I just finished The Count of Monte Cristo. Overall, it was undeniably a good book. It’s a classic for a reason. Well written, ambitious, and incredibly intricate. The scope alone is impressive. A long, carefully interwoven story where every action echoes forward in time.
The revenge Edmond Dantès takes on Caderousse, Danglars, Villefort, and Fernand is especially intricate. What’s interesting is that he doesn’t destroy them directly. Dumas could’ve had Dantès go Tarantino on their asses. Instead, he presses on levers they themselves put in motion. Their own flaws of greed, ambition, and power become the instruments of their downfall. From a purely narrative standpoint, that’s clever and satisfying.
That said, there were moments where I felt confused. For example, the shift in the book between the first part and the second—where years pass and Edmond suddenly possesses immense wealth, knowledge, and influence—left me disoriented. At first, it felt like the book was starting over. Which, as I read on, made more sense. But nonetheless, emotionally it felt abrupt.
I was also not entirely clear to what degree Monte Cristo planted the idea in Madame de Villefort’s head to poison all the heirs connected to Noirtier. While he may not have directly planted the idea, he played on her selfishness, and it felt like he crossed the line from revenge to pure evil. And the ending left me disoriented too. It seemed like Dumas was setting up Maximilien Morrel to be reunited with Valentine. But again and again he showed us how dead she was. I found myself wanting to Google it all to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important, because things just weren’t adding up.
Those things aside, it didn’t fully resonate with me for deeper reasons.
I tend to be drawn to stories where there’s meaningful transformation in a character from beginning to end. Some redemptive turn, some internal reckoning. The kinds of stories associated with Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey”, for example. The arc of tragedy of identity, loss of self, symbolic death, and then some kind of resurrection or return, completely changed.
That arc feels deeply human. The death-and-resurrection story.
Edmond Dantès has a version of this. In prison, he essentially dies. He even wants to kill himself. Then he finds hope through his friendship with Abbé Faria. But even there, his transformation isn’t one of healing or renewal. It’s vengeance. Retaliation becomes his modus operandi.
I didn’t feel deeply connected to this vengeance-driven narrative. They have power (again, Tarantino) but often feel incomplete and hollow. Because vengeance breeds vengeance. Anger breeds anger. There’s no real end. No sense of wholeness or redemption.
Monte Cristo talks over and over about playing God. Being the hand of God in bringing justice. For someone seemingly so wise, this is not wisdom, it’s folly. And it’s all taken too far when Villefort’s son becomes collateral damage.
From that perspective, the resolution felt hollow.
His mission of living purely for revenge doesn’t resonate on a personal level, either. It’s not how I want to live. When someone wrongs me, building my entire future as a reaction to their actions feels like letting them continue to control my life. It’s not a life of creative freedom.
I want to let go, rather than seek revenge. To choose what I want to pursue, rather than allowing anger to dictate my life path. That doesn’t mean anger isn’t real or valid. But holding onto it long-term isn’t life-giving.
It feels strange to be critical of such a masterfully woven novel. It’s a feat I will never be able to accomplish. Yet, it didn’t draw me in emotionally or provoke much reflection about my own life. A well-crafted, entertaining story, but not a transformative one.