"The Count of Monte Cristo" by Alexandre Dumas (1844)

"No; his name is the Count of Monte Cristo."

"There is not a Count of Monte Cristo," said Debray.

"I do not think so," added Chateau-Renaud, with the air of a man who knows the whole of European nobility perfectly.

"Does any one know anything of a Count of Monte Cristo?"

"He comes possibly from the Holy Land, and one of his ancestors possessed Calvalry as the Mortemarts did the Dead Sea."

"I think I can assist your researches," said Maximillian, "Monte Cristo is a little island I have often heard spoken of by the old sailors my father employed.  A grain of sand in the center of the Mediterranean, an atom in the infinite."

If you're wondering why I haven't posted here in so long, part of the reason is that "The Count of Monte Cristo" is a LONG book.  It is so long, in fact, that it took me three weeks to read it.

This said, it didn't feel as long as some other, much shorter books I've read recently.  "The Better Angels of Our Nature," for example, was much shorter, but I felt like I was reading it for months.

In the novel, Edmond Dantes returns to France after a long period spent at sea.  He is warmly received after his long journey, but little does he know that his happy prospects are coveted by three other individuals, and these three men conspire to have him thrown into prison.  Dantes spends the next fourteen years in a dark cell, and after his escape he returns to France styling himself the count of Monte Cristo.  His desire to avenge himself on the three men dictates much of what happens afterward, culminating in his triumph over his former persecutors.

Compared to other novels by Dumas (and Auguste Maquet), I liked this one less than both "The Three Musketeers" and "The Man in the Iron Mask."  It felt overlong to me, and some of the scenes seemed unnecessary.   It is certainly well-written, but some of the characters grow tiresome, as do certain digressions into their shared history.  Unlike "The Man in the Iron Mask" and especially "The Three Musketeers" - both of which flowed seamlessly from beginning to end, "The Count of Monte Cristo" stumbles a bit, despite moments of unquestionable greatness.

One of the most enjoyable things about reading a book like this is contemplating the long, long shadow it has cast over our culture.  Reading it brought so many other books, movies, and even rock albums to mind.  It is a vastly influential book, and should be read for this reason, if no other.

And besides its vast influence, it really is quite good.  If you've already read "The Three Musketeers" and "The Man in the Iron Mask," I would highly recommend it.

"The Man in the Iron Mask" by Alexandre Dumas (1850)

"For a blunderer, the souvenir he had evoked was a rather skillfully contrived piece of baseness; for by the remembrance of his own fete he, for the first time, perceived its inferiority to that of Fouquet.  Colbert received back again at Vaux what Fouquet had given him at Fontainbleau, and, as a good financier, returned it with the best possible interest."

Alexandre Dumas was born the same year as Victor Hugo, and died five years earlier.  He is known for his romantic adventure novels, of which "The Man in the Iron Mask" is one.  He wrote all of his famous books in collaboration with Auguste Maquet, a man who may have contributed more to Dumas' fame than even Dumas himself would have liked to admit.

"The Man in the Iron Mask" is also the sequel to "Louise de la Valliere," and features the famous Three Musketeers.  This book finds Porthos, Athos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan much older and wiser, and the four become embroiled in a plot involving a mysterious masked character who inhabits the Bastille.  The ultimate fate of this masked character is never adequately addressed in the novel, and we are left to wonder whether Aramis' plan truly succeeded.

My favorite part of this book was the labyrinthine sort of courtly etiquette which D'Artagnan lives and breathes.  Nothing is ever said directly, and conversations follow a tortured, circuitous route around their intended subjects.  One imagines that anyone attempting to navigate the court of Louis XIV would have found in a slip of the tongue disastrous consequences, and in the counsels of friends and foes alike there would have lurked a multitude of meanings, both intended and unintended.

As an adventure novel, this book works admirably, even if the fate of the man in the mask is bungled.  One surprising thing about this novel is just how dark the ending is, featuring an extended meditation on old age, the passage of time, and the vanity surrounding earthly attainments.  I'm not saying that "The Man in the Iron Mask" is an overly profound sort of book, but it does offer some startling reflections on politics, sexuality, and the way that life ought to be lived.

If it's a bit uneven and long-winded it can be excused these faults.  It's still a good book, and it - unlike some of the characters that populate its pages - has aged extremely well.