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320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1832
"‘I know I’m the slave and you’re the lord. The law of the land has made you my master. You can tie up my body, bind my hands, control my actions. You have the right of the stronger, and society confirms you in it. But over my will, Monsieur, you have no power. God alone can bend and subdue it. So look for a law, a dungeon, an instrument of torture that gives you a hold over me! It’s as if you wanted to touch the air and grasp space.’"And she does prove exactly how much will she has by following the direction of another man in the end. Yeah. Spoiler alert.
It was not the first time that Raymon saw a woman take love seriously, although, fortunately for society, such cases are rare; but he knew that promises of love are not binding on a man’s honour, again fortunately for society. Sometimes, too, the woman who had demanded these solemn pledges from him was the first to break them.I don't think this was intended to be funny (!), but I couldn't help but laugh. There were other passages of his wooing Indiana that were just over the top.
Sand came to writing at the very moment when, under the joint impetus of Stendhal and Balzac, the literary movement that has come to be known as realism was rising to the dominant position it was soon to achieve. Seeking to obtain the literary legitimation that being a realist writer bestows, Sand’s first edition of and first preface to Indiana are replete with protestations of her allegiance to the familiar ideology of realism, namely that it has no ideology: it is pure reproduction, a mirror without a curve, a machine that merely registers material phenomena and events without distorting them. ‘The writer is only a mirror which reflects them [society’s inequalities and fate’s whims], a machine which traces their outline, and he has nothing for which to apologize if the impressions are correct and the reflection is faithful.’As a fan of both Balzac and Stendahl (and I hope to get to each of them this challenge season), I was very glad to read this section. Indiana, Sand's first novel, comes in at the bottom of my 4-star group, and I might be a tad generous at that.
As long as he religiously respects the lives and the money of his fellow citizens, nothing more is asked of him. He may beat his wife, mistreat his servants, ruin his children, and it is no one's business. Society condemns only those acts that do it harm; it is not concerned with private life.I baffle myself sometimes with what I end up liking. First The Coquette, now this. It's not like this work isn't horrendously dramatic or that the resulting ending is rather squick in a period when the marriage of first cousins aren't nearly as encouraged and the age of consent is no longer seven, but this work reminds me that, if Hugo hadn't digressed as much as he did in Les Misérables, I honestly wouldn't have liked this as much. Yes, the sudden switches to political discourse don't seem like much of a break in between dramatic declarations of love and self-annihilation, but if author truly takes seriously, the question of how one builds up a society that doesn't just aid but also necessitates human sacrifice, that is my bread and butter, however long ago the story is set. Yes, Dupin says some ridiculous shit with regards to gender essentialism, but I'll take what I can get, and the balance between good and bad tipped over to the good before the conclusion settled in and the characters coalesced. In summary, I'm not surprised this work has a shit rating, but I've seen other works be forgiven for a lot more than it commits here, so I'm glad that I ignored the community reviews enough to sail on through as much as I did, tedious as it may have gotten at times.
At all times and under all regimes, moreover, some critics have so little faith in their own literary talent that they feel they must curry official by denigrating that of other writers—a strange function to fulfill vis-à-vis their fellows! They have never found the government's harsh measures against the press sufficiently savage: they would like to see those measures enforced not only against the works but also against their creators, and if they had their way, some of us would be forbidden to write anything at all.Dupin's an author whose life is admittedly more fascinating than this particular work of hers, so while some may do a double take at the fact that this particular edition has no less than four introductions, three composed by the author herself for various editions released during her lifetime, I was rather thrilled to get a partial (auto)/bio along with the narrative for the price of a single paperback fiction. Afterwards, the going was rather slow, but I did appreciate Dupin's talent at setting a scene, because as I said previously, I do like a good digression on more aesthetic descriptions if it's done well. This didn't last so long, and while the beginning third or so was replete with racialized nonsense as occurred whenever the mulatto character Noel appeared, the rest of the novel was able to delve into some interesting analysis of what happens when human beings who had the potential to not be nitwits and/or assholes are thrust into a social spectrum that only accepts one and/or the other type in its "honorable" citizenship. If you don't like history or political theory in your fiction, this isn't the novel for you. In my case, once I filled in some of the knowledge blanks that commonly fill in a gaps between the French Revolution, Napoleon, and the barricades of the 1840's, I had a good enough grasp on the negotiations and exasperations and exultations and, ultimately, conflagrations that are common side effects of the communications between those who have bread and those who have not. Indiana's travails were in some ways gendered extensions of this conflict, and as the introduction describes, the three men in her life serve well as alternative governments: all of them suck, but one admittedly offers succor until a better system can be developed. I also have a morbid fascination with authors who are able to display characters at their lowest points without devolving into sensationalist or voyeuristic bullshit, and I have to say, if Dupin never had any experience with reasoning through suicidal urges, I'll eat my hat. Her writing about the self-manipulations characters undergo as a combination of nature, nurture, and societal pressure is, for the most part, deeply incisive and brutally honest, and all the hysterics and giving into stereotypes that happen in parts can't hide that. As such, I'm not surprised Flaubert and others loved her so much. The only shame is that the modern world has good reasons for not affording the same.
Do you men have no courage except the physical courage that can confront death? Are you incapable of the moral courage that can accept unhappiness?At long last, I can add "George Sand" to "George Eliot" in the list of women writers known by oddly similar remnants of fundamentally puerile societies that insist on creeping in on the corners of today. I don't love her nearly as much as I do Evans, but neither do I think she deserves the abysmal ratings and low amounts of ratings in comparison to her contemporaneous male cohorts. Despite the do-gooder overtones of the ending, this work does not at all handle race well, and the ending male character's soliloquy was more skeevy than touching, but Dupin demonstrates a political awareness that modern authors could learn from, and there should be no fear of digressions if one values holistic narratives over one shot climaxes. As such, if another so-termed 'George Sand' work floats my way, I wouldn't have any real reason to not acquire it. I'm also dead set on acquiring a good biography of Dupin, as it shows more than one nauseatingly familiar historical figure in an astonishingly new light, and gender ambiguity with a feminine touch has always been my jam. All in all, this has been a valuable trek back into the past. I won't deny that this isn't most readers' cup of tea, but it's enough that it happened to be mine.
The most honest man is the one who is the best thinker and doer; the most powerful man, the one who is the best speaker and writer.
Tell me how you feel and think, and I will tell you your political opinions.