How the Male Paradox of Beauty and Brutality is Exposed in ‘The Three Musketeers’
It’s a book that exposes the folly of men even as it regards them with unconditional affection
Fourth grade was the era of cheap, nylon backpacks. Every class issued a textbook that felt like it weighed 40 pounds. There were nine classes, and there was a reading assignment in all of them every night.
When the bell rang at 3:36, I slid the straps onto my shoulders and strained against the burden.
After a time, the straps stretched to transparency. Flashes of white stitching appeared as the fabric tore to pieces. One strap would fail, the other would soon follow. Then I’d have to appeal to mother for another backpack. The next one would be just as flimsy, just as cheap.
Grass grew through the cracks in the sidewalk as I stumbled by rusting cars on the way home. Fall would turn to winter and winter would turn to spring. We lived in different places. Some years I rode the bus. The journey home was always perilous and long.
But no matter how many books I had to carry for school, I always found the strength to bring along one selection of my own choosing. During Ms. Nestle’s 4th grade glass, I read The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas.
