Moll Flanders, Daniel Defoe, 1722.
Fatigue in judging this book.
It 's very hard to keep posted the two reviews: one on the work and its author and that the character of Moll.
Moll: I originally tried for her tenderness. This "little lady" who was afraid of having to submit to those rules written for her by a life that had not smiled.
But this tenderness is exhausted already after the first 30/40 pages.
Moll Flanders is a character that makes me shudder.
He was lucky, more than he imagined and he deserved, and despite this, continued the bad road from which he could not depart, relying on the pathetic excuse of his uncomfortable situation that had led it to behave like that, even when it's inconvenient, pathetic and helpless there was just nothing.
steals, abandons the children without remorse, combining for weddings and all this without any scruples sena a real need, because the real need, the real misery, has long since passed.
And what is worse, peppering the account of his life of little pearls of wisdom to leave to posterity, placing for example not to follow but always justifying their actions unjustifiable.
DeFoe, we are very far from Robinson Crusoe. It 'difficult to form an opinion about the author because his intentions are not clear. It is not clear whether he wanted to draw a portrait of a woman to condemn it or simply outline some falls attributable to human misery.
If his intent was to outline a bleak and loathsome protagonist (and a vague feeling that leaves me to think it is), my hat, because he succeeded perfectly.
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