commodore
Before the grand finale of my Les Mis writings, I would very much like to pass along the story of my weekend.
NoVa is fun during Friday rush hour. I was smart and left L-burg at 1PM aiming to hit the worst, and best, of Northern Virginia traffic. Ironically, it still hardly took me five hours, even with a 45 minute stop in Charlottesville to check out Crutchfield and a Starbucks.
I was headed that way to hang out with my sister and her husband for the weekend. Quite a different area and environment for me. And I loved it. Every moment. The depths of NoVa are bustling, crowded, and annoyingly lively; all facets that I favor in where I hope to live post-college. I look forward to having my own place and an atmosphere of accessibility and resources.
So the weekend was rather relaxing for me. Saturday we all went to Chuck Levin’s Music Center to check out their stock. Then a lunch at Chicken Out certainly refreshed us. Throughout the weekend I had plenty of time to read and cruise along with Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. I began and finished both books before leaving Sunday afternoon. The commentary before the books is quite vital to the overall understanding of the work; frankly I find the commentary more enjoyable, perhaps because I frequent involved books more than quick storylines.
But returning…my weekend was great. Very good to see siblings.
Today was equally bustling I suppose, only in that drawn-out Lynchburg way. I went to Best Buy, the mall (no luck), had a packed lunch at Hollins Mill Park, and some quality reading time at Starbucks. When I arrived back home, I started tearing apart my life in prep for move-in on Wednesday. Packing so much generally creates minor hassles, and aren’t they exciting?
No, in fact, they are not. Anyways. Tomorrow looks good. Promising.
And so, this is the last edition of my own commentary. Les Mis was a good read; however, my work doesn’t compare.
Part #5 of 5
My location of journaling is new [for I was in NoVa at the time], but my topic still the same. As my fifth and final “essay” on Les Mis I am at a loss of what to say.
One birthday, four months, five coffee shops, fifty-seven blogs, fourteen hundred and sixty-three pages, and a near infinite amount of lattes later I rallied to the last note of Les Miserables. It was exquisite; it was grand; it was more than I expected, more than I hoped for; nothing equates to Les Mis.
A work of literature so comprehensive demands appreciation. Hugo perfects the art of writing. While tying in historical figures and events from every era, location, and genre he exhibits an utterly astounding view of humanity. His vast outlook and opinions are supported by numerous examples that he cites continually, as if each sentence could come into legal question. Hugo explains the entirety of human nature as if it was he who dictated the score long ago. It is no wonder he was granted “every honor” by France at his burial at the Pantheon.
If there ever was a grievance I could press in regards to this reading, I have long forgotten it; the grandeur overshadows all. Truly, I was captivated by Les Mis. Fans yearning for the Super Bowl couldn’t possibly experience the same enchantment that I sensed.
Admittedly, I’ve read less than a dozen books since I resumed my literature-learning last Christmas, but, even then, nothing compares to this book. Honestly, no other novel I have traversed through has been this exciting and amazing. Amazing; yes, that’s what it was.