Emile Zola: L'assommoir (The Drinking Den)

It's been a while since I've been so thoroughly affected by a book.  Somehow Zola managed to capture me in Gervaise's world so thoroughly that, although It's summer, and I just ate, I finished this book feeling cold and hungry, and wondered as I looked in the mirror whether someone would give me a few francs for my hair so I could buy a crust of bread.

I can't help but compare this a little to Stendahl's failure in The Red and the Black.  I didn't understand a single thing those characters did , and approved of none of their choices.  As comparatively unsympathetic as Gervaise was in L'Assommoir, I not only understood every thought she had, and every debasement to which she was brought, but found myself agreeing with her more often than not.

The neatest trick, however, was that even as it was clear where the story was going, and that it would end in nothing but despair, Zola held out jussssssst enough hope that I thought maybe she could pull out of it, that maybe she would turn it around in the last chapter.  It's not such a great trick to paint a picture of human misery.  Midnight Cowboy comes to mind as a good example.  What makes this book stand out--aside from its charming dialogue, artistic language, and intricate characters--is that it made me fight for Gervaise all the way to the last page, instead of surrendering to the muck halfway through.  If one were to set this to music, it would combine all the best elements of Carmen, Traviata and Street Scene, and become an operatic masterwork.