Every Time a Season; Every Character a Reason

If your copy of "The Count of Monte Cristo" looks like the cover that's included as a visual aide for this review, you've been duped and I hope you saved the receipt. You don't have "The Count of Monte Cristo." You have the Count of Monte Cristo's bastard midget cousin with attention deficit disorder.

The book offered on these pages is the abridged version. The "I'm too busy to read and too stupid to care" version. It's what pretentious jerks carry on the bus to look like they're reading something important.

"Viva la guillotine!" I say to those pansies.

It's a monster of a book, my version boasting almost 1100 pages. But every single page is necessary. Some have and will complain of too much detail, or conversations that don't matter. These people are dangerous to your brain and should be kicked in the head immediately.

Here's why: We're not idiots. Really. And we don't have the attention spans of gnats. We've just been told that we do so that we'll buy more crap. The more commercials we can be subjected to, the more images that can flash in front of our eyes, the less likely we are to question and the more likely we are to just respond. And that, friends and neighbors, gets us into trouble.

So here's this great adventure story. It's got treasure and false imprisonment and vampires and secret castles and revenge and love and death and murder and granted it doesn't have Billy Crystal in a cameo as Miracle Max -- but it has all the things that Colombo told that kid from "The Wonder Years" a good book needs.

This book is a take your time book. It's a sit in a good chair and drink cocoa book. It's a warm blanket and good cookies book. It's a book that you want to make sure you can gasp audibly when something surprising happens without drawing too much attention to yourself.

Because you're going to gasp. And you're going to get excited. And you're going to fret and worry and ponder and expect and hope (and even worry about hoping and expecting). Because this book kicks a$$. This book gets in your head and kicks your heads a$$.

So thumb your nose at the abridged version. March right for that big thick copy and settle down for one of the last great stories we'll ever see (especially if someone doesn't take the typewriters away from Tom Clancy, Michael Crichton, John Grisham, and Anne Rice).

You're gonna gasp.

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UPDATE:

Several people have said, "Mike, when are you going to cut that witty and ironic album of cover tunes with Madonna and Sandra Bernhardt." And when they're not asking that, they want to know if I can add a bit more detail to my reviews.

No.

See, I've read too many reviews that give too much away. "So, it comes as a shock to the reader that the Belgian maid is not only a transsexual disguised as a lifeguard, but (s)he is also responsible for all the deaths, including that of the beloved family pet, Bootsie."

I don't wanna do that. I want you to be shocked and amazed. I want you to have to pay attention (my only heads up is this: it wouldn't be a bad idea to write down the name of everyone you're introduced to in the book. Really. People come back in the oddest ways...). I want you to read this the way it was meant to be read: with little preparation.

But, in the interest of getting even more of those "Very Helpful" ratings that make my life worth living (that and making fun of Ann Jillian), here's all I'm gonna tell you:

Edmond Dantes is a golden 20 year old. Not the type to hang out with Leonardo DiCaprio; instead, I'd imagine him and Elijah Wood talking about how fame makes them even more adorable. Anyway, he's 20, he's golden, and he's about to be named captain of his own ship. On top of that, he's engaged to be married to his childhood sweetheart (a looker named Mercedes who's not named after the car).

Turns out, not very many people like a golden boy. One of the shipmates, a man named Danglars, and a love-struck cousin of Mercedes, a man named Fernandes, conspire and plot to ruin Edmond's life. They have him branded a Bonapartist and thrown into prison for life.

Of course he escapes (the book is 1100 pages long and all this occurs in the very beginning). But how and to where and to find out who the heck this Count of Monte Cristo is, you'll need to read the book.

I only hope I haven't given too much away, telling you she's not named after a car and all...