Chocolat, by Joanne Harrisnumber of voters: 7
percentage of voters who finished the book: 85
highest rating: 6.75
lowest rating: 5.95
average rating: 6.2
number of urges to consume vast amounts of chocolate while reading this book: innumerable
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Les truffes, les bon-bons, le chocolat chaud....
Never has a book so enticed our palates as Joanne Harris’s Chocolat. The drinking chocolate, the truffles, the pralines, the candied rose petals. All these and more tempted our taste buds, and our mouths salivated as we eagerly turned the pages.
But there were other, less sweet, morsels as well. That—and the fact that a book, that material thing we hold in our hand, is nothing more than ink and paper—left us wanting more. More than just tantalizing descriptions. More than just vivid details. More than just a story that merely held our curiosity but did not move us.
A somewhat backward morality tale, Chocolat tells of a beautiful and exotic wanderer who opens a chocolaterie at the beginning of Lent in a small French village. What follows is the story of the town’s awakening and one priest’s struggle against it.
It is an interesting story, and we were anxious to discover where it would go. But part of our distaste came from the fact that the story never really went anywhere. Another problem was our lack of affection for the characters; while we would have loved to sip chocolat chaud at this little shop, we were less interested in reading about those who did so. A third problem was in the author’s attempt at creating a sense of timelessness—that this story could be taking place at any time—then confusing us with modern references.
But the chocolate—exquisite, sensual, and inviting—was irresistible. Ultimately, if you love chocolate or baking or France, you might enjoy Chocolat. Just keep a box of truffles near by.
