Previously: Every Russian novel ever.
1. The Emptiness And Banalities Of Rural Life Are Disgusting
2. The Baroness Is Seduced
3. The Student’s Slow, Painful Disillusionment Takes Place Over A Marvelous Nine-Course Banquet
4. A Casual Remark Drives The Gendarme To Suicide
5. An Anti-Semitic Aside
6. A Young Woman Cynically Eats A Pheasant
7. A Mid-Level Bureaucrat Tells A Harmless Lie That Results In The Death Of Dozens
8. Liberties Are Delightfully Taken
9. A Prostitute Remembers The Past Fondly
10. A Charming Letter Is Received With Malice
11. A Symbol Of Human Decency Dies Horribly
12. Nothing Is As It Seems
13. Satisfaction Proves Elusive To The Country Doctor
14. Convention Is Overturned
15. Nothing Is Any Good And Here Is An Exhaustive Description Of The Internal Rules Governing The Parisian Baker’s Union
16. 400 Pages Analyzing Waterloo
17. The Bishop’s Atheism Is Revealed Over A Listless Game Of Cards
18. Suicide: Why Not?
19. The Affair Becomes Less Exciting As Time Wears On
20. Time Wears On
21. The Libertine Plucks The Lace At His Cuffs And Laughs Lightly Before Dying
22. The Baroness Is Corrupted
23. The Hypocrisies And Machinations Of Court Life Are Disgusting
24. The Baroness Is Disgraced
Tags: adultery, ah life, books, french novels, l’ennui
#16 DAMMIT HUGO. I read all those pages and there was a small plot point on the LAST ONE.
See also Parisian sewer systems and aerial views from the Île de la Cité.
Yes! And then Thackeray did the same thing in Vanity Fair, because lengthy descriptions of Waterloo (with a major plot point on the very last page) was EXACTLY what the British novel was lacking.
By the time I got to the sewers, I think I had some kind of Victor Hugo-induced Stockholm Syndrome, because I vividly remember thinking, “Please, M. Hugo, tell me *more* of your thoughts on waste management!”
Looking back, it is somewhat distressing.
Some actual Les Miserables chapter titles:
Volume Two, Book Two, Chapter Eight: The Unpleasantness of Receiving into One’s House a Poor Man who May be Rich
Volume Two, Book Four, Chapter Five: A Five-Franc Piece Falling to the Floor Makes a Noise
Volume Five, Book One, Chapter Eight: The Artillery-Men Compel People to Take Them Seriously
Volume Five, Book One, Chapter Nine: Use of that Old Poacher Skill, and the Infallible Shot that Influenced the Condemnation of 1796
Volume Five, Book Four, Chapter Five: For Sand as Well as Woman there is a Finesse that is Perfidy
Volume Five, Book Five, Chapter Five: Mademoiselle Gillenormand at Last thinks it not Improper that Monsieur Fauchelevent Should Come in with Something Under his Arm
The chapter titles just get weirder and weirder as the book goes on, it’s like he’s run out of normal chapter titles because there’s just more chapters than a human could possibly title using the usual conventions
Is There Enough Bread? Sadly, It Would Appear That There Is Not.
There is never enough bread.
At least we’ve got plenty of cake, though, right?
Hahah, get it? Cake? CAKE INSTEAD OF BREAD, HOW DELIGHTFULLY ABSURD!
piffle sniff snicker yessssss
Wasn’t Napoleon Great, Guys? Too Bad His Nephew Sucks.
It’s Good To Be The King
I love Balzac’s “Cousin Bette” but you nailed this one, Mallory.
The Bourgeois Society Is So Demanding: If Only I Could Be As Happy As The Homeless Kids Who Live Under The Bridges of Paris
aww sounds like Modern Prestige Lit! Depressed Despite Privilege Brooklyn Writer vs. Anyone Visibly Working Class
So true, so true and I love French literature. There is no mention of everyone goes to theater and moves the plot along quite a bit without actually watching the play.
