All of the above?

Honestly, it s one of the stranger books in that way. In the main it is an entertaining read splattered with tedious, drawn-out scenes of dubious importance or value. I enjoyed reading it again, though. I was occasionally annoyed by the melodrama, but only occasionally. In part this may be because I have read it about every five years or so since I was a kid (in various different versions and languages, some abridged, some not), and reading it is a bit of a nostalgia trip. In part it is because I can never remember what happens. Except that the good come to good and the bad don't.

Since this bit is headed "plot", however, there is something related that strikes me: If plot is a plan, it is central to the book, but more as a motif than a structure, and I find that interesting. The Count's ability to control events is what makes him and the story so fascinating. It is implausible, of course, but that is irrelevant. Part of the premise is that Dantés has, through his suffering and a congruence of more fortunate circumstances, has become a type of person who is that focused and meticulous, and that it is possible. Quibbling about that is a bit like turning on fantasy with the information that magic doesn't really exist.

What really interests me, though, is that how he became that person is one giant ellipsis. Yes, there is Faria, but that is severely undetailed, and even with that the Dantés who leaves Château d'If is nowhere near the later Count. I think it is the existence of these gaps that provides the richness of the novel, and much of its colour.

Regarding the story as it is presented to it, it is highly satisfying on a very visceral level. I disagree with Larry's Eco quote (without having read the whole any time recently) in that I'd say it is less like pornography than like strip tease (admittedly without having any first-hand experience of either). We are promised satisfaction, but the satisfaction would be worth nothing if it were delivered immediately. Of course, this is not limited to this novel or this plot -- it is a trait of most plot-driven narrative, I'd say. The whole point of it is to delay the end while keeping the desire for it alive.

I know I feel the nagging of the unresolved very strongly when reading it. I heartily dislike reading the beginning, though. The worst part of the book is the part before everything goes wrong. Probably because I know what is coming, and part of me strains to stop it. I have no idea why, but it is a very strong emotional reaction. I keep putting the book down. The betrayal really gets to me.

The scenes with Faria are among my favourites (his clear understanding of the circumstances which he has never had first-hand experience of prefigures the Count's uncanny ability to direct circumstances, which I like), but I find I am not moved by the escape at all.

The scene with Franz d'Espinay in the cave, on the contrary, is one of those that I don't forget (did I mention I keep forgetting what happens in this book?). It must have made a massive impression on me the first time I read it (in a shortened version when I was about 10 -- I remember being a bit confused because I did not make the connection between Dantés and the Count).

The same goes for the garden party. I always remember that, but I never remember what happens there or the importance of it as what establishes the Count as someone in control of the circumstances.

And for some reason I always expect Albert and Haidee to end up together. And by expect, I mean that I believe that that is what happened the last time I read it. I swear that is the set-up. The coupling is Valentine-Morrell, Dantés-Mercedes, Albert-Haidee. I think the most interesting part of the whole book is how that pairing is broken. I do not know why it happens, but it keeps surprising and fascinating me. And leaving my visceral reaction to the book oddly unsatisfied. I love it.