This was the most oddly paced book I've ever read. In order to fairly warn you away from this, there will be spoilers, though this is not difficult to do as one can sum up the plot in a few sentences.
It opens with a long buildup set in "modern" times, when explorers crack open an ancient tomb and are surprised to discover it contains the perfectly preserved mummy of a woman, Tahoser. This part feels like an excerpt from an Indiana Jones film, and though the author goes through pains to set up the personalities behind the expedition and excavation, you really never hear from these characters again.
Tucked into the arm of the mummy is the main story about Tahoser herself. But it is not much of a story. The first half is nothing but floridly beautiful descriptions of the wonders and riches of the Pharaoh. For page after page, each member of his army marching single file through Thebes on return from a satisfactory mission of raping and pillaging is detailed. We read about everything they eat and drink at the celebratory banquet, and we even know how the table was set. Then the novel shifts gears again... Tahoser! Oh yes, this is supposed to be about her!
Tahoser, it turns out, is in love with a Hebrew soldier who is in favor with the Pharaoh. Why, we don't know. They've never even met. But she is madly in love with him, rest assured. For no reason whatsoever, she follows this man one night as he sneaks off from Thebes to a ghetto on the opposite side of the Nile, only to find that he is visiting his betrothed. Discovering this, she flips out. So, our main heroine is a stalker. But that's all right, because Pharaoh has the hots for Tahoser, and he whisks her away on his chariot, groping and molesting her all the way back to Thebes. How romantic.
Anyway, we are now two chapters until the end of the book, and so far, we have no idea what made Tahoser so special that the Egyptians would have gone through such trouble to mummify her with such perfection and to leave her story behind for generations to come. But now, Moses and Aaron show up in Pharaoh's court, like bosses. They want Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go off into the desert to worship God. From here, we get almost a literal retelling of the famous Exodus story from the Bible. Pharaoh drowns in the Red Sea stubbornly chasing after the Hebrews. Who will rule over the Egyptians now that Pharaoh is dead?
Oh yeah! This is supposed to be Tahoser's story! Well, she becomes queen and the end.
What the...?!
Literally, this novel spent more time talking about the flowers on the freaking dining room table than it did Tahoser! All we ever learn about her is that she was superhuman hot. Okay. And? She does nothing for her people or for the Jews, nor does she do anything except stalk a man, pout like a child, and get abducted by a rich king who wants some bedroom action. And to put the icing on a cake of incredibly bad taste, there is some creepy bits about the financier lord of the expedition getting turned on over Tahoser's mummy. Geez, even this poor woman's corpse gets no respect. What's a gal need to do to get some peace and quiet around here?
It is insulting for people to call this an historical novel. It is not. It is a prose fantasy written in the Romantic style with poetic sensibility. If it were an historical, it missed a major opportunity to tell an interesting story, namely of the Exodus of the Jewish people from Egyptian rule from an Egyptian perspective. But this novel did not want to tell a story. It wanted to convey feelings of classical beauty. It wanted someone to write music to it, which Fanelli did eventually do over half a century later. It wanted poets to swoon over it, and for artists to babble over it in French over absinthe in open-air cafes. It wanted you to love the IDEA of a Tahoser as much as the author did. But, I think it misses somehow.
Folks, the only reason I didn't rate this novel a single star was because it is beautifully written, having been penned by one of the greatest poets of the industrial age. And I do appreciate the context of Romanticism and the European affection for all things "Oriental" in which Gautier was writing at the time. This book was meant to be more of a painting through a symphony of prose, depicting the most delectable of pleasures, at least to a horny mid-19th Century French kid. But please... don't waste your time.