Moving On...: Reflections on a Year Spent Hurdling Hugo

"Il dort. Quoique le sort fût pour lui bien étrange,/Il vivait. Il mourut quand il n'eut plus son ange./La chose simplement d'elle-même arriva,/Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le jour s'en va.

[He is asleep. Though his mettle was sorely tried,/He lived, and when he lost his angel, died./It happened calmly, on its own,/The way night comes when day is done.]"

- Victor Hugo (Les Misérables, V.9.vi [last lines])

 

Hugo Final Day Count: 366

Hugo Final Page Count: 2158

At the beginning of this year, I started a journey through the works of Victor Hugo. While my eyes were bigger then than my attention span is now, it has certainly been a fun ride, encompassing the scope of human emotions from unspeakable joy to inconsolable sadness and everything in-between.

The year started with the goal to read the largest novel I'd ever attempted - Victor Hugo's Les Misérables - and, in that respect, I was successful. And, while my accountability on the blog was certainly lacking in the last twelve months, my contact with my Twitter followers was at an all-time high and, I am quite certain, through my tireless efforts to tweet quotes and passages from the classic books I read, managed to convince a few of my friends and followers to take up this magnificent tome for themselves.

Les Misérables was, to be sure, one of the great literary experiences of my life. While I did not feel quite as enriched while reading it as I did upon completing War & Peace in 2011, upon further reflection, I find that it was a book that I will certainly carry with me as a favorite for the rest of my days.

I was discussing with a friend (a doctoral student in the theatre department at Tufts University) just yesterday the necessary changes in Aristotle's "elements of a well-made play" (or 'story'). He suggested that it is specious to apply what amounts to ancient and philosophical thoughts to modern story and playwriting techniques. When I prompted him as to what changes he would make to Aristotle's structure, he responded that, more than 'plot' (which Aristotle ranks highest of all other elements - which also include theme, character, music, and spectacle, among others), character is what drives most modern audiences in their pursuit of film, literature, and theatre. I had to admit, he had a point.

How often do truly compelling characters stick with us as an audience, as readers, as those ardent masses who desire to experience art for what it is? There is something about them that draws us in. More than the most fascinating plot or story, it is the characters that draw us in and help us to identify our place within the human puzzle. Given my experiences over the last two years, I would have to agree that the Romantic writers had a great handle on this idea.

One of the great things about the Romantics - particularly the Europeans - was their aptitude for taking a story that was, for all intents and purposes, epic and focusing, in the midst of this epic sprawl, on characters, on the people who drive the story forward. Of those great, grand stories, few balance the grandeur of subject with intimacy of character like Victor Hugo.

In the two novels of his that I read this year - Les Misérables and Notre-Dame de Paris - Hugo demonstrates a grasp of character that is unparalleled by many an author, a feat that may even eclipse that of Tolstoy, who's writing so influenced and enlightened me last year.

In Les Misérables, Hugo introduces us to two characters who are fundamental opposites (and yet, paradoxically, based on the same man) - Jean Valjean, the criminal who is shown mercy when he most needs it and, as a result, shows it to everyone he comes across; and Javert, the wolfish police inspector hell-bent by his fanatical devotion to the law of the land to see that Valjean answers for his various crimes. Their dichotomy has fueled innumerable conversations about the nature of justice and mercy - which certainly had to be Hugo's intent. Himself an activist and advocate for the poorest of people, Hugo clearly favors Valjean's ascent of grace to Javert's dive of justice - while both men ultimately die, it is Javert who kills himself due to his inability to justify the act of mercy shown him by Valjean, the man who he had sworn to bring to justice. Valjean, on the other hand, dies surrounded by his beloved adopted daughter and her husband, loved and beloved. As he tells his daughter with his final breaths: "Love each other dearly. There is scarcely anything else in the world but that: to love one another" (V.9.v). Or, to put it like it was said in the musical: "And remember the truth that once was spoken,/To love another person is to see the face of God."

Peppered among these captivating players are secondary characters who do not fail to ignite inspirational fires of their own: Marius, the schoolboy who scorns his beloved grandfather in order to pursue his love and his ideals; the Bishop of Digne, whose simple act of mercy acts as the catalyst for Valjean's complete turnaround; the tragic Fantine, whose story is perhaps one of the saddest I've ever encountered; the noble Enjolras and the nihilistic Grantaire, two polar opposites whose death is one of the most noble and heartbreaking in all of literature; the mischievous Little Gavroche, who refuses to take guff from any man, especially those bigger than him. All of these - and so many others - enliven this epic tale. Hugo's attention to forming them into fully-fledged people enhances a good story, transforming into a timeless classic.

Meanwhile, Hugo's first novel, Notre-Dame de Paris, also delivers on compelling characterizations, though of a completely different kind altogether. While these is something inherently emulatable in his Les Misérables creations (with the exclusion of the Thenardiers, of course), the characters in Notre-Dame de Paris (more commonly, and erroneously, referred to as The Hunchback of Notre Dame) bears characters that would appear to be more at home in a morality play than in a Romantic novel. Even more incredible is the idea that Hugo's main character is the titular Cathedral de Notre-Dame itself rather than any of the numerous characters that occupy the structure throughout the course of the novel.

