Mme. Bovary. First it just was an exercise to show to my wife how _descriptions_ are _action_. I was trying to improved her everyday writing, you know, memos from work, informal/formal letters. I'm reading French just a little as English. So we are doing this... _exercises_ based upon an Spanish translate. And there it was. Just like I used to be remember it: fabrics that suddenly becomes a living creature embracing Emma B. nee Rouault, feelings that forms heavy lakes falling upon her, light that is light and sound and it taste like aluminum. Sorry to inform: is not a novel about couples, not even about a couple, not even about Emma. It's all about how you can tell a thing, whatever thing, not thinking about it as static dead thing but a living, fiery, not a few times menacing, whatever.
I read Madame Bovary a long time ago because in the old days when we visited East Berlin from the west they forced you to exchange some money into the worthless Ostmark. The only thing worth buying were books and even those were printed on terrible paper. I ended up with Madame Bovary and absolutely loved it, depressing as it is.
