READING: The Red and the Black (cont.)

Goddamn this is a frustrating book.

So, we left off on page 68 with Julien barefoot in Mme. Rênal's room. Oh, and he's crying which just isn't attractive. I mean, I'm a guy, and I like guys who are sensitive -- don't get me wrong. But I'm uncomfortable seeing it, usually. Tell me about it all you want afterwards; just don't do it in front of me. That and peeing are private affairs ("and God knows/none of your business" -- shiny penny for anyone who knows that reference).

So, Julien's sobbing, Mme. Rênal gives in, they get it on, and for the next... 60... pages... It's nothing but sex and whining between those two. Like, seriously: they fuck, he gets moody, she gets insecure, she cries, he gets moodier (lather, rinse, repeat) and know what, Stendahl? If I wanted to read that crap I've got diaries of my own, thankyouverymuch. It was uninteresting when I lived through it, and it's uninteresting now.

God.

This'll probably change again, but if you're planning on reading this book for yourself, skip all the way to page 129. All you need to know is that Julien and Mme. Rênal's love isn't to be. Oh, and that now Julien has decided to follow the black side of the title, which represents priestly frocks, rather than the red side of the title (which represents the military) -- even though that means he can't rise to power like Napoleon (the general, not the pig) (though the pig would totally be cooler).

That brings us up to where I am now, just shy of the ending of Book 1. Julien's at a seminary. He's making enemies because, duh, he's Julien and the book, though badly written, is not filled with idiots. He's also quickly gotten over his broken heart, re: Mme. Rênal, and has set his sights on a saucy little barmaid named Amanda Binet. Because, just like all of my ex-boyfriends, Julien has the attention span of a goldfish.

And let's talk for a minute about Julien as a romantic character. Stendahl, I think, wants us to believe that he's capable of falling in love, and that he did so with Mme. Rênal. But there's never a point where I feel that -- never an "against his will: love" moment. George Gissing pulls that off between Rhoda Nun and Everard Barfoot in The Odd Women, but Julien just seems far too cold and calculating. I don't trust anything he says or anything Stendahl says Julien feels. And that's a bad place to leave a reader. We're also in dangerous character dislikeability* waters here. Now, if you're Vanity Fair, the character dislikeability schtick works because the novel is broadly comic and Becky Sharpe kicks ass. In this novel, though: not so much with the funny -- unless it's some kind of dry and obscure French humor and hi: Jerry Lewis? I don't think it's that. Instead, we're stuck reading about people we don't really care about doing things that aren't very interesting to other characters we don't really care about.

I'm going to keep reading. If I don't, it's going to throw my whole schedule off. Plus, I've packed all my other books. And I don't know, maybe Stendahl's about to throw me a bone or something. I've still got -- *sigh* -- 250 freakin pages.

Stendahl? You're working my last nerve.
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* Yeah: I create language. I move mountains. I contain worlds.