Firstly, we are introduced to Claude Frollo, the archbishop of Notre-Dame driven mad by his lustful desires for the young la Esmeralda who herself becomes the object of desire of every principal male figure of the book. While nowhere near as cruel as most film adaptations of him, Frollo is nonetheless compelling - a man devoted to his studies and to his vows, until the sight of a beautiful young girl drives him to a most fatal obsession. In Frollo's care is the gentle Quasimodo, who stands out as the most compelling of all the characters of this novel, if for no other reason than the juxtaposition of his hideous outer appearance (see the following excerpt) with his inner gentle nature.

"We shall not attempt to give the reader an idea of that tetrahedral nose, that horseshoe mouth, that tiny left eye obscured by a shaggy red eyebrow, while the right eye lay completely hidden beneath an enormous wart. Those irregular teeth, with gaps here and there like the battlements of a fortress, that calloused lip, over which one of those teeth protruded like an elephant's tusk, that cleft chin, and above all the facial expression extending over the whole, a mixture of malice, amazement, and sadness. Conjure up, if you can, this overall effect." (I.v)

It is perhaps Quasimodo, of all the characters in the novel, who loves the most honestly and the most deeply. While his demeanor around so many others is anger, hatred, or brutality, it is la Esmeralda - the only soul who treats him as though he were human - whom he holds with the utmost affection, even at the expense of his relationship with his master, Frollo.

In addition to these, we are given snapshots of Captain Phoebus, whose heroics make him the apple of la Esmeralda's young eye, despite his engagement and constant womanizing; of Jehann Frollo, the younger brother of the archbishop, the mooching, drunken student whose loud and obnoxious behavior lead him to be among the first killed in the siege of the great Cathedral; of Pierre Gringoire, a real-life playwright, here given literary function as the man whom la Esmeralda marries in order to save him from death at the hands of the gypsies; of Gudule, the frightful sachette who has spent her life mourning the loss of her daughter and hating the gypsies who had stolen her. Throughout the tale it is, again, these vibrant characters who drive the narrative, giving it substance and life and meaning and depth.

Hugo's sketching of these characters is what makes his novels so classic and so compelling. More than the stories, which are still excellent, it is the characters that propel them. Even Tolstoy, who last year became one of my favorite writers, did not have such an emotional grasp of character. In two novels, he created five characters that I became completely enamored with - Andrei Bolkonsky, Pierre Bezukhov, Natasha Rostova, Anna Karenina, and Konstantin Levin. Hugo, on the other hand, has created three times as many, at least one of which - Jean Valjean - has been named among the most compelling characters in all of literature. While I can honestly say that Tolstoy composes the vast, sprawling narrative with more aplomb than Hugo, it is Hugo who creates the more relatable characters.

And perhaps it is that, above all, which I will take away from this year in my literary journey. 2012 is the year of the captivating character.

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And, with that, ladies and gentlemen, that I bring this blog to a close. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am broadening my scope in the years to come on this project. It is my hope that you will continue to follow along with my literary journey both at my new blog or my new Twitter feed (@ClassicLitTweet) and provide any feedback you so desire. My intent is to leave this site up and running (though largely untended) until such a time as I am able to get the contents copied to another site. In the meantime, remember: there is never a substitute for great literature!

Starting Anew (featuring 2013's Author-of-the-Year Announcement!)

"... I  am your beggar. I was the mendicant at the foot of the road from your castle. You have given me alms. But he who gives does not notice; he who receives examines and observes. When you say mendicant, you say spy. But as for me, though I am often sad, I try not to be a malicious spy. I used to hold out my hand; you only saw the hand, and you threw into it the charity I needed in the morning in order that I might not die in the evening. I have often been twenty-four hours without eating. Sometimes a penny is life. I owe you my life; I pay the debt."
- Tellmarch the Caimand (I.4.iv)

Ninety-Three Day Count: 50

Ninety-Three Page Count: 93

Hurdling Hugo Day Count: 293

Hurdling Hugo Page Count: 2296

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 You may have noticed that my posting on this site has become sporadic at best. Life has a funny way of taking up a lot of your time like that. Since my last post, I have finished Notre-Dame de Paris, begun Ninety-Three (regarded by many as Hugo’s best work), started the school year, and been cast in and performed in a community theatre production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’ve been busy.

But still… even when I do have time to post here, it often seems the last thing I want to do. Blogging seems a chore and I don’t want it to be that. I enjoy literature and discussing it with my friends and, honestly, that’s what I would like for this to be. I need to become excited again… which has told me I need to get a fresh start.

I want this not only to accurately reflect my literary journey (which I’m quickly beginning to realize will most likely take the rest of my life), but also to act as a way for others to begin their literary journeys. I have received word from several friends since I started this journey that they have become inspired by my tweeting or my blogging to begin literary journeys of their own. My grandmother has borrowed both War & Peace and Anna Karenina to read for her own enjoyment. My friend Sherri decided to devote a year to reading the works of William Shakespeare. Numerous friends have begun reading Les Miserables as a result of my commentary on it.

This has opened my eyes to the realization that people want to read good books. They want to experience these great stories in their original medium. In a world that is continually being overwrought with more and more visual media, there is something altogether timeless and enduring about the written word. Perhaps that is its power.

