The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas | Review

"Kind, trustful, and forgiving as I was, I made myself vengeful, secretive, and cruel."

This novel is the most complete I have read to date. Dumas wrote with a grandness and intrigue which I believe is unparalleled. Lately, I have noticed that although Dumas is celebrated in his own right, he has become underrated, referred to somewhat dismissively as a novelist purely of high adventure, which is misleading and neglects so many other majestic elements of his work. Indeed, this novel's plot takes precedence over more subtle features which the existentialist and realist Russian novelists got more of a firm grip on during the 19th century. However, it is essential that we do not over-simplify the undisputed genius of Alexandre Dumas.

Written over 1,250 pages, 'The Count of Monte Cristo' can certainly not be criticised for its lack of vivid detail and richness. It is indicative of Dumas' mastery that he managed to write such a long novel but leave us yearning for more. Of course, the sense of frenetic adventure leaps out of the pages, but in another way, the deftness of certain encounters is sublimely measured by Dumas. For admirers of 'The Three Musketeers', this novel’s length (almost twice as long) is an immensely attractive and exciting prospect. Imogen Russell Williams has gone further, noting, 'Monte Cristo is the acme of Alexandre Dumas' oeuvre, demonstrating his inimitable mastery of high adventure, deadly intrigue, revenge, and general derring-do.' Remarkable in its individuality, there are seemingly no limits to how much we can cherish this Dumas masterpiece.

Our hero is Edmond Dantès, a handsome and clever man not yet twenty. He returns to Marseille to marry his Catalan fiancée, Mercédès, and become captain of his ship. However, a plot born out of jealously sets in motion the ultimate miscarriage of justice as Edmond is thrown into the gloom of the Chateau d'If, wrongly imprisoned on charges of facilitating a Bonapartist conspiracy. The first section of the novel detailing Edmond's developing friendship with fellow convict Abbé Faria would be worthy of classic status as its own standalone tale, yet we still have so much to enjoy from these passages. Edmond discovers the decades-old secret of the hidden treasure on the island of Monte Cristo and using this fortune, endeavours to enact vengeance upon those responsible for his incarceration.

From Edmond's legendary escape, we begin a story of retribution, unwavering loyalty, and spiritual enlightenment. Once he becomes The Count of Monte Cristo, our hero travels to Rome, where we devour Dumas’ most evocative and sumptuous writing. As the translator of the Penguin Classics edition, Robin Buss, has eloquently elucidated, 'Reading Dumas, we know how it felt to swept up in the crowd at the Carnival in Rome, to travel in a carriage through the Roman streets, to stay in a pensione. We can easily recognise the proud bandit, the bustling hotelier, the alluring women in the Carnival crowd.' Therefore, we can truly understand how Dumas not only crafted a story for the ages but also how he breathed life into each and every location he took us to, immersing us in the most lucid ways.

From Monte Cristo's arrival in Paris, where the majority of the novel plays out, we observe the devastating extrapolation of poisonous plots, return of old foes, and the deceptive disguises deployed by the scheming Count. We also witness the endearing and gradual development of the mysterious Count's inner circle of confidants, which adds even more complexity to his persona.

Once Monte Cristo's plan is in motion, it is fascinating to observe how Fate plays its part in the culmination of years of preparation and the irreparable implications of his concoction. As Williams beautifully notes, 'He's driven by past trauma and injustice - but is ultimately forced to confront the fact that he, too, has strayed from the side of the angels, becoming almost as pernicious as the villains.' Here, we can appreciate another layer to Dumas' writing in that he demands us to confront the morality of Monte Cristo's intentions, bringing us full circle in this divine saga.

The prospect of putting into words how much you adore a novel as exquisite as this one is daunting to say the least. When a novel has such a reputation as this one, saying something original is difficult, especially when you try to condense a 1,250-page novel into a readable and succinct ‘review’. I almost wish Dumas and his ghostwriter Auguste Maquet could do that bit for me, such was their ability in capturing a moment or an emotion so deftly.

Although, as Buss has noted, the novel is 'character viewed more as an imaginative construct than a psychological novelist would conceive it', I love the idea that we can never truly understand Monte Cristo. It leaves us with a legacy to discuss over and over, re-evaluating the splendid profundity of such a character. In a similar way to how we can revisit the likes of Hamlet and Don Quixote, the heroes of Dumas novels are worthy of similar treatment because of their innate moral significance. For this, 'The Count of Monte Cristo' deservedly sits right at the top of our Western canon alongside the essential texts of Shakespeare, Cervantes, Dostoyevsky and more.

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