“1875: at fifty-three years old, Gustave Flaubert considers himself a finished man. Threatened with financial ruin, overwhelmed with sorrow, incapable of writing, he wishes he was dead.
He decides to spend the fall in Concarneau, where a scientist ...
“1875: at fifty-three years old, Gustave Flaubert considers himself a finished man. Threatened with financial ruin, overwhelmed with sorrow, incapable of writing, he wishes he was dead.
He decides to spend the fall in Concarneau, where a scientist friend of his runs the marine biology station. There, for two months, Flaubert took sea baths, walked on the coast, stuffed himself with lobsters, observed the fishermen, and watched his friend dissect mollusks and fish.
One day, in his small hotel room, he begins to write a medieval tale of great ferocity – to see, he says, if he is still capable of making a sentence...
From these proven elements, I imagined the novel of his idleness, the dream of his reverie, the legend of his healing. It could have been called: Gustave slaying the dragon of melancholy.
Alexandre Postel
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