"Jean Valjean had this trait, that he might be said to carry two knapsacks - in one he had the thoughts of a saint, in the other the impressive talents of a convict. He helped himself from one or the other as occasion required."
- Victor Hugo (II.5.v)
Day Count: 51
Page Count: 464
Well... I've certainly been remiss in my updating, haven't I? In the 47 days since my last update, a lot has happened - I've wrapped up production on a fantastic community theatre play (which you can read about
here and
here should you feel so inclined), made what I consider to be some great strides in my professional life, and - of course! - have continued my trek through
Les Misérables.
For a while (before we got into Hell Week on the last play), I had even managed to jump ahead of my early, unspoken goal of knocking back ten pages a night. With the hectic and often demanding nature of live theatre, the impressive lead I once enjoyed has been pared back to a just-shy-of-daunting setback, one I look forward to rectifying in the days and weeks to come!
One thing that I have noticed consistently about Hugo's prose is the power of his simplicity. Hugo doesn't use a lot of flowery verbiage and poetic language. Rather, he sticks to very clear, concise language, often keeping dialogue to a minimum in favor of creating a certain mood. Whether it is the overwhelming suspense created by carefully outlining a darkened Parisian street or the tragic heartache of a child having grown up without love, Hugo knows exactly how to evoke the appropriate emotional response from his audience. There have been moments where I just cannot help but marvel at the man's ability to so seamlessly craft a scene that can put even the most detail-oriented filmmakers to shame. (*coffcoffStanleyKubrickcoffcoffDavidOSelznickcoffcoff*)
Another thing I've loved so far about this reading experience is the fact that, much like the men and women who appeared in War & Peace and Anna Karenina, Hugo's characters are fully formed, not caricatures or stock characters, but real people who respond to each situation with the full force of their own humanity. We are shown the inner turmoil of a man striving to live according the higher standard to which he has been called; a self-righteous inspector who unwaveringly upholds the law his own family so carelessly disregarded; a pair of seasoned con artists weaving their trail of deceit throughout France; a woman abandoned by love who somehow manages to cling to the thinnest shreds of hope; and a small child growing up unloved and unwanted, becoming an unwitting pawn in a short-sighted long con.
These are my inadequate facsimiles of the masterfully crafted characters that Hugo presents to his audience. At times, they are courageous; at others, they are pitiful. Other times, they are heart-breaking; still others, they are life-affirming. What they are never, however, is boring.
Perhaps my favorite of these characters - so far - is the man I quoted in my first Les Mis post some 47 days ago and the man whose singular act of grace becomes the catalyst for the entire action of the novel - the Bishop of Digne. Never before have I seen a character that is at once so human and so challenging. He is, as near as I can tell, one of the most potent and accurate examples of the Christian ideal as I have ever read in literature (discounting the Scriptures, of course). His consistent outpouring of love for all - not merely the wealthy or the politically powerful or even the ones who agree with him - is what ultimately sets the novel in motion when he encounters a lowly convict named Jean Valjean and purchases his soul with forgiveness and silver. A more fitting beginning to a book I have not yet read... and never before has a fictional character so motivated me to look at my own faith as a result.
I feel as though I've accomplished much in the last 51 days of reading Les Mis... but I still have quite a ways to go!
More to come...
