What a peculiarly long book, this is. Its dreariness is not defined by its reasonably limited number of pages, but by the pacing of the plot and the dwelling on perfectly well-known themes. I had to force my way through it, and I will admit that I probably lost a few sentences along the way. 
 "If I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me." 
 I was a bit surprised by the well-rounded framework of this story. It is laid forth as an investigation and the narrator talks openly with the reader. I have read a few reviews comparing the style of the novel to a conversation, and I mostly agree. Reading "The Phantom of the Opera" felt like listening to a dear story. I quite liked that. 
 While I think Leroux nailed the gothic atmosphere, he grew repetitive on the more complex subjects. This is supposed to be a tragic story, and its main conflict relies heavily on that of Shelley's "Frankenstein". Only, Shelley did it much better. 
 Generally, I found the characters in this novel flat and tedious. Christine, especially. The characters were illogical, their dialogues were stiff and stilted, and they lacked action. I found them to be extremely passive and as a consequence I became passive as well. I honestly didn't care.