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400 pages, Paperback
Published April 22, 1999
'Yes, I have loved him—as I loved you—for an instant—less than I loved you, perhaps. But now I don't love anything, and I hate myself for ever having loved you.'Carmen is a free spirit, but traditionally defined love is a shackle, a cage, which she feels suffocated by. She loves in the moment, but José demands eternity from her. Despite Carmen's deceptions and tricks, her crimes and abandonments, we sympathize with her, much moreso than with the Don. Carmen has a freedom which we all envy, but which we consciously let elude us. We are afraid of the kind of freedom and detachment which Carmen needs to live. Despite his rough exterior, José is far more civilized and chained to tradition than Carmen, and we see him at the end not as a hidalgo, but as a modern man, given up to his passions, but afraid to follow them to their fruition. While he represented as an early symbol of freedom, to the narrator on his travels, a kind of idealized and Romantic figure, he is reduced at the end to a prisoner. The prison is symbolic of his own imprisonment, he self-styled cage of his conventions and expectations, which withhold him from true happiness in the moment with Carmen. Though Carmen is murdered, it feels to us like a freer and more appropriate fate for her than marriage, which seems to us impossible.
I cast myself at her feet, I seized her hands, I watered them with my tears, I reminded her of all the happy moments we had spent together, I offered to continue my brigand’s life, if that would please her. Everything, sir, everything—I offered her everything if she would only love me again.
She said: 'Love you again? That's not possible! Live with you? I will not do it!'