Madame Bovary

"Madame Bovary is a novel about a woman who has read novels, kept as close as possible to the plot, the characterization, and the dialogue of the sort of novels she has read" (Kenner 18)

After reading Flaubert's novel on Emma Bovary's scandalous story of love, lust, and financial ruin, Madame Bovary, I found that Flaubert followed closely the reality of her life and death, but he wrote with such poignant metaphors as to incorporate the realities of every person who reads it. He truly opened my eyes, like the first rays of dawn, to what really occurred in Emma's life and to the people around her in Yonville. Even I, who found Emma's behavior detestable, discovered "an initial awakening sympathy for Emma as a fellow human sufferer, as someone who might well be [me] the reader..." (Cortland 21). Of course, I could never relate to such a villainous fiend as Emma Bovary, but Flaubert's words bring Emma to a higher, more respectable level. Flaubert's dedication to this project was inspirational. For months he tediously worked and reworked each of his sentences, sentences that an average man (not a literary genius like Flaubert or myself) could find no fault in. It is like nothing I have ever read, deeper and more involved than the romantic fluff of our era. I feel that his agonizing over the text of this novel, over the very syllables in his words, the task of composing this work, is what gives it this fresh outlook and unique material (Cortland 18). There are times, however, when I do believe that Flaubert may have been too liberal in his depiction of Emma's life. He seems to hold realism quite literally, as he is rather realistic when he portrays Emma’s depraved love life. Though I am always one for progress in literature and otherwise, his truly graphic novel seems to cross a line, and I doubt it will escape Napoleon III's watchful eye (du Plessix Gray 276). He was also indiscreet when describing the surgery of Hippolyte; as a chemist I am hardly affected by the incredible spread of gangrene through the man’s leg, in fact I find it fascinating, but I am sure many more sensitive readers would find this episode distasteful. Flaubert did, I believe, portray Emma’s death rather tastefully, at least in comparison to the novels of our generation, or as well as he could (Starkie 77). I was there to observe her slow and gruesome death, and he certainly toned down much of the disastrous event.
On another note, despite his incredible skill with words, I have a solitary, but urgent complaint pertaining to Flaubert's work. In his effort to glorify Emma's escapades through adultery and financial catastrophe, Flaubert has ignored and even insulted the good people of Yonville. He has portrayed us as such that "...the extremeness of the stupidity and avariciousness of the Yonvillians makes a row of ugly figures in a carnival booth at which [the audience] can throw baseballs (Cortland 22)! This horrific disregard of the remarkable qualities of this fine town, this ridiculous display, make us seem insensitive and…dare I say…quaint! He writes nothing of the progress, of the ambition of this growing town. He does not do justice to my advances in the study of chemicals and medicine, or the agricultural phenomena created by Lestiboudois and his incredible potatoes. In his words, I appear small-minded, my dear friend Bournisen ignorant and insensitive, and the successful entrepreneur Lheureux seems ruthless and greedy (Goodwin 112). He couldn't be farther from the truth! Me, small minded? They don't award the Legion of Honor to small-minded men. It is only given only to those who show brilliance and compassion. I seemed positively self-centered in Flaubert's story, as if I cared nothing for Charles' little problem with Emma or for Justin's crazy notions about becoming a man. He could convince the reader that it is arrogant to place one's name and occupation in several locations outside one's establishment (Flaubert 51), as if striving for recognition were a sin rather than an accomplishment. Flaubert made it seem that our small town roots caused us to be no better than we should be (Cortland 24), but I refuse to believe that every man is subject to such limitations and that man can not go beyond what he was given (not that Yonvillians are any less blessed than those in Rouen or Paris). Flaubert's novel, I understand, is a masterpiece, but it is an outrage that he could use the people of Yonville, particularly myself, hero of our grand town, in such a manner.