I was expecting a very French novel about affairs and ennui. I was pleasantly surprised to find a philosophical study of what happens to the mental health of two people who are in love -- right up until they murder the man keeping them apart.

It was a lot melodramatic, but given its age and French provenance I can forgive it this much. It's a very dark book, but I love that it never portrays Therese or Laurent as sympathetic. They are constantly referred to as murderers and they sink slowly but surely into the mire of Zola's disdain as they become worse and worse as the story goes on.

The ending was (you probably guessed) dark but mostly satisfying.