A Life

I read Maupassant's 'A Life' yesterday. It was supposed to be a part of the reading balance, must keep to high-brow a while after all that SW trash. The thing is, I expected to do it as a duty. Instead, it was wonderful.

It follows the life of a girl, Jeanne and her expectations from it. Her illusions fade and she becomes more and more cynical of life. Her eventual marriage is a farce and everyone she loves seems to become tarred. Through it all she still seeks to bestow her love on something. The book ends with her looking down upon her granddaughter and another character says "Happy things come in their own time."

How did he do it? How did he put himself so well under the skin of a woman like her? It was real. His characters are changeful, diversion-seeking and layered. I disliked almost every one of them as people, but that's me, I don't like people. And in spite of my disliking everyone and shaking my head over all of them, I loved the book. I'm thinking of it all the time.
It makes me think. Relationships are sacred and fragile. Good ones are rare. And life just is. Illusions are one's own fault. Sometimes one has to take the shit.

There's a point to all this moralising, Bloggy. I tend to think that happiness happens. I think you have to make happiness happen and take every little bit of it you can find because it is not the usual fare.

Anyway, the blah ends there. Great book. A little disturbing, but full points for realism and naturalistic portrayal of men and women. Guy, you had me from the go..