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It has arrived. The second year. The sophomore sanity that preceeds classes. The serious fun. Virginia Tech is, once again, my home.

We moved in/unpacked my stuff by 11AM. We arrived just before 8 to avoid the crowds. Actually, I moved in everything while my father set up the loft. In essence, I ran things in, going from load of boxes to load of boxes. Even the loft and carpet. I had brought everything from Washington Street to my room in just under an hour. Quite a feat on foot.

So now I’m here, enjoying the initial phases of college life. My roommate is very cool, Maurice is his name; it will be a good year. Classes begin soon and all of my other activities will make ground quickly, but I do have some time to take in Blacksburg air.

Friday is my training session for mentoring. woot! Other than that, my time is free.

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.

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.

Tomorrow is my last day of summer work. ::pause:: Already?

I will be spending this weekend with my sister and brother-in-law so expect the last two Les Mis editorials, per se, to be delayed a bit (I know this was all supposed to be a one-a-day, but grant me this kindness, please?). Yet, I do promise them to be good, or swell…maybe…gnarly. For what it’s worth.

Let me remind you, these analyses include spoilers.

Part #3

During my eight hours of labor today I pondered the application of several of Hugo’s accusations against society. Over the course of the entire novel, Valjean attempts to rid himself of the stigmas associated with his past life. Even a mere theft of bread caused him a lifetime of concealment and seclusion (particularly because he was being chased, but nevertheless).

It’s further ironic how Marius reacts to hearing Valjean’s confession; here is a young man who fervently supports le republique and harks about the equality of man yet he is stricken in morose shock once Valjean reveals his past identity, shaken enough to cast the old man away from his daughter. How is our current society any different? Letourneau serves seven plus years in prison and is disturbingly condemned and slandered on the day of her release. Every day, inmates find paths to personal reconstruction and rehabilitation while their accusers recount each detail of their crime. It is quite impossible for many people to restore their reputation within society after “a run-in with the law.” Naturally, there is a limit to which one can trust a convicted felon, but forgiveness and compassion can heal much faster than restrained malice.

Such are the social stereotypes of our times. The neglect to these imbalances is accepted as natural and commonplace.

Don’t confuse this critique as political propaganda, but esteem it as my confession to cultural faults even I cannot refuse the blame for. Politically correct rehabilitation is far from adequate. I believe it takes a divine empowerment to restore people from liability, a power often viewed as distant to our reach.

This is clearly just one example within Les Mis of the defective social order that we maintain. Just one hint, one glance, one trace of the greater flaw.

“The book the reader now has before his eyes - from one end to the other, in its whole and in its details, whatever the ommisions, 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.” - Les Mis, my fav quote

*yay* I just found out that I will be grading for my former EF professor this fall. Some extra cash, and inside knowledge for scholarships and such, is appreciated.

Yesterday I forgot to mention that my pieces for the Les Mis analysis do, in fact, include some spoilers; I believe this one is the first that mentions something specific from the plot. So close your eyes and shut your eyes if you wish not to discover.

Part #2

Here go some second-time-around thoughts.

I flipped through some of the earlier pieces of the book today trying to, perhaps, relapse into initial reactions I had. Once I read a short passage, I realized the enormity of how much of the minute detail I had forgotten. There, once again, is a hint at the physical magnitude of this novel. For me, I lusted over each paragraph, chapter, and book, enjoying every description and plot revelation. But, I know full well that my memory could not contain the vast depths of detail that Hugo packs into his work; yet, I don’t think that was the author’s intent. Do we remember all of our lives down to the last thread and wire? Of course not; but we enjoy it all the more along the way. Certainly, Les Mis was expected to be a journey and not a reference.

As it happens, the passage I read was of the introduction and physical description of Javert, the returning and re-returning villain of the novel. His transformation in the book is similar to the main character’s, Jean Valjean. After succumbing to repeated attempts of goodwill and forgiveness, they both see the error of their ways, in quick summary. However, both characters’ metamorphoses lose similarity after the personal revelations; their reactions to the discoveries are perfect opposites. Hugo’s focus of the book tends along a battle between good and evil; Jean Valjean’s battle was conquered by good, and he passionately pursued a further immersion in such a lifestyle; Javert’s battle was, eventually, overtaken by good as well, but his utter terror at his past transgressions overwhelmed him, shaking his mental and physical balance. A flawless representation of our world today, people still have a difficult time of handling forgiveness freely granted to them. For great lengths of time it will be ignored, passed off, mishandled; once the storm in our minds subsides and we witness the ineffable grace granted to us we become speechless and feeble.

Only the meek can accept grace, thankfully. “Not that we can boast…” Les Mis wonderfully personifies the abundance of life that forgiveness offers between man and man and between God and man. Hugo is noticeably passionate about just that.