The Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas
I recently undertook the onerous task of reading this mammoth tome that weighs in at a whopping 1460 pages, probably the longest book that I’ve ever read. Among my peers, the length of time taken to read novels is often cited as their reason for not reading much, and the immediacy of cinema, television and the internet tends to dominate people’s leisure time. In a culture obsessed with previews and spoilers, all we’re concerned about it seems is what happens and how it ends. It seems to me that the length of books is one of the great things about them – rather than a brief stroll you go on a journey with the world and the characters over the course of days, weeks and even months. Indeed, it seems a strange criticism to make given the current length of TV series that the same peers will devote themselves to. Regardless, I travelled with the Count for a long time, and I finally arrived too.
A common letdown with lengthy storylines is a failure to capitalize on the built up expectation and deliver that killer ending, that final knockout blow that leaves you stunned. Lord of the Rings didn’t do it for me, neither did Bone, Harry Potter was solid but not stellar, and Neon Genesis: Evangelion was a quagmire of existentialist navel gazing only partially rescued by the alternative ending. Still, Lone Wolf and Cub brought me to tears and Akira left me breathless so some do manage it.
