Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo

Mercy McAndrew

Mr. Alexandre Dumas weaves elements of every genre together through his incredible fictional book. Pirates, treasure, love… Oh my! This tale of revenge follows Edmond Dantès, a soon to be husband to the young Mercédès and the soon to be captain of the merchant ship, the Pharon. Of course, jealousy follows good fortune, and the antagonists of the tale seek to eradicate Dantès and his luck once and for all. Framed as a radical Bonapartist, Dantès must serve a life sentence in the impenetrable prison, the Château d'If.

The rest of the story follows the revenge plot of Dantès (aka. The Count of Monte Cristo, Sinbad the Sailor, Abbè Busoni, and more). In fact, the character of ‘Dantès’ is no more as he chooses to be a man of many faces following his prison break. In the second half of the book, Dumas creatively reintroduces the reader back into the antagonists’ lives (with some additional added OPs), who seem to all be very successful, rich, and of high status. There are plots inside of plots inside of plots, all critical to the master plan and storyline. Heartbreak, generational trauma, and secrecy wrack every character’s life. In these themes, Dantès reveals the antagonists’ flaws which prove to be fatal. In fact, my one critique of the book is that I wish there were harsher punishments for some of the antagonists. (Am I a sadist??)

If you’re not hooked on a slow burning plot of revenge and angst, perhaps some of these other themes may pique your interest: lesbianism, fate, trickery, and forbidden love. And don’t worry, these additional themes are prominent parts of the story, too! Truly, Dumas is a man ahead of his time. For a book published in the 1840s, there are still relevant and overlapping scenarios that exist, creating an importance in examining this text even in the 21st century.

One of my favorite plot arcs implicates a lesbian relationship in which a forbidden love cannot be shared or discovered by family members. These women must navigate societal bindings that threaten to impose arranged marriages to men for childbearing purposes thus creating a future in which little autonomy is recognized. Imagine being a woman who did not want to fit or could not fit into clearly defined societal roles and expectations. (Oh wait, sounds a little familiar…) Though those revealed as queer in the 19th century would face being ‘othered’, ostracized, cast out, imprisoned, or destitute, a lot of these themes still persist today. Dumas himself does not risk completely recognizing this relationship as a lesbian-coded one due to the threat of his book being too radical. However, the implications are strong, and in creating these cues that the reader can pick up on, Dumas calls out societal and familial pressures that create toxic standards and norms. This technique is something I deem as groundbreaking in terms of the time this novel was written and published.

Furthermore, he prods his readers to larger questions about what true love and freedom look like through queerness. True love and freedom can be found outside of heteronormative expectations. The closeness and understanding between these women, though not overtly sexual in the text, can be seen as representing a different kind of love, one that is emotionally intimate and sacrificial, free from the confines of marriage and heterosexual desire. This unique dynamic is not represented by any other character or romantic relationship.

If these sub-topics aren’t deep enough for you, and you’re still not hooked on reading this book let’s turn your attention to Dumas himself!

The literary canon consists of what we call classic literature; timeless, relevant, and poignant stories written primarily by old, white, straight men. You’ve probably heard of and read books in this genre. Now, if you’re not wanting to give any more attention to these boring stories and writers, many of which were very privileged before the 20th century, Dumas might be the perfect author for you. From an unordinary background, Dumas was born in 1802 to a successful general and the daughter of an innkeeper. His father came from a line of Afro-Caribbean slaves, which would prove to generate discrimination for Dumas during his lifetime and during his career. Despite criticism and operating in a heavy colonial system, Dumas found success through his many works and classics such as The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. I love a good ‘defying the system’ story, don’t you?

He used his mixed-race background and experiences to influence the topics of his writings, addressing injustices through the pen. Dumas pushed back on white, elite, French society, by writing stories for the masses which included the lower class. His tales of adventure, profiling common folk/the working class, including people of color, were deemed unsophisticated works. However, many classics have these categories, so what Dumas was truly experiencing was discrimination disguised (but not always disguised) as literary critic that his white counterparts did not face. The attempt to silence people of color is symbolically seen in one of the characters in The Count of Monte Cristo, Ali the African servant. Ali is mute, his tongue cut out many years before, yet he’s a capable, assertive, loyal, and observant man. I may be reaching here, but I see Dumas write himself into this character through Ali’s mute status reinforcing his position as a secondary character, one whose primary function is to serve the narrative needs of Dantès. This is similar to how French society would see and categorize African people, and perhaps what Dumas experienced. However, Dumas portrays a lovely friendship between Ali and Dantès, giving the future world hope that interracial friendships and respect are a possibility.

If you’re STILL not hooked, I don’t know what to tell you, bruh. But give The Count of Monte Cristo (the unabridged, full version) a try, and if you hate it, at least you can say you’re a more cultured person (you’re welcome). But if you love it, you’re welcome, again!