nearing the wrap-up
My weekend went rather well. I’ll explain more later, only I will note now that I love the area in which my sister/bro-in-law live. It is quite perfect for me.
No more ado, here is the second-to-last essay on Les Mis. Remember, spoilers may be included.
Part #4
For some time during my senior year of high school, I would journal brief critiques of movies that I had viewed. My opinions were often based on the effectiveness of drama and humor, the attention to minor areas of the film that many directors overlook in light of getting the movie to the big screen, and the level of enjoyment that I experienced having left my then-warmed seat. So far, I’ve wrapped up my thoughts about Les Mis in a philosophical fashion, for the most part; now I want to look at it harshly, with a cruel and scrutinizing eye, basing objections on stylistic agendas.
I’ve clearly harped about the length of the novel already, not that it was ever a complaint, more so a warning for those without the patience. Although the physical size of the book is worth noting, I can’t say that I was ever truly encumbered by it. Despite my lethargic reading pace, I was enthralled, entangled, and gratefully wound in with the plot and characters. In recent years, biographies and autobiographies have returned great profits for publishers as all-things-reality have become the rage. Les Mis was so believable, so real, so sincere that I would have wanted nothing more than to discover it was non-fiction. Sadly, I recalled the truth and hoped that the magnificent characteristics found in these fictitious figures could someday surface in us.
No doubt at all, I was moved by Les Mis. I began the book at Bollo’s one evening, with little on my mind other than good expectations. Sure, I was hesitant to begin something I may never finish (and then I would have to endure the shame of putting down an all-time classic) but there were curiosities in me that couldn’t be hushed otherwise. Over the course of my reading, a passion for this book began to germinate; halfway through I was ecstatic and immediately ready for the rest of the fun. And so, without need mentioning, approaching the conclusion of this novel was a time of honest self-involvement.
I questioned myself according to the book’s motivation. I examined my own innocence against the plush down of Valjean. I, unfortunately, fought to ignore the grave similarities that Marius and I share. Furthermore, I was racked with Javert’s presence attempting to reveal my own compromising. Naturally, when someone starts a journey like Les Mis, and certainly it was an excursion, you cannot ignore realities indefinitely; an honest man doesn’t carry around a soapbox without first using the soap.
Now that I think about it, Les Mis is a great beat-yourself-up book. Every fault within our consciences can be quickly unraveled and exposed by a simple turn of page. That makes Hugo a genius.