My desire, then, has become to broaden the scope of this blog, not simply to include my own thoughts, but those of other literary-minded people whose opinions on art and literature I greatly respect. The goal is almost to make this into a community of like-minded people with the desire to become more well-read, which, ultimately, is the goal I set out to achieve at the outset of this whole endeavor. Maybe it’s a pipe dream or a fool’s errand… I don’t know. Either way, that’s what I’m looking forward to most about this new direction – spurring others on toward literary independence and discovery.

With this change will come another new way of doing things. Gone will be the creative alliterations on the names of the authors I’m reading – Tackling Tolstoy, Hurdling Hugo, etc. – and they will be replaced by one ubiquitous title – The Classic Lit Blog. This will be the signature title of this blog as it will be associated with what I am calling The Classic Lit Project – a gradual attempt to become well-read by reading classic authors one year at a time. The mission statement, put as simply as I know how, is One Author, One Year. That’ll likely change over time, but for now, it seems a good starting point for me as I continue to figure out this new direction.

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Over the past two years, October has been my ‘announcement month’ – the month in which I put forward the author who will be the subject of the next year of reading. After much thought and deliberation, I’ve decided that I want to tackle what is largely considered one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century – Ulysses. As such, 2013 is set to become the year of James Joyce.

This will require changing a few things from the way I’ve approached literature previously. After conversations with an English teacher friend (whose comments on Joyce definitely helped to cement this decision for me), I feel like the best approach to Joyce would be to read his major works – Dubliners, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and Ulysses – in the order they were published. This, according to him, will accomplish two goals: (1.) It will allow me to witness firsthand the evolution of Joyce’s signature style over the course of his literary career, and (2.) it will help me to familiarize myself with characters that recur in Joyce's works in the order he established them.

My normal modus operandi, however, has typically been to start with the largest of an author’s work first and then work my way down. I did this with Tolstoy to some degree and with Hugo as well. With Joyce, however, I would be working my way up – from the smallest of his works, Dubliners, to the largest, Ulysses. My hope is that this will solve what I have come to call the “third book problem,” in which I become burned out and disinterested by the third novel. (I didn’t end up finishing the collection of short stories I’d chosen for Tolstoy last year and am currently struggling to become motivated to continue Ninety-Three.) By saving the novel I most want to read for last, my hope is that the momentum and desire to get there will carry me through to the finish.

As to Joyce’s most daunting work – Finnegan’s Wake – which is said to be the most challenging of anything he’s written… there is a part of me that does want to read it very much. A fine feather for my cap would be this seminal work of Joyce’s. However, a lot will depend on my feelings upon the completion of Ulysses, whether I feel I’m up for such a monumental read. I have heard that there is a wonderful audio edition of the book available, so I may find myself going that route (another first for me, as I typically don’t use audio books).

So, as you can see, there are some big changes coming to this concept in the next few months. For those of you still invested in Hugo, don’t bail quite yet. I’m not completely done here. There are still insights to be shared and comments to be made, so hold on. In the meantime, though, be excited about where this is all heading. I am.

Forward Momentum, Albeit Not Without Trepidation

"A novel... is born, necessarily as it were, with all its chapters; a drama is born with all its scenes."

- Victor Hugo (in his introductory note to the Definitive Edition to Notre-Dame de Paris)

Day Count: 181

Page Count:  1463

As I prepare to begin what I will, for lack of a better term, call the second leg of my journey through the works of Victor Hugo, I find myself filled with the same sort of anxiety I felt a little over a year ago as I prepared to read Tolstoy's Anna Karenina.

I feel like "anxiety" is the right word, because it certainly captures the equal parts of excitement and trepidation I'm experiencing with regard to reading another great classic by another renowned author. This is especially increased due to the fact that I enjoyed Les Miserables to the extent that I did; I feel as though no matter how good Notre-Dame de Paris* is, it won't be nearly as incredible as Les Mis.

I suppose I'm not without precedent on this particular issue, seeing as how I had a similar, if not equal, situation last year. Don't get me wrong - Anna Karenina was a great book and I very much enjoyed the reading of it, but... War and Peace was (and, honestly speaking, still is) one of the best reading experiences of my life and I have yet to read something that comes close to its brilliance in my mind. Compared to a novel that wonderful, Anna K - though wonderful and compelling - fell a bit flat.

There is, of course, a very apropos response to this way of thinking, which is essentially that each novel cannot be compared to another, but must be read and appreciated on its own merits. This is a very good point, and worthy of consideration, but I can't help but feel as though it is, on some level, an exercise in futility. I feel like the nature of my exercise - reading the essential works of Victor Hugo in 2012 - renders such an objective appreciation impossible.

Allow me to explain. When I set out at the beginning of last year to read the essential works of Leo Tolstoy (a task at which I feel I was marginally successful), that goal had within it an implied amount of comparison built in. I'm not reading each of these books in a vacuum, but instead within the context of other books by the same author! It stands to reason that if I'm reading the works of Hugo for no other reason than to read the works of Hugo, there will be some comparison between the books.

I feel as though this comparison was especially apt last year in my study of Tolstoy, with both War and Peace and Anna Karenina being regarded as one of the best novels ever written. I felt like my comparison was not only encouraged, but mandated - as though it were my job as a thinking literary person to come up with an answer to the eternal question of which I preferred (a question I feel I have more than adequately answered to this point).

