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Dear Madame Bovary, I read your story. To be honest, it took me quite some time to make my way through it. It's been a long time, since i've last been this conflicted with what i read. I felt for you, i got mad at you. I wanted to help you, I wanted to shake you. To be frank, i don't like you as a person. You are lazy and selfish and arogant. You expected the world to be crawling at you feet only because you desired it. You lied and you cheated. You made horrible mistakes and blamed other people for it. But than again, i admired you. You were unhappy, due to poor choises. You could have stuck with it, except your fate and be unhappy for the rest of your life. But you did not. You made poor choices, knowing perfectly well just how bad the consequenses would be. You were unhappy and you chose to struggle. You risked it all in the hope for some happiness and pleasure. While i disagree with you on so many things, things you said and done and thought, i do it admire that. So, while i do not like you, even loathed you at some points, i do get you. Never mind the reasoning behind everything you did, you were in a cage and you wanted to be free. And i do understand that. So, we will never be friends, yet you have my respect. Yours sincecerly, T
Misfritz.com informiert. Hätte doch Fontane denselben Mut gehabt wie Flaubert, der wegen seiner mutigen Forderung nach Gleichberechtigung der Frau vor Gericht stand, den Prozess allerdings gewann, nachdem die Pariser Intellektuellen den nötigen Druck ausübten. Effie Briest dagegen, so wunderbar der Anfang ist, endet kümmerlich, obrigkeitshörig. Im preußischen Polizeistaat wäre Fontane auch bestimmt im Kerker gelandet.