![]() ![]() Every moment of her terrifying death by arsenic poisoning might be occurring now, before my eyes. I feel I've seen the expanse of white stocking between Emma's ankle-length boots and her long skirt that so excited Flaubert. It may help that my French family come from the part of Normandy in which Flaubert set his story, but I sense that I would love the book as much if I came from Patagonia. But the book has become one of the few works of fiction that I read again and again, decade by decade, and each time it seems different, as if Flaubert and his heroine were following me through life. Like many others, I didn't really like Emma, who seemed neither intelligent nor charming. The story of a suicide of a doctor's wife in rural 1840s Normandy seemed too banal for me. I didn't like Madame Bovary when I first encountered the book as a teenager. ![]()
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