I was told once that Flaubert wrote Madame Bovary on a bet that he couldn’t write the world’s dullest novel. I really hope the person who made that bet ended up paying him.
No kidding. I had a prof who adored Madame Bovary. I liked him. He was a good teacher (introduced me to Iris Murdoch, for one) and it made me feel bad that I couldn’t begin to match his enthusiasm. Finally, I offered up a weak, “Maybe I just have a bad translation.” I tried reading it in French. It was not the translation.
All that build up! I was convinced it was like the dirtiest book ever, but it was not as dirty as that old copy of Juggz we found in the dumpster behind the convenience store. Which, come to think of it, could be a plot point in a French novel.
There is a duel. Its conclusion is unsatisfactory.
Searching for “mallory ortberg” on my work Twitter account so I could get an update on the site situation (my mid-afternoon procrastinating was seriously hampered), I found 2 tweets by @bsandusky which I will now share with you because they are so precious: 1) Clearly Mallory Ortberg has never read any French novels because her “Every French Novel Ever” list is awful and inaccurate. 2) It’s like… hey, HERE’S A BUNCH OF STEREOTYPES HUH HUH HUH I AM WRITING ABOUT ZE FRENCH NOVEL.
Somebody in this picture isn’t familiar with French novels and it definitely isn’t Mallory.
I’m reading Stendhal’s The Red and the Black for a book club and I’m enjoying it, but yes definitely about 80% of these have happened already and I’m only 60% of the way through the book.
It amuses me to no end when overly serious dudes get mad at someone making fun of literature. So funny. So misguided. Like a guy who sent me multiple angry emails about a Kerouac pastiche I published in my university arts journal. Apparently, silly women shouldn’t a) plagiarize Kerouac and b) mock him. I gently explained the difference between pastiche and plagiarism and didn’t touch the mockery. I’m going as later Hemingway to a make-your-own-beard competition next year. Making fun of literature is the best possible use for my degree.
So, in my article here last week about Millay, I mentioned that some of her contemporaries called her the greatest woman poet since Sappho. Some dude on Twitter then took it upon himself to declare that OBVIOUSLY Dickinson was greater than Millay. I said, dude, you are not arguing with me, you are arguing with critics from nearly a century ago. He said, Oh, I know, but Dickinson is still better than Millay.
Because god forbid any statement on literature go ungraced by the manly opinion of an internet man!
Oh god I am so sorry.
I have never read Kerouac and honestly I’m probably not going to anytime soon.
I have a degree in French literature and I can totally vouch for the accuracy of this post. Also I HATE French literature – a fact I ddi not find out until I was into my second year. The only novels I made it to the end of during my degree were Dangerous Liaisons (because of the filth) and the Little Prince (because of the foxes and baobabs and I’d read it already). Everything else I read the first chapter, died of boredom and made the rest of it up from the crit books.
Clearly the lesson we can take away from this is that it is just a bad idea to be a baroness in France.
I really thought for a moment that #6 said “A Young Woman Cynically Eats A PEASANT.”
I would read that.
I mis-read your misread as a, “A Young Woman Cynically Eats A PISSANT.”
The Affair Always Becomes Less Exciting As Time Wears On
So, in my article here last week about Millay, I mentioned that some of her contemporaries called her the greatest woman poet since Sappho. Some dude on Twitter then took it upon himself to declare that OBVIOUSLY Dickinson was greater than Millay. I said, dude, you are not arguing with me, you are arguing with critics from nearly a century ago. He said, Oh, I know, but Dickinson is still better than Millay.
Because god forbid any statement on literature go ungraced by the manly opinion of an internet man!
“Having Sex With This Unsuitable Person Is Actually Depressing.”
25. Women LOVE colors! How frivolous.
The Department Store Window Display Contains Many Items. Let Us List Them All!
Had a good cackle over this one. Reminded me of a conversation I had with my mother. I asked her if she’d seen Les Mis, yet. She said, “No, thank you. I read it sixty years ago, and that was enough for me.”
#25 Maybe Scarlett Johanssen Will Go Out With Me
Paris is insufferable. So are the provinces.