So, I suppose the question I'm posing to you, my conspicuously-absent-and/or-silent-of-late readership, is this: is comparison the prerogative of the reader/scholar or is it his/her own hubris that he/she asserts over the text being read? (Believe it or not, this is not a rhetorical question - I actually would like feedback. Please consider commenting on this post with your own thoughts.)

That having been said, I feel as though I'm taking some steps to keep myself mentally engaged in preparation for my next classic. Part of that was reading the Hunger Games series (as discussed in my last post), but those were read relatively quickly and provided little in the way of mental stimulation (leastways in the ways that Les Miserables did).

No, to keep my mental faculties engaged, I have turned to one of the greatest authors in the English language - William Shakespeare! There are upcoming auditions with a local community theatre group for an outdoor production of Shakespeare's immortal A Midsummer Night's Dream and I have decided that I want to go out for the show! Having never performed any Shakespeare before (outside of high school English and college-level Acting classes, that is), I figured I needed to get some advice. To that end, I dug up a copy of Barry Edelstein's Thinking Shakespeare, which I picked up on a whim at a Half Price Books a couple of years back. I've found the book extraordinarily helpful for an actor, filled with very practical, and at the same time, thought-provoking advice regarding the performance of the Bard.

Then, yesterday, on something of a whim, I read A Midsummer Night's Dream for the first time in... well, maybe ever. Certainly, I had read excerpts from the play over the years, but having never needed to study it in either high school or college, I cannot think of a time when I've needed to read it... so, I never have. (Don't worry. Sometime in the next decade, I am planning to devote a year of study to Shakespeare, at which point, I would like to read all of his plays in their entirety.) It was deceptively easy to read - especially after having read the first several chapters of Thinking Shakespeare.

Auditions are still two weeks away, but I can't help but get a bit giddy about the prospects of performing Shakespeare for the first time! Here's hoping I do well!

I'm more or less finished with this post, but I want to leave you with a story that totally happened while I was writing this post. Being without Internet access at home, I often find myself seeking Wi-Fi hotspots when the need to update my blog roll around. About half the time (maybe more), I end up at the Panera Bread down the street from my apartment as the food there is always tasty and the atmosphere is conducive to reading, study, and reflection (especially when you happen to be pumping Brandi Carlile through your earbuds). At any rate, knowing I was planning to update my blog today, I brought along my copy of Notre-Dame de Paris as well as Thinking Shakespeare and A Midsummer Night's Dream.

As I sat quietly typing away at my blog, a woman approached my table (completely innocently - I'm seated by both a trashcan and the front door, which is, admittedly, not the best of seating arrangements for a 100+-degree day, but allows for many people to walk by my location) and pointed to my stack of books.

"Are you reading it or teaching it?" she asked.

"Uh... neither," I answered. "I'm auditioning for Midsummer next month, so I have these two," I here indicated A Midsummer Night's Dream and Thinking Shakespeare, "and I'm getting ready to read this one [Notre-Dame de Paris] for my own amusement."

"Wow," she said. "That's pretty ambitious!"

"Well, I just finished Les Miserables earlier this month," I responded.

"I could not read Hugo for my own amusement," she said as she walked out the door, "but I can read Shakespeare!"

I suppose I could comment further on this story (or you could), but I feel the need to let it speak for itself. At any rate, I feel like reading great books is the ultimate conversation starter!

Until next time...!

* For the record, I am refusing to call this novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, which is, admittedly, its more popular name. I am doing this for two reasons: (1.) Notre-Dame de Paris is the intended name for the novel, the one that Victor Hugo gave it when it was first published in 1831. In French, this translates to, literally, Notre Dame of Paris and, roughly, Our Lady of Notre Dame. The Hunchback is, of course, a reference to the book's 'protagonist,' Quasimodo. Still to call the novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame is, I feel, to do a great disservice to the cathedral itself, which I am told becomes something of the central figure of the novel. (2.) The edition of the text that I am using (the aforementioned Alban Krailsheimer translation) is not entitled The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, but is, in fact, called Notre-Dame de Paris (potentially for any number of the reasons I listed above).

Sabbatical Blues ...or... How I Started My Summer Vacation

"Oh, yes, forbid me to die. Who knows? Perhaps I will obey. I was just dying when you came. That stopped me, it seemed to me I was born again."

- Jean Valjean to Cosette (V.9.v)

Day Count: 167

Page Count: 1463

Forgive me, readership, for I have sinned. It has been fourteen days since my last blog post. In that time, I have not only finished Les Miserables (exactly when I said I would - one day after my last post), but have finished three 'popcorn' novels (which will not contribute to my overall 'page count' as I'm reserving that for Victor Hugo novels only).

As I mentioned in my last post, June will be a month of sabbatical for me, an opportunity to pause for a few moments to gather myself for what will be the second novel in my 'Year of Hugo' - The Hunchback of Notre Dame (or, as I will likely be referring to it, Notre-Dame de Paris - the novel's original title). But more on that in a moment...

Finishing Les Miserables may be the greatest literary achievement of my life so far. Weighing in at 1463 pages, it is over 250 pages longer than War and Peace, the massive novel I 'scaled' last year. I feel a massive sense of accomplishment, which has only been amplified by the number of people who have been inspired by my blogging and incessant tweeting of quotes from the novel itself to pick it up and give it a read. This, more than anything, is my favorite part about my reading of this novel this year.

