Why You Have to Read The Count of Monte-Cristo
Carbon copy of a letter from Nina to her friend Millie (1958)
Paris, July 24th, 1958
Café de Flore, Saint-Germain-des-Prés
Dear Millie,
Remember the Count of Monte Cristo movie we watched together and how we said it was a tale of revenge, adventure, and romance… more fantasy than realism? That belief has only been reinforced by Robert Donat’s dashing portrayal of Edmond Dantès in the film, which helped cement the Count’s legend in popular imagination. But even then, I knew that the movie had taken liberties. After all, Dumas’ story, was first published in serial form over two years in the mid-19th century, and I had long suspected there was more to it than cinematic drama.
The magnetic bookmark in the photo is part of Nina's collection! You can find it in my shop.
Now that I’ve read every page, I can say with certainty: Dumas’ masterpiece is deeper and more layered than I ever imagined.
Dantès (the Count of Monte Cristo)’s struggle and thirst for revenge in't just about betrayal. It’s a direct response to a shaky nineteenth-century French society built on corruption, self-interest, and greed; a society where both the poor and the rich will trample the innocent without a second thought, just to rise or cling to their privilege.
What struck me most is how the young, naïve, and uneducated 19-year-old Dantès fails to connect the dots during the first years of his brutal captivity in the Château d’If. He’s unable to grasp the conspiracy that destroyed his life, which nearly drives him to suicide.
It’s only when he meets Abbé Faria, his cell neighbor and a political prisoner, that Dantès begins to understand the extent of his misfortune. Faria becomes more than just a fellow prisoner: he’s a mentor, an educator, a guiding light, a friend. He arms Dantès with the greatest treasure of all: knowledge, education, and culture… long before leading him to any buried gold. Dantès’s plan for revenge isn’t just the result of sudden wealth; it’s the product of an awakened mind. Now, he can think. He can plan. He can strategize.
Dantès’ plan of revenge takes nearly twenty years to perfect. But first, he understands a crucial truth: Parisian high society has its own set of codes, and only someone immensely wealthy can hope to penetrate its inner circle. Dumas explains, through masterful storytelling, how these people become and remain rich. It has little to do with talent or merit. In fact, it’s a closed circle, a world of opportunists who profit from political instability and shifting regimes. Dumas shows us that aristocrats and nouveaux riches of questionable means, like those very “friends” who once betrayed Dantès, aren’t too concerned about how a fortune is made, as long as it’s substantial.
In the movie, Dantès and his former fiancée, Mercédès, are given a neat “happily ever after.” But in the book, Dumas is much more grounded in realism, I feel. Through their story, Dantès eventually chooses to forgive… but more importantly, he learns to let go.
Ultimately (at least in my view) Dumas challenges the comforting idea that “bad guys get caught; good guys are rewarded.” You know I never believed in that, Millie. And it certainly doesn’t exist in this story. No villain here gets hit by a lightning bolt, falls off a cliff, or is suddenly diagnosed with a conveniently timed terminal illness. When Dantès makes his return, his enemies are living their best lives: wealthy, respected, unpunished. It’s only through his actions that justice is served.
Anyway, I had to get all of this off my chest before bursting into a dramatic monologue in the middle of Café de Flore.
Read it, Millie. Then write back… I need your verdict,