“Love, she believed, should arrive all at once with thunder and lightning – a whirlwind from the skies that affects life, turns it every which way, wrests resolutions away like leaves, and plunges the entire heart into an abyss.”
The book: Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
The memory: No concrete memory percolated my mind while reading Madame Bovary. I do remember, je flanais dans les rues de Paris, and I bought Madame Bovary (en francais) from a local book seller. That was 2007. I had attempted to read this book five years ago, and I’ve only now conquered it.
I’m of firm belief that books enter your life at the right time, at the right place. Just like people. I grew up devouring classic literature, which is probably why I have a difficult time immersing myself in contemporary fiction. I find myself just reverting back to the classics.
Perhaps all of my grand (dis)illusions of life, love, and loss have stemmed from the poetic words in classic literature. Everything is tragic. Everything is beautiful. Madame Bovary is a tragic creature, a representation of our selfish desires, the need to be wanted, that longing for more. Madame Bovary is all of us.
I took a trip back home to Texas that particular week, so I’m taking a cheat week. Be back next week.