Flaubert’s novel is truly delightful, so far (p. 84 in the Penguin Classics edition) an extremely trenchant and humorous object lesson on the obsessions and shortsightedness of youth, with the suggestion of a larger theme waiting in the wings. If no larger theme emerges to spoil the pleasure of Flaubert’s masterful telling of Frederic’s story, however, I shall be well pleased.
The book, set in Paris, is steeped in the city, which almost features as a character during some of the more reflective passages. While describing Frederic’s romantic wanderings, Flaubert writes,
Behind the Tuileries, the sky turned the color of the roof-slates. The trees in the gardens faded into two great masses, touched with purple. The gas-lamps were lit; and the waters of the Seine, all grey-green, broke up into silvery rags around its bridges.
(p. 28)
Who would have guessed that “rags” could be used so beautifully and perfectly?
Later, at a nightclub,
Frederic and Deslauriers were edging their way along in the midst of the crowd when they saw something
which brought them to a halt. Martinon was getting change from the cloakroom, and with him was a woman of
about fifty, ugly, superbly dressed, and of doubtful social status.
‘That fellow,’ said Dussardier, ‘is not as simple as people think …’ (p. 82)
Funny. given how Martinon had earlier been typecast as a prig and a prude.