READING: The Red and the Black (concluded)
Are you freakin kidding me, Stendahl? I read through the whole goddamned thing just so you could--
I guess I should break in here and say hi, if you have any plans of reading this novel for yourself; if my dire warnings and utter lack of enthusiasm for this 600+ page book have done nothing to dissuade you (because you've recently been diagnosed with something terminal, say, and want to make the days seem longer by reading The Red and the Black); then you might want to stop reading here. Skip down to a past essay. Read how James Frey is a lying asshat. I'm going to give away the ending.
So, turns out, Julien dies. I've been trying to figure out how to write about the end of The Red and the Black since yesterday -- you know, make it worth writing about and remembering and all that. Frankly: I can't. The Red and the Black is many pages of uninteresting, unlikable characters doing uninteresting and unlikable things uninterestingly and unlikably.
Julien stays at seminary for a while, and there are some complicated machinations about who Julien is aligning himself with. He's faking his way to making it by being smart without succumbing to learning anything. He's chameleon-like and formless, like Tom Ripley -- only Tom Ripley is actually enjoyable to read about (in a creepy, So-I-Married-a-Menendez way) and Julien is not. (I tried to think of witty and artful ways to end that sentence: "...and Julien is French" or "...and Julien is 20-miles-of-bad-road-while-listening-to-the-Beatles.")
Then, because Stendahl sufferes from "Why not?" syndrome, paying no attention to past plot contrivances or character motivations, he sends Julien off to woo Mme. Rênal again. And that goes real poorly; he barely escapes from her room and is shot at as he runs through the property; they may or may not have had sex. So then it's off to Paris to be some guy’s secretary.
It was around here that I truly stopped caring about the novel. I've read country-bumpkin-makes-good stories before -- and I've read them better. Both Anthony Trollope's Phineas Finn and Henry James's Princess Casamassima (a novel I'm not fond of, but would totally win in a death-is-not-an-option between it and The Red and the Black) work out better for the reader because, well, (a) Trollope and to some degree James are just better writers (though I wonder if Stendahl's poor showing here is a fault of the translation); and (b) both novels have interesting people to care about. We're really left all on our lonesome here.
So, while a secretary, Julien meets his boss's daughter, Mathilde, and falls in love with her (after being in love with Mme. Rênal and the bar wench). Dad isn't terribly keen on this, what with Julien not really being a peer and all, so his boss gives Julien a title so the marriage can happen. Mme. Rênal, though, is having none of this and tells Julien's boss the whole skinny about her and the Julesmeister. Boss flips, fires Julien, and calls the wedding off. Julien flips, shoots Mme. Rênal, and is arrested and executed.
Mme. Rênal? Dies of a broken heart three days later.
And that, oh my best beloveds, is how that irritating Paul McCartney song ends. Let's never speak of this book again. And let's hope the next book is better.
Now some of you out there may be thinking, "Hey, I'd like to read like a British Adventuress, too!" Well, you can. If you've got a book you'd like to read, and you'd like someone to read along with you, drop a comment or an email or an IM and let me know the book and when you'd like to start. If I own it, or can get it from the library, we're in business. My only requests are: (a) Easy on the sci-fi/fantasy; and (b) absolutely no Gogol and I get full veto rights on any suggested Kafka.
I guess I should break in here and say hi, if you have any plans of reading this novel for yourself; if my dire warnings and utter lack of enthusiasm for this 600+ page book have done nothing to dissuade you (because you've recently been diagnosed with something terminal, say, and want to make the days seem longer by reading The Red and the Black); then you might want to stop reading here. Skip down to a past essay. Read how James Frey is a lying asshat. I'm going to give away the ending.
So, turns out, Julien dies. I've been trying to figure out how to write about the end of The Red and the Black since yesterday -- you know, make it worth writing about and remembering and all that. Frankly: I can't. The Red and the Black is many pages of uninteresting, unlikable characters doing uninteresting and unlikable things uninterestingly and unlikably.
Julien stays at seminary for a while, and there are some complicated machinations about who Julien is aligning himself with. He's faking his way to making it by being smart without succumbing to learning anything. He's chameleon-like and formless, like Tom Ripley -- only Tom Ripley is actually enjoyable to read about (in a creepy, So-I-Married-a-Menendez way) and Julien is not. (I tried to think of witty and artful ways to end that sentence: "...and Julien is French" or "...and Julien is 20-miles-of-bad-road-while-listening-to-the-Beatles.")
