Everyone is Reading The Count of Monte Cristo

In this case, the popularity is a good sign. You should read it, too.

What could I possibly add to the praise already heaped on The Count of Monte Cristo, a classic that endures and continues to capture the imagination? For many, it is their favorite “classic” novel, the only one they ever enjoyed reading. They first encountered it in the 7th or 8th grade (what drek are middle schoolers assigned now?), and they actually had fun, despite the risk of breaking their big toe if they dropped it.

Yet praise it I will. But first, some context, because my first encounter with this book was not a favorable one and represents yet another failure of public school.

Will the real Edmond Dantès please stand up?

Part of 8th-grade English was taught by a student teacher, and she was tasked with teaching the abridged version of the book. We did a lot of reading in the class itself, which wasn’t a bad choice. However, she gave quizzes with the absolute worst questions you could possibly imagine.

”In what chapter did the Count say…”

“In what chapter did Mercedes…”

And on and on. Chapter numbers. That’s what we were supposed to take away from a world-hopping revenge tale. I hardly remembered any of the story. All of the fun had been sucked out of it, and there weren’t even bones left over to gnaw on. If you wonder why most people don’t read a single book after their high school years, it’s because teachers have taken a pickaxe to their natural affections.

Yet even then, the strong premise left a dying ember in my mind that was blown to full flame when Jim Caviezel’s 2002 adaptation hit theaters. I loved it.

Which was bad news, because it satisfied my hunger when it shouldn’t have. I thought I had partaken of the real meal when really, I had scarfed down a bag of gummy bears. There’s a place for gummy bears. There is no place for ruining your appetite with gummy bears, especially when there’s a prime steak waiting for you at the dinner table. Worse, to think you actually ate the steak. I hadn’t experienced the real Count.

I wouldn’t even think about reading the book until more than 20 years later. A travesty caused entirely by my own foolishness.

Did I enjoy the book? Of course.

Was it a page-turner? Yes. I had trouble putting it down.

When I finished, did I wish it were a bit longer? Also, yes.

It’s not a perfect book, nor is it my favorite book of all time, but I can’t stop thinking about it. What it does well, it does extremely well. I laughed out loud several times. He describes the wife of one character as “his better—or certainly bitter—half…” I particularly enjoyed when a dying grandmother promised to come back and haunt the future husband of her granddaughter if he did not treat her right.

I also appreciated the occasional bursts of purple prose where Dumas shows off his chops.

When they opened the door, it was to reveal a wan sky in which the moon struggled in vain to hold its own against a sea of clouds which poured dark waves across it, waves which it lit for a moment before they raced on, still darker than before, to lose themselves in the depths of infinity.

Despite its reputation as more of a pulp adventure book, Dumas thinks highly of his audience and very rarely holds their hand. You are left to come to conclusions on your own. He doesn’t even confirm the Count is actually Dantès until more than halfway through the book.

It’s obvious to anyone with eyes or ears, but today, in the Netflix school of narrative storytelling, the reader would have been told over and over that the Count was Dantès and that Dantès was the Count, oh, and don’t you remember what happened on the isle of Monte Cristo and the connection to the name of the Count of Monte Cristo? Hmmm? Get it?

It’s not a book that hides its secrets, by any means. Immature, inattentive middle-schoolers can get the gist of the story, gain a grasp of the major characters, outline the key plot points, and have fun.

But neither will it hold your hand.

Revenge served tepid, to the point of being unappetizing

The reader is compelled by the Count, is fascinated by him, impressed by him. In this, the reader is like almost every other character in the book, orbiting the Count’s gravity well of mystery and charisma. At some point, however, the reader becomes horrified by the Count.

As his various machinations come to a head and his enemies start to fall one by one, the fallout cannot be contained. Vengeance can only use inaccurate and indiscriminate weapons, so friendly fire is unavoidable, no matter the preparations taken. No amount of resources and genius can unmake the laws of the universe. Even those the Count loves are hurt. And worse.

Only once does the reader get true catharsis, with an enemy crying out the Count’s true name and then shooting himself in the head in despair. But Dumas does not offer another.

When Villefort, the magistrate most directly responsible for burying Dantès in a dungeon to rot, falls, it should be the most satisfying. Instead, it is the most heartbreaking, and it almost breaks the Count himself.

When the Count finally reveals his true identity to Villefort, Villefort does not give the Count the pleasure of acting thunderstruck. It is not a satisfying moment of revelation. Villefort only grabs the Count’s wrist and drags him to a bedroom to show the bodies of his wife and young child, both poisoned and dead. The true fruit of his vengeance.

Here, Dumas wags a finger at our bloodlust, but without feeling preachy. He simply refuses to give us the catharsis we expect. He refuses to give the Count the satisfaction he desires. It’s a great turning point in the novel, and there’s still one more enemy left to be dealt with.

The final act of vengeance does end with a type of satisfaction, but not the way we expect. While spoiler warnings for a 170-year-old book seem trite, I will leave the ending for you to discover, if you have not yet done so.

Read it

Yes, it’s long. But like me, you’ll wish it were longer. You’ll be reading it for a while, but you’ll be having fun the entire time. Get the Penguin Classics edition.

You’ll also have fun with this anthology of fantasy and adventure short stories called Fire and Stone, which I curated. I also wrote one of the stories. Perfect for read-aloud time, or hand it to your 10-year-old.