George Sand, The Bagpipers

My dad found this cool old copy of The Bagpipers at the Whitman College bookstore, and gave it to me for Christmas. I recognized George Sand's name, but really didn't know anything about her other than that, like the similarly masculinely-monikered George Elliot, she was a woman.

It was my primary reading material while I was in Washington over the holidays, as I had somehow managed to bring only Deleuze and Guattari with me and they weren't exactly the light reading I was looking for. The Bagpipers ended up fitting the bill fairly perfectly, actually.

Sand was apparently quite the character--walking around Paris in men's dress, smoking tobacco, and taking a variety of famous lovers, of which Chopin is perhaps the best known. The book, alternatively, seemed quite tame and traditional, although I did think I detected hints of feminist leanings in places.

Set approximately a century before it was written in 1853, and framed as the story of a grandfather telling about his youth, it is a romantic look back at simpler times. The female characters are beautiful and virtuous, the men strong and capable, and the elderly brimming with gentle wisdom. I didn't find it as eye-rollingly romanticized as The Deerslayer (1841), as deep as The Scarlet Letter (1850), as scandalous as Madame Bovary (1857), or as contrived as Silas Marner (1861), but it nestled familiarly with their memories in my brain--as much, I think, for the rhythms of the language as for any subject matter similarities.

Actually, if you feel like a little light nineteenth century French literature, I'd say this is a pretty good bet. I did enjoy it.