Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert

Translated into English by Merloyd Lawrence

There’s a simple modern term that aptly describes Emma Bovary, the title character of this novel: drama queen. Whether it’s her fanatically religious sentiment in the convent or passionate (if disappointed) expectations in her marriage to Charles, Emma doesn’t hold back.

I read Madame Bovary many (many) years ago for a World Novels class in college. One of my classmates declared it “the most boringest book” he’d ever read. Even back then I didn’t see it that way. Sure, there’s not much action and adventure in this novel, but I was caught up in the language, the very luxurious style in which this simple story was told. Those wonderful words were what I was looking forward to in this re-read, and I was not disappointed.

Emma’s rich and dramatic inner life is up to Flaubert’s skill with language, but her husband, Charles, strongly contrasts with his relative dullness. Of course he worships his young, beautiful wife and provides well for her, “But wasn’t it the role of a man to know everything, to excel in a variety of skills, to initiate a woman into the heights of passion, the refinements of life, into all the mysteries? Not this one. He taught her nothing, knew nothing, desired nothing.”

And the languid Charles is not the only ironic juxtaposition in this story. Emma’s fantasy expectations and boldly dramatic actions are constantly contrasting with the simply dull or even harsh realities of the actual world. When she attends the equivalent of a county fair with her soon-to-be new lover, she devotes herself to her sweet desires, caught up in her madness for passion while the rest of the town loudly carries on with their more down-to-earth business. “Manure!” shouts the master of ceremonies as he doles out awards for practical accomplishments, while Emma coyly flirts with a man more exciting than her unsatisfactory husband. It’s hard to not find her a bit silly.

The young Madame Bovary is doomed to debilitating disappointment and most of the novel is an account of her dramatic throes of personal passion and her search for even more passion. I couldn’t help imagining her throwing herself around, hot and bothered, barely controlling herself in her need for a more satisfactory reality. I won’t spoil the story by telling you whether she finds any relief in for her aching desires. I will say that I mostly enjoy the ironies, the flow of Flaubert’s beautiful language (although I read it in English…if only I could read French!!), and roll my eyes and shake my head at Emma Bovary’s misguided fantasies. As I read, I feel like Flaubert is rolling his eyes and shaking his head, too.

 

 

 

A Year of Books I’ve Read Before