Then, because Stendahl sufferes from "Why not?" syndrome, paying no attention to past plot contrivances or character motivations, he sends Julien off to woo Mme. Rênal again. And that goes real poorly; he barely escapes from her room and is shot at as he runs through the property; they may or may not have had sex. So then it's off to Paris to be some guy’s secretary.
It was around here that I truly stopped caring about the novel. I've read country-bumpkin-makes-good stories before -- and I've read them better. Both Anthony Trollope's Phineas Finn and Henry James's Princess Casamassima (a novel I'm not fond of, but would totally win in a death-is-not-an-option between it and The Red and the Black) work out better for the reader because, well, (a) Trollope and to some degree James are just better writers (though I wonder if Stendahl's poor showing here is a fault of the translation); and (b) both novels have interesting people to care about. We're really left all on our lonesome here.
So, while a secretary, Julien meets his boss's daughter, Mathilde, and falls in love with her (after being in love with Mme. Rênal and the bar wench). Dad isn't terribly keen on this, what with Julien not really being a peer and all, so his boss gives Julien a title so the marriage can happen. Mme. Rênal, though, is having none of this and tells Julien's boss the whole skinny about her and the Julesmeister. Boss flips, fires Julien, and calls the wedding off. Julien flips, shoots Mme. Rênal, and is arrested and executed.
Mme. Rênal? Dies of a broken heart three days later.
And that, oh my best beloveds, is how that irritating Paul McCartney song ends. Let's never speak of this book again. And let's hope the next book is better.
Now some of you out there may be thinking, "Hey, I'd like to read like a British Adventuress, too!" Well, you can. If you've got a book you'd like to read, and you'd like someone to read along with you, drop a comment or an email or an IM and let me know the book and when you'd like to start. If I own it, or can get it from the library, we're in business. My only requests are: (a) Easy on the sci-fi/fantasy; and (b) absolutely no Gogol and I get full veto rights on any suggested Kafka.
posted by Mike at 12:11 PM
7 Comments:
I have a question for you. On Tuesday I had a bookswap and a new person who ended up leaving my boyfriend's computer screen riddled with hilarious/disturbing pictures (I guess for us to "enjoy" later) left a bunch of Henry James. Those books were not taken.
I did keep a collection of short stories by James, though. Should I read it?
I have some patience, but not a Stendal-load...
You could join me in reading The Penelopiad by Atwood. I'm also reading Marley & Me, but that might be a bit on the light side for your tastes.
carrie:
I had to read your comment, like, 6 times to finally convince myself that no, your friend did not leave hilarious/disturbing pictures of Henry James. Which truly saddens me: that's something I think I might need to see.
I'm not a big fan of Henry James. I read, and loved, The Turn of the Screw (and I don't believe that the governess is mad and I do believe that the ghosts exist); I also enjoyed, for the most part, The American. The Princess Casamassima? Not so much. I mean, it's not The Red and the Black awful (which, truly, made my ears pop with the sucking) -- but it has its own problems. One of them being that Joseph Conrad's The Secret Agent is just a lot better with a similar plot.
So I don't know what to tell you re: the short stories. I'm tempted to say read it so I can say that I've read them in the person of my agent, carrie. But if you end up hating them, it can't be my fault.
lisa:
I'm a little intrigued with the idea of The Penelopiad -- and yet I'm leary of Margaret Atwood. Have you started yet? If not, when are you thinking?
Haven't started. Probably will finish Marley & Me by the end of next week---it's a very quick read---and will pick up Atwood then.
Why leery of Atwood?
She's tops, sometimes uneven, but tops.
No pictures of Henry James. In my haste to tell the story, I left out important words. F+.
I've got two: Lafcadio's Adventures, Gide or Waiting for the Barbarians, Coetzee. I've started Gide, lapsed a month and will need to start over. I just finished Coetzee's Foe and am looking to start another.
I don't know if the translation would have mattered much...with Stendhal, I mean. Were you reading the Raffel? I guess it's a better read. Your issues with it seem far beyond a translators help.
Heidi
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