I dug myself into a bit of a hole last weekend. I still have The Famished Road and Light Years sitting unfinished (187 pages into the former and 160 pages into the latter) on the table beside my couch. About two weeks ago, after finishing Emma, I started a new book: Grove by Esther Kinsky. It's a beautifully written book about loss and solitude and travel and Italy, which I will write about eventually when I finish it. I read it for five days, Monday through Friday of the week before last, and arrived, on the Friday, at the end of Part One. It was very slow going. The chapters are short, which keeps things moving in a way, but I found myself pausing a lot, thinking a lot, writing a little, and actually starting up my Italian studies again. (All of these are positives, it's true.) But Grove is not the sort of book you dive into for a weekend of reading and that was the sort of book I thought I needed last weekend. So, I set Grove aside and I picked up The Three Musketeers last Saturday. I read about 70 pages that day and another 70 or so on Sunday. Almost immediately I had the thought that it had been foolish of me to take a break from one book with another book that was nearly 700 pages long -- especially foolish considering there was yet another book I needed to read for a book club meeting a week later (that is, tomorrow as I'm writing this). The visions of arriving at this weekend -- today -- with five unfinished books on my side table loomed over me. Fortunately, as the days passed -- even as I was back to working during the week -- my reading pace picked up. Late Thursday, it occurred to me I might actually be able to finish The Three Musketeers on Friday (thanks to my work's summer Fridays early closure) and start today fresh with just my book club book to finish. And I did: I read just over 200 pages yesterday and finished it just in time for my weekly Friday night movie club screening.
This was the second Dumas book I've read. The first was The Count of Monte Cristo, which I enjoyed despite the poor translation (which I have written about previously). The edition of The Three Musketeers that I read was translated by Richard Pevear, which was part of the attraction for me. I knew this wouldn't have the stumbling adherence to the French syntax that made The Count of Monte Cristo so awkward. I hoped that my enjoyment of the story would benefit as a result. I was not disappointed. I also feel fortunate that I didn't actually know the story of The Three Musketeers at all. In fact, my primary awareness of them came from crosswords, where they are occasionally answers (Athos most frequently), and which was how I came to know their names (and which was also the source of much confusion on my part, prior to reading the book, about the fact that there were clearly four of them, not three). But beyond the names, I knew nothing. The book is an action-packed delight. The distinct characters of the musketeers themselves, and of their lackeys, were wonderfully entertaining. Milady, the evil genius villain, is incredible. I'd love to read an alternate version centering her story!
