Short Review: "Father Goriot" - Honoré de Balzac

I've been making circles in my brain trying to think of something to write for the past few days with very few ideas worth any effort, until today. It finally hit me—I really like to read, and I really feel good about finishing books. Sometimes, I have strong opinions about the books I go through, so... why don't I just share those opinions?

Well, for one, the main reason has always been the fact that I was taught in high school to write long essays about certain novels or books that I had to read, and those essays usually required a more or less deep analysis of the story, characters, and the main idea of whatever it was that I read.

But I'm no longer in high school, and I don't have to write 2000+ words and make a critique of a certain book in order to be graded. You can find enough articles that go into a lot of detail about a lot of books online if you want something more technical. I can just share my opinion on any book I finish without trying to sound like I know what I'm talking about.

So, the book that I finished last week was "Father Goriot" by Honoré de Balzac, or at least that's what I think the title is in English. In Romanian, which is the language of the book I have, it is "Moș Goriot", which basically translates to Old Goriot, "moș" basically referring to an old man.

Now, I've read a book or two written by Mr. Balzac in the past, and although I am not a huge fan, I did enjoy them. This one, however, with its 363 pages, didn't really catch my attention—at least not until around page 280, when things started to actually get interesting.

The book follows multiple characters, but specifically Eugène de Rastignac, Vautrin, and Père Goriot, those three being the ones that the story follows the most. Rastignac and Vautrin have a pretty dramatic relationship between them, with very few details being given about the latter's personal life. Directly related to Rastignac, there are three more characters that are mentioned mostly in relation to him (meaning they are rarely talked about outside of his presence): Countess Anastasie de Restaud, Delphine de Nucingen (both being the daughters of Goriot), and Madame de Beauséant, who is the cousin of Rastignac.

I won't really go into great detail about each character, but a brief description of the story goes like this: Rastignac, Vautrin, and Goriot all live in a pension alongside other, more minor characters, each with their own story and objectives. Rastignac's ambition is to become a member of the high society of Paris, Vautrin's ambition, we later find out, is to basically move to America, buy some farmland, some slaves, and live a good life, while Goriot's ambition is basically to keep his daughters happy at all costs, regardless of the required sacrifices.

The story mainly revolves around Rastignac and his journey toward the higher society—one that he quickly starts to venerate and ends up being disgusted by later on in the story, yet is still interested in "conquering it." The main objective of the book is to present to the reader the falsity and superficiality of high society, alongside its indifference to the "lower people" and their suffering, which we begin to specifically understand later on in the book by simply observing the events unfolding between Goriot and his two daughters.

That is, more or less, all I can say about the book without giving too many details that would spoil the story. It is all about a provincial who finally arrives in Paris to study, who falls in love with the idea of high society (and, as a consequence, with certain women) and is helped by his cousin, Madame de Beauséant, to at least touch the bottom of the invisible threads that form high society and witness, with horror, its uglier sides.

It's a beautiful story that also suffers a little (a little more) from overly emotional and too sentimental a language that, to me, is either boring or annoying—something that I noticed in more works from Balzac. All this "sweet language," this "saccharine," this over-emotional state in which every single character finds themselves, is either a subtle way in which feelings are exaggerated in order to express both human emotion and the comedy of it or some sort of mockery of what used to be the superficiality of Parisian society, which constantly had to take everything to the extreme in order to look "sensible" and "refined."

Regardless, although fun at times, it can quickly become irritating, and it is the case with Goriot, who goes on to describe, for many, many pages, his incredibly strong feelings (of a parental type) for his daughters and his divine love for them, which would motivate him to do absolutely anything just to assure their happiness and peace of mind—a promise (or a threat) that he eventually brings to fruition, something that also leads to his demise later on.

It is a good book that illustrates paternal love—the love of a father who wants nothing but for his daughters to be happy. But it is also a story about the cruelty of children toward the parent who is willing to do anything for them. And for what? For appearances and for a life that is often more vile than that of those who live in poverty.

In retrospect, it is a great book that makes you think a lot about the things that people used to look up to once—especially about a life that everyone fantasized about having. At the same time, it can also be a boring and exasperating read in which you are forced to go over sentences of "sweet talk" and feelings that people might find extreme, childish, and simply plain to the point of ridicule.

Do I recommend the book? Sure, especially if it's not something that you usually read. It will provide you with a better idea of how some authors use extreme and comedic emotion and behavior to portray the absurdity of society. I am more used to it than others, so perhaps it got to the point where it is more annoying than interesting since, after a while, you realize that in such books, getting to the point represents a fight between you and the exaggerated interactions between characters that are there just to ridicule... everything. Russian literature also suffers from this, to some extent, but that's another discussion.