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219 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1832
I can imagine patriotism in free or virtuous nations, if there are any such. But here on French soil, where, whatever people may say, the soil lacks arms to work it, where every profession is full to overflowing with aspirants, where the human species, crowding in sickening fashion about the palaces of the great, crawls and licks the footprints of the rich man; where vast sums, heaped up according to all the laws of social wealth in the hands of a few men, are the stakes in the never-ending game between greet, immorality and stupidity, in this land of immodesty and poverty, of vice and desolation. and you expect me to be a citizen in this rotten civilization—rotten to its core? to sacrifice my desires, my inclination, my caprice to its needs, that I may be its dupe or its victim, and that the coin which I might have tossed to the beggar shall fall into the millionaire's strong-box.I knew I was taking a risk taking up yet another Dupin with less ratings than and an equally low average rating to the first work I read of hers. However, I truly was surprised by that first Indiana, so when the opportunity to read more of the author arose in a combination of a suitable reading women challenge and a fortuitous book sale showing, I grabbed it. In hindsight, the fact that both that first work and this second one were published in the same year makes me think that Dupin struck an uneven balance with regards to theme, plot, and digression between the two, and 'Indiana' got far more of the quality part of that partitioning. As one can plainly see from the quote above, there are some instances where Dupin really lets loose in the best way possible, and if you're one of those US citizens who can't see the similarities between that long ago France and today's state of the union, you've got another thing coming. However, that kind of content, as well as some interesting commentary on shifts in French mores from the 18th c. to the 19th., likely only took up two to three pages, of the work, and the rest of it was so choked with gynephobic drama, seesawing character "development," and one of the most disappointing conclusions I've encountered in recent times, that I'm going to think twice before I take another chance on one of her other works.
Must we part with every ray of sunlight in order to assure the solidity of our walls of ice?