As to the novel itself, what can I say that I have not already? I loved it, first of all (though this should go without saying). Second of all, I have to say I was surprised - not just by the amount of digression Hugo does (which, after Tolstoy, is something I come to expect from authors - anything less is merely 'concise'), but at just how woefully short of 'close' all the adaptations of Les Miserables I've seen come to the mark. Hugo does a masterful job of crafting these characters very carefully - all of his characters really, from the major characters like Valjean and Javert to the comparatively minor ones like M. Myriel (the Bishop of Digne) and the students at the barricades (Courfeyrac, Grantaire, et al).

As I was reading, I came to an inevitable conclusion - Les Miserables is, not unadaptable, but certainly it has not yet been sufficiently adapted in any media so far. I think the closest we have come so far is the Orson Welles-produced radio play from July through September 1937 (predating his Mercury Theater on the Air by about a year). (The entirety of Welles' production - all seven parts - can be downloaded here on MP3 or RealAudio.) However, one of the reasons this adaptations is so effective is that it doesn't attempt to distill the major action of a 1400-page novel into two or three hours. Instead, it takes its time, as the author does, and develops the story over seven 'episodes,' each half an hour long. This still doesn't quite do the story justice, but Welles' respect for literature made him probably the most ideal candidate to undertake this adaptation.

In my mind, an ideal adaptation would be a television mini-series - masterminded by the BBC, preferably - which would take no less than five hours to develop the necessary plot points and create the fully-realized characters present in Hugo's work. This is a pipe dream, I know, but it seems the best way to do it. (And, yes, I do realize that there is a movie adaptation due out later this year, but it is, in essence, an adaptation of an adaptation, as it is actually adapting the Les Mis musical, rather than the actual novel.)

That having been said, the themes of Les Miserables are universal - the merits of grace, salvation, redemption, the dangers of legalism, poverty, and the transformative power of faith. It has been strongly encouraging to read through this book and take these themes to heart over the last several months. I've found that literature is not a dead thing, nor should it be. It is alive and capable - if one is willing - to challenge one at whatever point in their lives they currently occupy. The goal is to enter into the reading, to engage the text on a very REAL level, honestly allowing it to speak to one's circumstances. I learned this last year from reading War and Peace and have found it to be true once again in my reading of Les Miserables.

As to my current reading, I've taken to picking up some 'popcorn' literature - that is to say, novels that to literature what summer blockbusters are to film. I decided to make a go of Suzanne Collins' highly regarded Hunger Games trilogy, which I borrowed from my little sister. I must say that there was plenty in the series to like - especially for one like myself who is a HUGE fan of dystopia as a literary construct - and it was oddly deep and disturbing for a series of novels written for children. That having been said, these were quick reads (hence, 'popcorn' literature) - I began the first book (The Hunger Games) on June 2 (a scant few minutes after finishing Les Miserables) and finished the third book (Mockingjay) yesterday afternoon. (I would have been finished sooner, but I had to wait a week for my sister to get me the third book as she had let a friend borrow it. The third one ended up being the one that took me the longest to finish - five days.)

From here, I will likely continue reading Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder, a novel on the history of philosophy that will be my primary text for a philosophy class I will teach next year. That should take me through to the end of the month, at which point, I will start reading the second of the Hugo novels I plan to tackle this year, Oxford World's Classics edition of Notre-Dame de Paris (more commonly known as The Hunchback of Notre Dame), translated by Alban Krailsheimer.

Just what I look for in a novel - partial nudity on the cover!

In doing research into translations of the novel, I lighted upon Krailsheimer's, which is widely regarded to be among the best modern translations of the work, which - naturally - appealed to me. When reading a work translated from the original language, one wants as much of the author's original voice as possible. So much gets lost in translation from one language to another - a lot of nuance, subtlety, and wordplay - that it is essential for a translator to retain as much of that as possible. I've been lucky so far to find great modern translations of some wonderful classic novels (I believe modern translations are also important as is tends to be more accessible to a modern audience), and Krailsheimer's looks to be just what I'm looking for!

As always, tweets and blog posts will round out my reading of the novel and help to inform you, my occasional readership (I have no delusions about my online popularity - or lack thereof), of the progress I am making with the book.

So, there it is. The long-awaited "I've-finished-Les-Miserables" post. Hope you enjoyed it! See you in July!

In Which Stephen Plans His Hiatus and Reflects on the Meaning of LES MISERABLES

"The book the reader has now before his eyes  - from one end to the other, in its whole and in its details, whatever the omissions, the exceptions, or the faults - is the march from evil to good, from injustice to justice, from the false to the true, from night to day, from appetite to conscience, from rottenness to life, from brutality to duty, from Hell to Heaven, from nothingness to God. Starting point: matter; goal: the soul. Hydra at the beginning, angel at the end."

- Victor Hugo (V.1.xx)

Day Count: 148

Page Count: 1305

Had I stuck to my initial "ten-pages-a-day" plan that I started with at the beginning of the year, I'd have finished reading Les Miserables yesterday. As it stands, I managed to fall a bit behind with the stress of finishing out the school year and still have somewhere around 160 pages left between myself and the finale. My goal is to have the novel finished before mid-June, which seems a completely realistic goal.

