So whenever I read something, when I get to the final fifth or so, I think something along the lines of “Man, this has been a positive experience.  I should jot down some notes about this book.”  And then I finish the book and that’s that.  Books that have fallen victim to this curse recently include Infinite Jest, Memoirs from Hecate County, and A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again (which I finished the day David Foster Wallace died.  That was sad).   In fact, the last book I did mention anything about was Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates, and then I ony wrote to complain about how little I liked it, proving, perhaps, that bad experiences lead to a lot more word of mouth than positive experiences.

The point of this being that I just finished reading Madame Bovary, and I don’t want to mess up again.  Not that I have much to say about it, but nonetheless.  Reading a book like that, and by “book like that” I mean a classic originally written in a different language, presents some problems.  With my illustrious education in Spanish Literature, one thing that was always emphasized was how understanding the climate in which the book was written is important to understanding it.  I suppose you can disagree with that from a critical point of view, but it still presents some problems.  I know almost nothing about France and French history, so a lot of the cultural signals in the book meant very little to me.  Nonetheless, it was a pretty enjoyable book, especially when you realize how out-there it was at the time of publication.

So it was a good story, and if not an intense page-turner, it was definitely an enjoyable read.  What stood out for me, and again this is a result of my undergrad years, is what Madame Bovary shares with Don Quixote.  The event that shapes both of these stories is an infatuation on behalf of the reader in popular literature of the time and how each of them went a little crazy after becoming too immersed in them.  Don Quixote, who was an upper-middle class sort of nobleman, reads so many “libros de caballerias” that he loses touch with reality and becomes the star in his own fantasy story.  Madame Bovary, who is in a similar social position as DQ, reads romance novels and, though doesn’t go as explicitly crazy as he does, still gets confused about how closely real life should conform to the ideas she’s read about.  I liked that aspect of both of those books- the irony in writing a book about, to some extent, the dangers of reading books.

In DQ, there are about a thousand ways to interpret it, as is fitting for  such a long, important novel, and, though I’m less familiar, I’m sure it’s true for MB as well.  I have read, however, that Flaubert wrote MB as a reacion against romantic writing of the day and is seen as a classic example of realist writing.   I’m tempted to reread Madame Bovary again soon, although not until I read some criticism.  The thing I miss most about reading outside of college is that there’s no wise old man to guide you through the book.  Were I a smarter dude, I wouldn’t miss that, but since I’m not, I think I might have to seek out some guidance for a re-reading.