The authentic protagonist of all that Flaubert wrote

When you start reading any narrative by Gustave Flaubert, it's inevitable to think of Madame Bovary. The reasons are obvious: this prodigious novel, a founder of modern literature, is the compendium of all the wisdom of the realist novel, and I assure you it is a great deal of wisdom. Implicit in it, moreover, is the entire world of cinema, which would use and abuse Flaubert's techniques: the parallel montage of the conversation between Emma and Rodolphe at the agricultural fair, the enigmatic itinerary of the fiacre through Rouen (the same Rouen as Claude Monet) with Emma and Léon inside as the mystery of seduction reopens (which reminds me, by the way, of the scene in James Cameron's Titanicwhen Jack and Rose make love for the first time in a car), or Emma's visit to the tax collector to avoid seizure, observed through the viewpoint of two neighbors.Everything in this marvelous novel, in effect, presaged cinema. But if in anything Flaubert proves himself a master, it is in the rhythm of narration, with the perfect management of summaries, ellipses, and amplifications. It's curious because, years ago, Quim Monzó introduced, as a preliminary quote for one of his story collections (Guadalajara), the following quote from Flaubert's masterpiece: "They started slowly, then they went faster" (ch. 8 of the first part). As I read in an interview, it seems Monzó wanted to mock the custom of "preliminary quotes." But the fact is that, whether he wanted to or not, he chose a sentence (from the ballroom scene at the Marquis d'Audervilliers' house) that could be understood as a summary of Flaubert's attitude towards narrating, which is nothing more than knowing when to summarize and when to make moments last. In fact, on one occasion when Emma walks with Léon, the narrator repeats the same sentence structure: "For a time she walked quickly; then she slowed her pace" (ch. 3 of the second part). Perhaps Monzó wanted to mock it, but he surely understood very well the invaluable narrative lesson it implied.With all this in tow, embarking now on the reading of Tres contes which Georgina Solà has magnificently translated for the Flâneur publishing house is to reconnect with the immortal style of the also author of L’educació sentimental. Because one should not look for plots, nor get confused with the genealogy of the characters. The authentic protagonist of everything Flaubert writes is his style.A description, for example, of Julià's wife, the hero of the second story: “She was very pale, a little proud, and intelligent. The horns of her cap brushed the lintels of the doors; the train of her wool dress dragged three steps behind her. Her house was run like the inside of a monastery; every morning she assigned the work to the maids, checked the jams and ointments, and spun or embroidered altar cloths. By dint of praying, a son came to her”.“By dint of praying, a son came to him”. Only the sagacity of a born narrator is capable of condensing irony, time, and syntax into just nine words. This is Flaubert, without a shadow of a doubt.Of the three stories in the collection, the first, A Simple Heart, is the one that most resembles the world of Madame Bovary. It is the France after the Napoleonic dream, the arrière-pays populated by petty bourgeoisie, widows, servants, and priests. In this provincial universe, the characters dream, save or squander, and strive to survive without ever cheapening their dream. Like Emma Bovary.