Moving On From Monte Cristo.

I’ve abandoned Monte Cristo. I’ll read four hundred pages in four days if I’m interested, but it’s telling that I made a comment about this book months ago and today I’m only 650 pages in. I realise it’s taken me far too long to get to where I am and I do not have the time to waste while waiting for this to go somewhere. I stuck with it out of some bizarre sense of obligation, but I’ve come to my senses. I know: I’m some sort of literary philistine, but I’m not a patient man and no amount of social standing will make me revere something any more than it deserves. Classic or no, I’m bored of this obnoxiously opulent Mary Sue, sub plots like woodworm that don’t lead anywhere, and the literary equivalent of corpse-bloat. Revenge epic? I wish. There’s more padding here than a lunatic asylum in a mattress factory.
Dumas can do one.

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