I can't appreciate the prose style on account of not reading French, and I wanted to slap (A) Mme. B and (B) her entire milieu and social restrants silly.
You're not missing much, on the French. I read it for French class and thought it was sludge. Irritating book. I get very bored with writers who use a lot of symbolism ("the runaway carriage scene was really a metaphor for...") Oh, bite me, Gustave, and just tell me the damned story, already.
I do love Shakespeare, heart and soul. But Aimee, Nic - who was born poetry gene-deficient - loves Shakespeare for the stories, not the language.
A funny note, on reading the "good" stuff: along around age twenty, I dedided that polish up my French and I decided to do it by reading "À la recherche du temps perdu" in the original.
Why, yes, I was a thorough shmuck. Bad idea. Really really really bad idea.
About fifty pages in, on the verge of tears, I rang up my sister, who has a PhD in the French language. Hullo, Alice? Au secors, sister, I think my brain just fell out - I'm reading "Remembrance of Things Past" in French and I can't understand what it says. I mean, I can make the words make sentences, but I can't figure out what this book is about, or what he's talking about. I feel stupid. Help!
After she stopped laughing, she told me to carefully close the book and step away from it. She then explained that since the French version was completely dependent on the reader knowing not only insider French gossip and politics of the era but also the slang, she (PhD, yo) had been unable to figure it out either.
Brrrrrr. I never tried that again. Screw the intelligent good intentions. That experience was a brainbuster and an ego-smoosher.