing him out of his lazy habits, caressed at once his pride and his sensuality. Emma's enthusiasm, which his bourgeois good sense disdained, seemed to him in his heart of hearts charming, since it was lavished on him. Then, sure of being loved, he no longer kept up appearances,

and insensibly his ways changed.

He had no longer, as formerly, words so gentle that they made her cry, nor passionate caresses that made her mad, so that their great love, which engrossed her life, seemed to lessen beneath her like the water of a stream absorbed into its channel, and she could see the bed of it. She would not believe it; she redoubled in tenderness, and Rodolphe concealed his indifference less and less.

She did not know if she regretted having yielded to him, or whether she did not wish, on the contrary, to enjoy him the more. The humiliation of feeling herself weak was turning to rancour, tempered by their voluptuous pleasures. It was not affection; it was like a continual seduction. He subjugated her; she almost feared him.

(Part 2, Chapter XII) He had so often heard these things said that they did not strike him as original. Emma was like all his mistresses; and the charm of novelty, gradually falling away like a garment, laid bare the eternal monotony of passion, that has always the same forms and the same language. He did not distinguish, this man of so much experience, the difference of sentiment beneath the sameness of expression. Because lips libertine and venal had murmured such words to him, he believed but little in the candour of hers; exaggerated speeches hiding mediocre affections must be discounted; as if the fullness of the soul did not sometimes overflow in the emptiest metaphors, since no one can ever give the exact measure of his needs, nor of his conceptions, nor of his sorrows; and since human speech is like a cracked tin kettle, on which we hammer out tunes to make bears dance when we long to move the stars.

(Part 3, Chapter VI) … Emma was no longer there. She had just gone in a fit of anger. She detested him now. This failing to keep their rendezvous seemed to her an insult, and she tried to rake up other reasons to separate herself from him. He was incapable of heroism, weak, banal, more spiritless than a woman, avaricious too, and cowardly.

Then, growing calmer, she at length discovered that she had, no doubt, calumniated him. But the disparaging of those we love always alienates us from them to some extent. We must not touch our idols; the gilt sticks to our fingers.

The Picture of Dorian Gray

We all, more or less, know (I hope!) the story about Dorian Gray, the young man who sold his soul to the devil to have his eternal youth, and his picture where his old age and sins show. 

I set myself to read this classic, even though I much more prefer reading modern literature, and I downloaded the movie so I would watch it afterwards.

I was surprised of now much I enjoyed the book, and I'm sorry to say it was not the case with the movie (with Colin Firth, who after watching A Single Man really disappointed me).

Oscar Wilde is a real master in sarcasm and irony, truths and philosophies of life, human relations.. which can not be authentically depicted in a movie.

So, I recommend: Do not watch the movie, read the book, it's only 250 pages!

Here are some quotations:

"...I can't explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to anyone. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvelous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I should lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I daresay, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one's life." - Basil Hallward to Lord Henry, introducing Dorian Grey for the first time

"Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear it. Women are so fond of using it. They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever. It is a meaningless word, too. The only difference between a caprice and a life-long passion is that the caprice lasts a little longer." - Lord Henry to Dorian  

"Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes." - Lord Henry

"Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about. But I am afraid I cannot claim my theory as my own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure is Nature's test, her sign of approval. When we are happy we are always good, but when we are good we are not always happy." - Lord Henry

"When a woman marries again it is because she detested her first husband. When a man marries again, it is because he adored his first wife. Women try their luck; men risk theirs." - Lord Henry

"Every effect that one produces gives one an enemy. To be popular one must be a mediocrity." - Lord Henry

"Like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart."

The Reader

I have read the book almost a year ago and I adored it. It kept me thinking for days. I tried to understand the force of love and lust that kept Michael incapable of loving anyone else for the rest of his life. I thought about the force of shame and self-respect. Are there really such people that would sacrifice their life just to avoid shame? Most of all, I was wondering how come an illegitimate love of a 15-years old and a woman of 40 seemed so natural and normal to me. I adore writers that succeed in representing things as though they are the most natural thing that could happen although in reality they would seem improbable.

I saw the film a couple of days ago. First of all, I don't think Kate Winslet was the right choice for the role, even though I truly admire her acting skills and I really think she deserved an Oscar (but maybe for another movie?!). The way I imagined the woman when I was reading the book was someone not so beautiful, a person who has lived and at whose face there are traces of the life she passed. She wouldn't be so slim, and she would have bigger breasts, but these are smaller details mainly part of one's imagination. Now that I think of another actress that would be right for the role, no one comes to my mind.. Is it possible that Kate is the only acclaimed actress who has a few pounds in eccess??? I'll think about this.. However, what I wanted to say is that I rarely watch a movie after a book and really get into it. The only movie that was everything I imagined while I was reading the book was Parfume (I'll say something more on that matter some other time), and I have to admit that The Reader was not far from it. I enjoyed it, and apart from some minor imperfections, I can say that it was an excellent representation of the book. Talking about imperfections, I think that the part of Michael communicating with his daughter could have been a little bit shorter. It was to depict how every his relationship with a woman was unsuccessful, and we got that with just two phrazes spoken between them.

To conclude, even with rare examples of good films I'm going to stick to books. No film can replace my imagination.