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"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.
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