Sentimental Education

I chose this book for a sidequest book club when it was my turn. I chose it because someone on Tiktok said it was as if Anna Karenina was written with a male protagonist. I remember enjoying Anna K so that was a good omen. Plus it is a “classic” – what could go wrong? Well, a lot because I quickly tired of the book and yet it was the book which I chose, therefore I felt that it was my obligation to read the thing I conned other people into reading.

For one thing this book seems to be roughly half about our protagonist’s (Fred’s) love life and half about politics and culture. Its the politics part that which dragged me down because its French politics… from 1865. With my half-assed American education I know that there was a big bad revolution in (checks wikipedia) 1789 and then there was Napoleon and then something something something. And the first half of the book is dominated by Freddy swooning about a (married) girl and otherwise doing nothing much but talk politics and culture with his buddies (and his love-object’s cheating husband). And since I have no insight into what Fred (or any other french person) might think about current events all the conversation went past me like the teacher’s dialog in a Peanut’s cartoon.

Eventually, in the third part of the book things pick up; the climax of the book is during a revolution (yet another) in 1865. And Fred has a child with his (call-girl) mistress and then shortly thereafter the child dies. The married love of his life leaves Paris to disappear because her crappy husband (Arnoux) is fleeing debts. His buddy marries the rich, pretty, naive girl (from Fred’s hometown) who Freddy lead on and then dumped. And yet another (also rich) married woman (Dambreuse) whose husband dies is suddenly not so rich and not so attractive and so Fred also ditches her.

At the end of the book (10 years later?) Fred is no longer wealthy and is very much alone. Fred reminds me of myself during my third decade: I was never happy with my love life and I disappointed many people not least of whom: myself.

This novel was not for me and it was a bad choice on my part because I lack the necessary context to appreciate it (nor am I willing to acquire that context at this point in my life). But hey(!) after five months of reading, now I can say that I once read a French realist novel. So I have that going for me. Which is nice.