If you have trouble maneuvering your ship into port at Marseilles, steer yourself over to the master post.
I need a hero in two senses:
- A hero who can get me back on track with this read-along
- A hero in this story so I can have feelings about it
I don’t mean a hero I can “root for” (ugh, hate that phrase.) And I don’t mean the archetypal hero, like, an Odysseus type. I don’t need a hero’s journey and I don’t need Dantès to be more virtuous.
I need him to be wrong sometimes, to go too far. I need him to get what he wants and realize he wanted the wrong thing. I need him to have a fatal flaw.
I need him to have some passion, damn it!
Welcome, readers-along! As we start reading on this fine (Canadian) long weekend, let’s ponder what should be a very simple question: who wrote The Count of Monte Cristo?
Here’s the evolution of my answer:
Had you asked me a year ago, I would have said: Alexandre Dumas, dead white dude.
Had you asked me six months ago, I would have said: Alexandre Dumas, dead, but not white, dude. I found Alex on this list of classics by authors of colour, which lead me to choose it for my read along this year.*
Had you asked me a month ago, I would have said: Alexandre Dumas, père, and probably have tried to make a “Big Poppa” joke. I learned that Alexandre Dumas has a son of the same name, also a writer. He’s known as fils. The père designation stuck, though I think there should be some sort of statute of limitations on that, because who’s reading fils theses days?
Ask me now? I have no idea! Continue reading
I would have posted this much sooner, but I was struggling to find a good name for my momentous fifth summer read-along, in which we will tackle Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo.
Count Along? Count Me In? No. Sometimes you must wait for the muse to show up.
The title is relevant too, because there are abridged versions out there. Do not be fooled. We are going FULL MONTE, people.