B is for Bizarrely Sweet Balzac

What I read: Novellas by Honoré de Balzac.

For no reason whatsoever, I'd always assumed Balzac was a long-winded "profound" writer—a French James Joyce. I'd also assumed he was really, really depressing; I guess I saw too many depressing French films in college.

He isn't—depressing, that is. And the first novella I read, "The Secrets of the Princess De Cadignan," had an unbelievably sweet ending. I thought it was headed towards Yes, Prime Minister type cynicism, and then, whammy, an ending which completely surprised and touched me.

I moved on to "Gobseck" which was interesting mainly because it proved to me that Balzac is a good writer—I'm always impressed by a writer who can effortlessly present a story told by a narrator who includes, in his narration, a story told by another character: all without losing me.

I didn't enjoy "The Vicar of Tours." One thing Balzac does supremely well is characterization. I cared far too much about the poor, vacuous Abbé Birotteau to endure what I knew was coming ("The Vicar of Tours" does not have a surprise sweet ending)—though Abbé Troubert is a great "bad" guy. (I put "bad" in quotation marks because I'm not sure Balzac created any total bad guys, but then my exposure is limited.)

Still, Balzac reinforces what I essentially believe, to a point: many truly great writers deserve their great reputations. I don't understand all the history stuff in Balzac but the prose is impressive. (He is yet another author who illustrates that throwing readers into the deep end doesn't mean abandoning them there.)

2023: I am sorry to state that despite obviously enjoying my exposure to Balzac, I did not--in the intervening years--become a Balzac fan. I haven't read anything by Balzac since. At some point, I will post about why people keep reading what they read: what we feel we should read, what we admire, what we consider well-written, and what we love. The four things are not the same.