The best part about being a teacher is having several weeks off in the summer, time I plan to use to get some reading done. After Les Miserables, I plan to take a one month hiatus from the works of Hugo (returning in July to read Notre-Dame-de-Paris a.k.a. The Hunchback of Notre Dame), during which time I'll likely tackle The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins (if for no other reason than to find out what all the fuss is about). No, it's not "great literature" and I will likely not be blogging or tweeting through my reading of those books, but - the way I figure it - when you finish a meal, you get dessert, something light, sweet, and not necessarily nutritious, as a capper for your meal. The way I see it, The Hunger Games is my slice of cheesecake after the multi-course dinner that was Les Miserables.

The quote I used to start this post is taken from the first book of Volume Five (the volume named after the chief protagonist of Les Miserables, Jean Valjean) in the midst of a discussion of the need for Progress. As soon as I read it, I recognized it as Hugo's statement of purpose, something akin to a thesis statement for his novel as a whole.

Renown more in France for his activism and poetry than his novels, Hugo spoke out against the debasement of the poor in Paris that occurred even in his lifetime. In fact, every character in the novel fits into the category (at one time or another throughout the narrative) as one of "The Wretched Poor," which, coincidentally, is one of the American translations of the title Les Miserables.  Valjean was a convict; Javert, the son of two gypsy criminals; Fantine is forced into prostitution to care for her daughter; Cosette, that daughter grows up unloved and uncared for until meeting Valjean; the Thenardiers are greedy and deceptive, but live in abject poverty; Marius rejects his wealthy grandfather for the life of freedom, that is to say, the life of the impoverished. By making the poor characters that were both (a.) accurately poor (Hugo caught a lot of flack for allowing certain characters - i.e. Thenardier and his gang - to speak in argot, the language of the convict) and (b.) undeniably human, Hugo is able to open people's eyes - both then and now - to the realities of the life of the poor.

In fact, the only character in Les Miserables who was not at one time poor was the Bishop of Digne who, it will be remembered, stands out to my mind as one of the most ideally Christian characters I've ever encountered in literature. While the Bishop is a man of some means (by virtue of his position), he gives all that he has to those who fit the category of "The Wretched Poor." His house he gives to the neighboring hospital, the trappings of his parish he gives to a band of rebels, and - perhaps most famously - he gives his silverware and candlesticks to a former convict by the name of Jean Valjean. It seems clear - even from the beginning - that the Bishop of Digne is the 'ideal' to which the reader ought to desire to aspire, just as Jean Valjean does. The novel then depicts Valjean's ascent to that ideal - transforming "from evil to good." Would that we all were so motivated to aspire so highly.

At any rate, those are my thoughts for today. See you next time!

A Little Matter of Character and Narrative (or Stephen Points Out Differences Between the Musical and the Novel)

"It's impossible that a mattress should have so much power. Triumph of what yields over what thunders. Anyway, glory to the mattress that nullifies the cannon."

- Bossuet (V.1.ix)

Day Count: 133

Page Count: 1208

It has been far too long since my last update and, for that, I apologize. Life has been pretty crazy-busy since March. Had I had the time and inclination to maximize the popularity that my blog underwent while writing my "Thoughts on Les Mis Film Casting" series (if you haven't, read parts one, two, and three now), I very probably could have found a way to garner more consistent readership, but so be it. Obviously, I'll never be a professional blogger!

I have a post begun and planned - perhaps one day I'll get to it - regarding my two week Les Mis binge: reading the book, watching the 1998 film, and seeing the Broadway touring company of the Les Mis musical. It was a great period and a wonderful artistic experience that I will (hopefully) one day complete and share with you all.

Today, however, I want to share one of the realizations I've become increasingly aware of in the past few weeks. I've shared several times before that my impressions of Les Miserables had been previously shaped by my exposure to both the film and musical adaptations of the story. For this reason, reading Les Mis has been a vastly different experience than, say, War & Peace was for me last year. With W&P, everything was a discovery. The characters, the story, the emotion - it was all new and exciting! With Les Mis, I feel like I already know these characters and have heard their story several times. It's not new - it's familiar.

That having been said, it's been quite an experience to have my perceptions of both of those works altered by what I've read in the novel. The characters I'm reading about are in many ways the same characters I know from my previous experiences, but in many ways they are different. And not just surface-level different. Vastly different.

I find this law at work: with but a few exceptions, the characters that I hated in the musical are the characters I am loving in the novel. Conversely, the characters I loved in the musical, I find myself hating in the book.

For example, my favorite characters in the musical are the Thenardiers. They may be smarmy and conniving, but they are hilarious! Monsieur Thenardier is actually one of my dream roles - I would love to play that character.. if only to sing "Master of the House!" The two of them certainly have their flaws, but they make up for it by providing their audience with the greatest gift imaginable - laughter!

The Thenardiers in the novel, however, are vastly different creatures than their singing and dancing counterparts. There is no laughter. No light-hearted banter. No quick-witted jabs or well-timed gags. Heck, they don't even have any show-stopping musical numbers! No, Hugo's Thenardiers are devious, diabolical, and cruel. That really is the best word to describe them, too - cruel. From the moment we see them, the Thenardiers are painted as treacherous opportunists with little-to-no redeeming qualities whatever. The trauma they put the young Cosette through is enough to make you hate them eternally... and then they find a way to further plummet themselves in your estimation. Unlike Tolstoy, Hugo doesn't seem to have as much of a problem with you despising certain of his characters completely.

