1.06.2004
the red and the black
after over two months (i'm a slow, slow reader sometimes), i've finally finished stendhal's the red and the black, a book i decided to devote myself to after months of curiosity (not to mention a recommendation from my friend allison). anyway, it's pretty epic and involved. our calcualting, machiavellian hero is julien sorel, a poor kid from the provinces of 19th century france with a keen intellect and extraordinary memory. julien works his way through the french aristocracy-- talking-the-talk of faith and piety while secretly harboring fantasies of "napoleonic glory" (i'm stealing that from the description on the back of the book, by the way).
julien is thoroughly hypocritical, and his suppossedly "radical" agenda takes second stage to personal gain for the majority of the book. in fact, its only real expression is in his two forbidden romances: first with madame de renal, and second with mathilde de la mole. both are rich and off limits due to social standing. the former is the wife of his first boss and the latter is the daughter of his second boss.
the first half of the book deals with the seduction of madame de renal, who is good natured and submissive and-- despite stendhal's spectacular gift for description-- not terribly interesting. but the immense third-person storytelling more than makes up for it, of course-- mapping out all the superficial nuances of 19th century french manners and customs. everyone is so blazingly superficial throughout the book that you begin to feel a little less decadent/apocalyptic at the sight of christina aguilera (or what have you) when you put the book down.
i had a better time during the second half of the book, where julien meets his spirited, amoral match in mathilde. the psychodrama that unfolds between the two of them is deep and disgusting and surprisingly familiar for "a chronicle of the nineteenth century." it's a perfect, mish-mashed, hegelian struggle for recognition with all the messy emotions and appauling contradictions of a weepy 3 am phone call to a recent ex.
but the thing that impressed me most about the book is how it manages to be dry and unsentimental (save a slightly disappointing turn towards the very end) without resorting to some sort of woeful misanthropy. too often, contemporary storytelling falls into the trap of what you might call "romantic negativity," where bad news equals "realism" and we're expected to applaud some hyperbolic list of atrocities as everything spirals off into the hateful abyss (come to think of it, even a similar novel like madame bovary-- for all its pleasures and insights-- has this sort of dimension to it). the red and the black is not a manifesto of stendhal's contempt for the human race. he maintains respect for his characters throughout, and even in its darkest moments the book feels somewhat dignified as a result. it deserves its designation as a "love story" free of cynicism.
(p.s. like how i'm throwing hegel around two posts after confessing that i'm only half way through the phenomenology? if i'm getting too pretentious, please let me know in the comment list or whatever...)
julien is thoroughly hypocritical, and his suppossedly "radical" agenda takes second stage to personal gain for the majority of the book. in fact, its only real expression is in his two forbidden romances: first with madame de renal, and second with mathilde de la mole. both are rich and off limits due to social standing. the former is the wife of his first boss and the latter is the daughter of his second boss.
the first half of the book deals with the seduction of madame de renal, who is good natured and submissive and-- despite stendhal's spectacular gift for description-- not terribly interesting. but the immense third-person storytelling more than makes up for it, of course-- mapping out all the superficial nuances of 19th century french manners and customs. everyone is so blazingly superficial throughout the book that you begin to feel a little less decadent/apocalyptic at the sight of christina aguilera (or what have you) when you put the book down.
i had a better time during the second half of the book, where julien meets his spirited, amoral match in mathilde. the psychodrama that unfolds between the two of them is deep and disgusting and surprisingly familiar for "a chronicle of the nineteenth century." it's a perfect, mish-mashed, hegelian struggle for recognition with all the messy emotions and appauling contradictions of a weepy 3 am phone call to a recent ex.
but the thing that impressed me most about the book is how it manages to be dry and unsentimental (save a slightly disappointing turn towards the very end) without resorting to some sort of woeful misanthropy. too often, contemporary storytelling falls into the trap of what you might call "romantic negativity," where bad news equals "realism" and we're expected to applaud some hyperbolic list of atrocities as everything spirals off into the hateful abyss (come to think of it, even a similar novel like madame bovary-- for all its pleasures and insights-- has this sort of dimension to it). the red and the black is not a manifesto of stendhal's contempt for the human race. he maintains respect for his characters throughout, and even in its darkest moments the book feels somewhat dignified as a result. it deserves its designation as a "love story" free of cynicism.
(p.s. like how i'm throwing hegel around two posts after confessing that i'm only half way through the phenomenology? if i'm getting too pretentious, please let me know in the comment list or whatever...)
