I was disappointed by this. Having listened to a 4 part podcast series on the first Punic War, which contained a number of dramatic readings from this book, I expected to find it more gripping. But now I have given up on it around a third of the way through. While Flaubert clearly researched the historical background very assiduously from Roman historian Polybius's work, the narrative reads like what we would now call an info dump, as though he was so determined to show off his research that he barely remembered to tell an actual story. I found it an uninteresting drag so cut my losses after chapter 5 of 15. ( )

Although I admired the work Flaubert put into the book, it was hard to get past all the violence to the animals. The people were killed left and right (life was cheap in those times), it seemed as though they deserved it, often, out of sheer stupidity. But the Mercenaries took their anger out on the innocent animals, ie. maiming and killing elephants, lions, burning the trees that the monkeys were in, boiling fish alive. Still, vividly written. ( )

Avec introduction, notes et variantes par Édouard Maynial.

Took a few days to process. This book was compelling and the story was one I was only familiar with as a historical sidenote. The violence and the sexual imagery used a lot of similar prose, and I found the sensuality sort of mixed between the two. In the end it was like eating rotten, sweet fruit, and certainly not beautiful or enjoyable, albeit unique. I felt at times like I was reading a painting, and kept thinking of Pedro Paramo or Guccione's Caligula (not the pornographic parts) or The General in his Labyrinth in that it was almost feverish and grotesque and stylized in its remembrance. ( )

Il arriva juste au pied de la terrasse. Salammbô était penchée sur la balustrade; ces effroyables prunelles la contemplaient, et la conscience lui surgit de tout ce qu'il avait souffert pour elle. Bien qu'il agonisât, elle le revoyait dans sa tente, à genoux, lui entourant la taille de ses bras, balbutiant des paroles douces ; elle avait soif de les sentir encore, de les entendre; elle ne voulait pas qu'il mourût! À ce moment-là, Mâtho eut un grand tressaillement; elle allait crier. Il s'abattit à la renverse et ne bougea plus.