I also loved the character of Eponine. I detailed in Part Two of my "Thoughts on Les Mis Film Casting" series the fact that she is the one we want to see end up with Marius because, unlike Cosette - who, despite one or two unpleasant circumstances in her childhood, leads a life of privilege - it is Eponine who is the underdog character. And we root for the underdog. It's a human thing. "On My Own" remains one of the best-loved, most recognized songs from the Les Mis musical and every word and melody draws the viewer to identify more and more with Eponine's point of view (far more than Cosette's "I Saw Him Once" or "A Heart Full of Love").

While there are some great moments with Eponine (her chasing off of her own father and his gang of thugs outside of Valjean's house on Rue Plumet springs immediately to mind), I find myself nowhere near as sympathetic to her plight in the novel as I was in the musical. Most of this, awful as it sounds, happened at her death for me. She takes a bullet for Marius so that he will live and, in the musical, the tender and touching "A Little Fall of Rain" takes place, further manipulating us into thinking Marius is an idiot for not loving the girl he had right there loving him the whole time (but more on that later). In the novel, though, her motivation for taking the bullet for Marius goes something like this:

"See, you're lost! Nobody will get out of this barricade, now. It was I who led you into this, it was! You're going to die, I'm sure. And still when I saw him aiming at you, I put my hand on the muzzle of the musket. How odd it is! But it was because I wanted to die before you. ... Oh, I'm happy! We're all going to die." - Eponine Thenardier (IV.14.vi)

Not only do we see Eponine committing suicide, but leading Marius to his own death so the two of them could die together. If she couldn't have Marius, no one would have him! This completely put me off of the character of Eponine altogether.

On the other hand, one of the reasons this bothered me so was because of the depth of feeling I felt for Marius Pontmercy. In the musical, I didn't really care for Marius. I felt he was a whiny, one-dimensional waif of a man who was singularly obsessed with a girl he'd only ever seen once. And while this isn't an entirely inaccurate portrayal of Marius, it is only the tip of the iceberg. The musical completely omits Marius' sense of honor - the debt he feels he owes the vile Thenardier for having rescued his father during the Battle of Waterloo many years previously. It omits his role in the events that lead to the collision of Valjean, Javert, and Thendardier on the streets of Paris. It eliminates his own sense of virtue and makes trite the supreme purity of his love for Cosette (another character I hate in the musical, but love in the book).

Earlier, I mentioned "a few exceptions" to the loving characters in the novel, but hating them in the musical... because there are characters in both that I cannot help but love regardless. They are, of course, Valjean and Javert, both of whom are very well developed in both novel and musical (though, naturally, much more so in the novel). But it also includes Enjolras, possibly one of the most inspirational characters in the novel, and vividly portrayed onstage as a pillar of idealism. (Although, as I'd mentioned before, it wasn't until he was portrayed by Ramin Karimloo that I really felt Enjolras was a great character. Before that, he would've easily been listed alongside Marius and Cosette.)

At any rate, this has been one of the most interesting things I've noted about my time spent in Les Miserables, especially as it's nearing its conclusion. I'm a scant 255 pages from the finish line and feel good about being able to wrap this book up toward the end of this month (or beginning of the next). Hopefully, it won't be another two months before you hear from me next. But, until then...

Literary Linkativity

"Did a voice whisper in his ear that he had just passed through the decisive hour of his destiny, that there was no longer a middle course for him, that if, thereafter, he were not the best of men, he would be the worst, that he must now, so to speak, climb higher than the bishop or fall lower than the convict; that, if he wanted to become good, he must become an angel; that, if he wanted to remain evil, he must become a monster?"

- Victor Hugo (I.2.xiii)

Day Count: 55

Page Count: 500

I'm hitting a major milestone tonight - the fifth hundred page of Les Misérables!

...but that's not why I called you here tonight.

Actually, I had what I initially considered a great post all lined up, but I decided midway through construction that it was all wrong for the current direction of the blog. So... I'm just gonna make something up on the fly and, if you like, you can come along with me. Cool? Thought so.

As I was reading through the Waterloo scene in Les Mis, I couldn't help but be reminded of the battle scenes in Tolstoy's War and Peace. Come to find out that Les Mis, while released only seven years prior to Tolstoy's magnum opus, was read, admired, and apparently emulated by Tolstoy. While visiting France in the early 1860s, Tolstoy met with Hugo, who showed him a copy of his recently-finished novel, which Leo loved (of course!).

Not sure what that anecdote has to do with anything, but I found it really interesting. Like the last couple of years of my literary life are connected somehow. I'll be interested to see how the great classic authors that I read over the next several years connect with the amazing classic works I'm reading right now.

Should be fun!

Stay tuned...

Picking Up the Ball & Attempting to Run With It

"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...

What brave new world is this that has such treasures in it?

"Have no fear of robbers or murderers. They are external dangers, petty dangers. We should fear ourselves. Prejudices are the real robbers; vices the real murderers. The great dangers are within us. Why worry about what threatens our heads or our purses? Let us think instead of what threatens our souls."

