Before ever reading Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, I was enticed by the movie. Yep, the movie. The one that is nothing like the book, except for some vague references. It's not uncommon for a book to be better than the movie version, so it was no surprise to me that I liked the book more. What did surprise me was that the book ended up being one of my most favorite. Originally written in French way back in the 1800s, I rely on the mercy of the translator to convey Dumas' true artistry and intention.
The Count of Monte Cristo follows the tragedy surrounding protagonist Edmond Dantes as his near-perfect world is stolen from him by the same people he professes to be his closest friends. Spending over a decade in the prison Chateau d'If, he breaks out with secrets of treasure gained from a fellow inmate, along with hunger for revenge. Lost in the passion of destroying his enemies one-by-one, Dantes, assuming the alias of the Count of Monte Cristo, reenters the world and weaves it to his will. His obsession with revenge ultimately leads to his loss of humanity, leaving him cold and alone.
Such brilliant story telling should not be missed. There is a reason this tale has lasted the test of time and has intrigued millions of readers over the past 1.5 hundred years. I make it a point to reread this book every few years or so.
The next novel on my shelf (as I don't own it on my Kindle) is the second book in the Dexter series, Dearly Devoted Dexter by Jeff Lindsay.