‘You’ve been unbelievably imprudent!’ said Raymon, carefully closing the door behind him. ‘And my servants know you’re here! They’ve just told me.’
‘I made no secret of my presence,’ she replied coldly, ‘and, as for the word you use, I think it ill-chosen.’
‘I said imprudent; I ought to have said insane.’
‘I would have said courageous. But it doesn’t matter.'
No, no, it does matter, and I would like to get back to using the word insane. This novel was insane. Seriously, there was nothing sane amidst the high drama in this story. There was no sane person among the characters in this story. All of whom deserved to be slapped repeatedly by the way.
At some point when reading this I asked whether Sand wrote this as satire, but apparently she did not. This was, apparently, an earnest attempt at a story and at characters.
I am really torn about this book, because I can't decide whether I liked it: plot, characters, and style, were all over the place. There were inconceivable and weird turns, there were high dramatics, there were tantrums, there was a lot of sentimentality.
And, yet, at no point did I want to set the book aside. At no point did I want to DNF this.
I guess this is because the plot was so incredibly packed with moments that astonished me, that I just had to watch this train wreck of a novel until the end.
And what an end this was!
I guess I should have written about how Indiana is Sand making a stand for women's rights, and the emancipation of women as individuals who are equal under law, and the general struggle of individuals of both sexes against the social constrictions of her time, but, oh boy, that would mean that I would have to take Indiana serious as a novel.
And that I just cannot do.
For all the courage, sass, and modernism that Sand stands for, I have to separate the author from this particular book. This particular book was insane!