Les Misérables—Part 2

Les Misérables is simply to good a book for me to write only once about it. Plus, I have spent so much time with it that I haven’t yet figured out how to read a book that isn’t Les Mis, like what happened with The Lord of the Rings last year. So in this post (and possibly more), I’m going to delve a little deeper into the many fascinating themes that make up this monument of literature.

In this novel, Victor Hugo asks a lot of questions, both directly and through the story. These are difficult questions, and there are lot more of them than answers. One question I find myself asking after reading this book is this: Am I willing to do the right thing, even if it means making others think I’m the bad guy?

Let me explain. In the very first part of the novel, we get to know a character known affectionately as Monseigneur Bienvenu, the bishop of Digne. This is the man who will eventually change Jean Valjean’s life forever. Before Jean Valjean, shows up, however, we get to know just how good the bishop is (this is one advantage the book has over the musical). Although he receives a substantial salary from the church, Bienvenu gives almost all of it to the poor. He moves out of his bishop’s palace so the hospital can move into it. His door is always open, and he always gives freely to people that ask him for help.

But then he meets a challenge that is almost too much for him. He learns that a certain old man in his diocese is dying. This man, whose name we never learn, was a member of the Convention during the French Revolution. Therefore, everybody in the village considers him a wicked man, because they are all staunch royalists. Even the bishop is a little repulsed; he looks back on the infamous beheadings of the Revolution with nothing but disdain. What’s more, the dying man is an atheist. But the bishop feels that it’s his duty to go visit the man in his final hours, and so he goes.

It takes him three-quarters of an hour to get to the man’s home on foot—the bishop has long since given up his carriage. When he arrives, an animated conversation ensues that pushes even the good bishop’s Christian love to the test.

Here’s the thing that really strikes me. The Conventionist asks the bishop where he put his carriage. He then launches a tirade about the luxurious life the bishop no doubt enjoys, having all the bounties of life afforded by his generous allowance from the church. Remember that the bishop at this point is living on next to nothing. He walked to this man’s remote house. The only luxury he grants himself is a small set of silver, which becomes significant later.

But what does the bishop do to correct this man’s mistaken views? Nothing. He doesn’t say a word. Actually, he pretty much goes along with it, all but admitting to this luxurious lifestyle that he doesn’t really have. As a result, the Conventionist goes to his grave thinking that this incredibly virtuous, humble, selfless clergyman is just like all the other clergy he supposedly has known—the exact opposite of those qualities. The conversation they have does soften the man’s heart somewhat, but never does the bishop insist on how good he actually is.

How many of us would do that? How often do we want to let people know just how good we are? It’s natural to want to be recognized for what we do. But this bishop rises above his human nature and reaches instead for the divine by keeping quiet. The teachings in the Sermon on the Mount about laying up treasures in heaven rather than on earth were central to everything he did.

This is the man that helps Jean Valjean change from bad to good. As it happens, Jean Valjean eventually does something similar, sacrificing his estimation in the eyes of those around him in order to server the greater good. When he does so, the stakes are much higher, to the point where he is sabotaging his own happiness. I don’t want to give away too many details because I’m talking about the climax of the novel. But the point is that Jean Valjean, like the good bishop before him, lead me to ask myself how far I’m willing to go to do the right thing.

What is the price of being good? How much of that price do I have the courage to pay? Compared with the bishop of Digne, not very much, but I think this novel has inspired me to do a little more than I would have before.

Les Misérables

Author: Victor Hugo
Translator: Julie Rose
Genre: fiction, historical fiction
Publication info: Modern Library, 2008 (originally published in 1862)
Pages: 1194 (plus notes)

It has been a long time since I’ve reviewed a book, but not for lack of reading. I just recently finished reading probably one of the longest and most complex novels I’ve ever read, Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. I feel like I’ve been on a long journey, one that took up a good chunk of this year. And what a journey.

Thanks to the hugely successful musical (which, contrary to a strangely prevalent myth, was not written by Andrew Lloyd Webber), many people are familiar with this story. And since there is a new movie coming out this Christmas, many millions more will soon become familiar with it. Before reading the novel, though, I myself knew next to nothing about the story. I think I’m glad about that, because every part of it was a discovery for me.

Since this book is so massive, both physically and in scope, it would be extremely hard to give a good summary, but here goes: Released after nineteen years in prison, Jean Valjean feels like the world owes him, until a remarkable act of kindness from a bishop changes his heart forever. Now he sets out to do the most good he can, and when he adopts an orphaned girl named Cosette, it seems he has finally found happiness. But his past continues to haunt him, thanks in part to a relentless police inspector, and threatens to destroy all the joy he’s ever known.

There’s more to that, of course—a lot more. The cast of characters, for one thing, is enormous, and many of them have a lot of depth. It’s even hard to tell sometimes which one is actually the main character. But even with the epic scale (even though I usually hate the word “epic,” it applies here), Hugo manages to expose some deeply moving human conflict.

Les Misérables is famous for being really long, and many might say that it’s long for no good reason. It contains many passages that are best described as essays, only tangentially related to the overall story (Hugo himself even admits sometimes that they have no bearing on the story). It includes a lengthy retelling of the Battle of Waterloo, descriptions of an uprising that occurs years after the setting of the novel, and—my personal favorite—an opinion piece on the Paris sewer system. It’s easy to get bogged down in these parts, or skip them altogether. I don’t blame anyone that wants to skip them. But if you give them a chance and try to read the entire novel, even the seemingly pointless stuff, you’ll find that there is a lot of interesting writing in there. Hugo is a fascinating writer, especially when he gets openly opinionated about the issues of his time. I didn’t always understand the historical context, but I found it interesting to learn what kinds of things he cared about.

But, of course, it always comes back to the characters. That’s where this novel shines. Jean Valjean is a deeply troubled man who experiences a wide range of emotions. All he wants is to do good and to live in peace, but the world seems bent on destroying his peace. It’s a dark, twisted world that Hugo describes, one in which the virtuous people are convicts and prostitutes and the just people show no mercy. It’s a world, and a story, and characters, that I will be thinking about for a long time.

I can’t recommend this book enough. I you love the musical, read the book. It will make the show immensely more meaningful to you. There’s still time to read the book before the movie comes out! If you do read it, I highly recommend this recent translation by Julie Rose. There are a lot of translations out there, some in the public domain, and while I can’t compare Rose’s to the others, I can say that it is beautiful and full of energy. Give it a try.