I'm very desolé, but this was not okay.
Alexandre Dumas has been dead for 150 years, and his tomb is at his birthplace in Villers-Cotterêts. If I ever get to visit that charming place, I'll ask him as outraged as possible why he ever wrote this book, and why he wrote it in this way. Because this felt, at the beginning and at the end, like a slap in the face.
Imagine the following scenario: J.K. Rowling publishes the third Harry Potter book. You're happy, you read it and realise that most of isn't about Harry Potter. In fact, he only appears after a couple hundred pages, and then vanishes again. Just like Ron and Hermione. Instead, we follow around rather unimportant side characters like, say, Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley, and we get to know about their intrigues and lovelife. Now, I have nothing against Hufflepuff, but wouldn't you think that this sounds...not like a real Harry Potter book? Not promising at all? Yep. And that's what happened here.
Now, I'm used to Dumas' long, sometimes tedious introductions. He does it in Twenty Years After where most of the first pages belong to Mazarin, but then, very quickly, D'Artagnan takes over. Here, he takes over after 120 pages, and only for a couple of chapters. We get to see Aramis for some time, just like Porthos. Athos makes his first entrance only after 350 pages, and then only for three chapters, before he vanishes for good. So what do we get? Petty court affairs and intrigues. For hundreds of pages, we follow the love interests of Louis XIV. around the court, together with numerous ladies and courtiers whose names sound nearly the same. Did I care about anything of it? Not at all. Well, there was one funny chapter where D'Artagnan and Porthos got drunk as hell, which was pretty funny. But apart from that? It could all have been summarized up in two, maximum three chapters. It's been a complete waste of my time.
Then, after we've seen Athos, at least something of a plot develops. We have at least three of the musqueteers excelling like we know them - until they fail faboulously. And then Dumas shows us why he wrote this book: to destroy his heroes. The heroes I've followed through two books are brought down, and it isn't pretty. Basically, all their exploits, everything they've done, it's all been in vain. For nothing. Because in the end, an egoistic piece of whatever sits the throne they helped secure, and he's the most ungrateful bastard there ever was. Dumas' Louis XIV. really is a douche. But D'Artagnan, honorable, witty, impressive D'Artagnan, one of my all-time favourite characters of literature, stays nonetheless. Even after what happens to his friends. Out of pure habit.
Mon dieu, Alexandre Dumas. Je suis desolé, but this is a catastrophe. How can you do this? Why does an author create these great characters, only to break them all? This was such a huge disappointment. Yes, about 150 pages of it were good. But they came after 350 pages, so...I'm definitely not gonna give this book three stars. No way. Not after reading about all the little catastrophes out of the lives of Madame de Tonnay-Charente, Madame de Montalais, Manicamp, de Guiche, de Wardes, Madame, Monsieur, Malicorne and all the others. Which didn't matter to me. At all. This was supposed to be my treat for the start of the holidays. In fact, it's been a hell of a disappointment. So: deux stars, Alexandre. C'est tout.