The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

I re-read the Count of Monte Cristo a few months ago. It was one of my favorite books in middle and high school and I haven’t read it in seven plus years so I figured it was time.

Allison’s Three Most Frequent Exclamations While Re-reading the Count of Monte Cristo:

1. OMG DUDE GET OVER ITTTTTTTT.

2. Holy shit, that’s fucked up. Wooowww. That’s truly fucked up.

3. OMG SHE IS LIKE A THOUSAND YEARS YOUNGER THAN YOU AND YOU RAISED HER, THIS IS SO GROSS.

You may have surmised that I didn’t love the Count as much as I did before. I really could not figure out why homeboy could not just get the fuck over himself and go off and live with his fabulous wealth. (Perhaps my mother saying “the best revenge is a life well lived” made an impact on me after all.) I also could not understand why he was so set on ruining the lives of the CHILDREN of the people who had ruined his. I know he changed his mind later and helped (most of) his enemies’ children live happily ever after, but seriously, Edmund Dantés was a sadistic prick.

Lastly, let’s talk about Haydée. For those of you who haven’t read The C of MC recently I’ll give a brief synopsis of how Haydée comes into the Count’s life. Haydée was sold into slavery after her father (a Turkish pasha) was assassinated by political rivals. The Count purchased her out of slavery when she’s twelve (as part of his extended revenge plan) and then raises her, alternately calling her his slave and his daughter (sometimes both at once). Then she falls in love with him and says creepy things like “I love you as one loves a father, a brother, a husband.” At the end of the book they run away together to start a new life (leaving behind a trail of dead (and dead inside)).  I have some issues with this plot line. Besides the serious case of Stockholm Syndrome, the Count is like fifty and SHE IS A TEENAGER WITH PRETTY CLEAR DADDY ISSUES.

My visceral reaction to re-reading a previously MUCH loved classic made me seriously wonder how I could be so infatuated with such a weird and dark fucking book ten years ago. I wanted to go back in time and ask past- Allison, “Why did you like this?! How did this appeal to you?! What is wrong with you?!” But I couldn’t because no one has shared the secret of time travel with me yet. Furthermore, because I never kept any sort of journal, I couldn’t even begin to recreate my thoughts and feelings at that time in my life (which is maybe for the best, really). I remember thinking the whole book was this incredibly beautiful and tragic love story. And my best guess is that because I was eleven or twelve years old when I read it for the first time, being nineteen seemed incredibly grown up and perfectly old enough to be making decisions about running away with your many decades-older father figure/master.

The couple days I spent reading The Count of Monte Cristo this winter really made an impact on me. For one, it’s made me terrified to read The Three Musketeers, which I loved even more than The C of MC. What if d'Artagnan is as big a douche lord as the Count? I don’t know that I’d be able to recover, honestly. He is the archetype of my ideal man.

On a deeper level though, this excursion into the past made me think about my relationship with books and how they reflect my life. So I’ve decided to write about each book I read during my 25^th year. That way, I can theoretically come back and see this delicious snapshot of my life, as told by the books I read. I’m not sure how it’s going to flesh out yet, but I don’t turn twenty-five for two more weeks so I’ve got plenty of time.