There were a fair number of instances of feelings and impressions which were “impossible to describe” – which felt a little bit like a cop out. Spectacles, such as Paris at night, and various other majestic sights, were alluded to with expressions like – ‘those who have seen will already know how glorious a sight it is’ – but those of us who haven’t are left waiting for a description that doesn’t come. The command over story and character exhibited by the author was powerful and assured. When popular Edmond returns home from the sea with the promise of promotion and engagement, he cannot know that three villains are plotting against him, planning to rob him of his destiny and throw him in a dungeon, alone, forsaken and forgotten.Īnd so, when, many years later, two of the baddies are wildly successful, living the high life in the upper echelons of society, and their co-conspirator, encouraging manipulator, is still a small rather pitiful figure, the villains are falling over themselves to meet the deathly pale but fabulously wealthy and mysterious Count of Monte Cristo.īut after fourteen years imprisonment, and another ten seeking answers, treasure and himself, has Edmond left it too late to claim his revenge? And, if he gets it, will it really balance the scales?įor the most part, I felt like I was sitting in a wingback chair, by the fireside, being told the story by an avuncular (as we can see from the cover) high-cheekboned Frenchman with a bottle of brandy catching the light from the flames. So, the story follows Edmond Dantes, a successful young sailor and the beloved of the beautiful and adored Mercedes. My eyes have become bloodshot and watery, caused solely (I suspect) by the hours spent staring at the screen. It’s lucky I’m not the only person in the house because I’ve barely looked up from my phone in the past fortnight. My 4-5 day read had suddenly swelled into two weeks, without interruption, which is asking a lot in a house full of dogs. Of course, there are probably a good number of English translations out there, but I suspect they’re all in ballpark of each other for length and according to Google, that’s 1297 pages long. Even at 0%, I was loving the story – vast and operatic and sitting-in-the-firelight as it is – but 486 pages it is not. But I was surprised, after twelve or so taps of the screen, to find myself still at 0%.īack to Google: How many pages in The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged)? This is due to print size, screen size and technological whatnot I can’t begin to understand. A promising start to 2022 and a thundering classic to tick off my list – I was well pleased.Īs an ebook, of course, the number of times you tap to turn that page doesn’t necessarily correlate with the number of pages in the physical book. Although, no doubt, a sophisticated story, translated from the original French (I would struggle to read a menu in the original French – it’s something I plan to work on next year), with possibly loftier language than might be found in the more modern novel, I reckoned I could finish it in four or five days. I found the ebook advertised with a price of practically nothing and a page count of 486. Pretty certain I already knew that, at least deep down where I need not produce proof, I went straight to Amazon. “Book Frenchman convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, escapes from prison and claims vengeance.”Īnd good old Google came back with: “The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas.” I had a vague recollection of the plot, so I headed on over to Google. I remembered a film I’d watched years ago and felt certain it was based on something literarily magnificent but I couldn’t remember the title, the author or anyone who’d appeared in the adaptation I barely recalled. Hence this quest.Īll of this is really just to introduce myself. So as much as I might recognise a quote and even know where it’s from, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve read the book. All of which have, in their way, exposed my brain to all manner of literary giants with sneaky jokes and asides. Thanks to a childhood in the nineteen-eighties, I am an aficionado of film, television and pop culture. This was, as ever, in the hopes that I would recognise obscure quotes and oblique references in the course of the sorts of run-of-the-mill, intellectual conversations I plan to have as I approach my middle years. “He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”Ĭhapter 117, The Fifth of October, The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre DumasĪs you may remember, I made a decision a little while ago to fill in the gaps in my knowledge of classical literature by actually reading some. Book Review – The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
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