After three months of my book club , I finally finished Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary.
I put in on the nightstand after I finished reading the last chapter. It made me depressed.
It is not my favorite book, but it is certainly one of the greatest literature I have ever studied.
Many experts have explored the book's near-perfect structure and the author's superb artistry in poetic expression and realistic observation, and I won't attempt to add more.
It has been a very sad journey for me these days to dwell into her world. Emma is someone who does not live in the present moment. Boredom and disengagement of the now is a constant malady in her mind. She only lives in the past or in the fantasy of the future. She only lives in the romantic world of her dreams.
"At the end of some indefinite distance there was always a confused spot, into which her dream died" (II-ix)
Emma loves the image and glamour of music instead of music. At first she plays the piano, but she soon "gave up music, What was the good of playing? Who could hear me? ..it was not worthwhile boring herself with practicing."
For her, religion is a veil for existence. She "loved the church for the sake of the flowers, and music for the words of the songs, and literaure for its passional stimulus, rebelled against the mysteries of faith as it grew irritated by discipline." (I-vi)
It is a pity to see how she led herself into destruction. How she hurt those who were closest to her and loved her.
"She found in adultery all the banality of marraige... She was not happy. She never had been. Whence came this insufficiency in life-this instantaneous turning to decay of everything on which she leant?" (III-v)
She is a narcissus. If loving others is a capacity and a determination, she is incapable, and have no purpose.
I have been reflecting on human conditions. Flaubert's fatalist perspective and pessimism is depressing to ponder. But, looking at the dim light from my lamp, I realize how precious is redemption and salvation.
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