- Charles Myriel a.k.a. Monseigneur Bienvenu, The Bishop of Digne (I.1.vii)

Day Count: 4

Page Count: 32

Beginning anew is a task that is always as fraught with peril as it is filled with excitement. One year ago, I was wading into War & Peace and feeling quite good about it. This year, I'm beginning my read-through of Victor Hugo's immortal classic Les Misérables and feel just as good about it. While my schedule doesn't allow me quite the brisk pace I was enjoying at this time last year (I was not in a play last January, nor did the break end so abruptly last year), I am still getting a great deal of enjoyment from the text.

Hugo is starting slow. After taking a brief stock of the first volume, I recognize that Valjean - the book's main character - doesn't appear until about 60 pages into the book and Fantine - the title character of the first volume - doesn't appear until page 120. Clearly, he is taking his time and allowing the drama to unfold organically, not rushing exposition. I'm looking forward to going wherever he has to take me!

For my journey this year, I've decided to go with the Signet Classics paperback version of Les Mis, which offers a 1987 English translation by Lee Fahnestock and Norman MacAfee. This translation is actually based on what is considered the 'classic' translation by Charles Wilbour with some updated language and a bit closer attention to certain details Wilbour had managed to ignore. I chose this translation for a few reasons:

1. Proximity of Translation to Today - I've heard it said (and pointed it out previously) that a good translation is one that makes the text accessible to its reader in a language that (s)he understands. While the Fahnestock/MacAfee translation isn't the most recent, it is - based on the reports I've read - the most reliable of the recent translations. It was released around the same time as the musical version of Les Mis (of which I am a fan), so it's got that going for it as well.
2. The Ease of Portability - Generally speaking, I do not like mass market paperbacks at all! They are generally very cheaply made, tend to fall apart, and don't look nearly as nice on a bookshelf as I feel books ought to. However, this translation (read: the one I wanted) was only available in mass market, which does offer one very nice perk: portability. While the book is a good two inches thick, it is a lot smaller than my copies of War & Peace or Anna Karenina, so toting it around from place to place (as I am wont to do) will be much less of a burden. So there's that...
3. In a Word... Unabridged! - Since announcing my Year of Hugo on Facebook (again) a scant two hours ago, I've had at least two friends advise against reading the unabridged version of Les Mis this year. I must admit that this is tempting and I would probably give in to said temptation... had I not already read War & Peace. Reading that book changed my perception of literature such that I have absolutely no fear of tackling even the epic task of a book which exceeds my other great reading exercise by about 250 pages.

 I'm looking forward to another great year of reading another of the greatest novels ever written! Here's to a great 2012!

Coming in January: Hurdling Hugo

I've been remiss in updating this blog and, for that, I apologize. Indeed, since my life has picked up with the busy-ness of late, it's been difficult not only to find the time to update, but also to continue reading Tolstoy. While my neglect and my schedule HAVE diminished any possibility of getting through a fourth Tolstoy text before the year is over, I still hold out hope that I will be able to finish the book of his short stories that I began a couple months back. I've finished "The Death of Ivan Ilyich" and moved onto "The Kreutzer Sonata," which is a downright interesting story with echoes of Plato's Symposium and hints toward Capote's In Cold Blood. Sometime soon, I will have to review them for the blog here.

However, in the meantime, I have an announcement to make. It was a little over a year ago that I announced my intention to read Tolstoy's classic War and Peace. From that simple announcement, a journey of two novels, several short stories, and a literary awakening sprang forth. I came to a realization before I had even finished War and Peace that there were a great many fantastic works of fiction in this world and so few that I had ever actually bothered to read. I resolved myself then and there to change that for myself. I wanted to read those books, to better myself in the process, and discover why these classics are considered 'classics' in the first place.

After I had dedicated a year or my life to the work of Tolstoy, I challenged myself to dedicate each and every new year of my life (for as long as I'm able at least) to reading one classic author and their best-known and best-loved work. There came to be so many great authors that began to vie for their place on my bookshelf and in my hands: Joyce, Dumas, Dostoyevsky, Cervantes, the Brontes, Dickens, and many, many others. It was difficult to decide where to go next.

However, after giving it a goodly amount of thought, I found myself coming back to one author (and, indeed, one text) over and over again. For most of my young life (since my junior year of high school if I'm quite honest), one story has followed me. I first experienced it as a film starring Liam Neeson, Geoffrey Rush, and Uma Thurman, then as a musical written by Claude-Michel Schönberg and Alain Boublil. About the only way I have NOT experienced the story of Les Misérables was the way it was originally intended to be experienced - by reading the original novel.

So, my main story was set and, with it, my author for 2012: Victor Hugo. Reading massive novels did not really fill me with feelings of dread and apprehension like they did before I started reading War and Peace. As such, tackling a novel even bigger than that epic tome is not as daunting as it once might have been. In fact, I find the prospect rather exciting. So exciting, in fact, that I'm not ending the fun and excitement there! I've decided that, when I finish Les Mis, I'll take to reading Hugo's original masterpiece, The Hunchback of Notre Dame a.k.a. Notre Dame de Paris (provided, of course, that I can find a good translation of it).

While I am still excited about the prospect of finishing Tolstoy, I am anxiously anticipating beginning this new chapter in my literary journey! I would welcome any and all of you who have not read Les Mis (or even those of you who HAVE) to read it with me! I would love to discuss it with you as I go!