Flaubert is everything to me
I wrote about his letters
I’ll simply reproduce the overly earnest caption I wrote on Instagram here, since I’m working on writing a book introduction (I didn’t write the book) and want to save my best sentences (I can only extract so many from my brain a day) for that more important project. Here it is! We—humanity in general, me in particular—will never recover from Flaubert’s death. I cannot tell you how sad it makes me that this inimitable soul will never write another word. His letters are a gift, a perfection of personality crystallized on the page. He would’ve hated that sentence and sentiment but it’s true. He was so totally himself, despite himself. There will never be another one like him. I love him so much. Luckily, as Flaubert knew better than anyone, the best part of us is distilled into our style, and Flaubert’s style lives on. J have much, much more to say about Flaubert, but I’ll probably write about him at greater length in my next book! For now, it would mean a lot to me if you read this piece and of course did yourself the more important favor of reading his peerless letters.