This is a very French, very oldfashioned (in best possible ways) book, full of double-entendres, puns, clever one-liners. I've spent my childhood reading Dumas, but it's been a while since I read one and this book reminded me why I love old French historical fiction. It took exactly 3 pages for me to see what kind of book this is: "Madame Magloire was a little old woman, whitehaired, plump, bustling, always out of breath, because of her constant activity and also her asthma." Because, this? This is humour and wit and irony and everything that's good about my favourite Dumas-es. And every following page was exactly like this. Yes, this book is 1463 pages long and every one of them is well used. "Every single word was precisely chosen", so why use one when 5 will do just fine? When I want to read a book, I'd prefer to read it in the language it was written in. Failing that, a good and appropriate translation. I could not have, in good concience, read an abridged version and the translation I had, by Fahnestock & MacAfee, was the absolute best that can be found, because it wasn't a verbatim translation but rather captured the intended spirit of a sentence. As someone whose primary reading material is good historical fiction, I've come across a lot of stories that deal with humanisation of heroes. This book is about the elevation of humans. And it is no less heroic. Ony of my favourite things about this book is the way dialogues are written, trusting in the reader's intelligence to follow a conversation. The Bishop - some of his scenes are so fully of irony, so cynical in a way, because this man? Is one in a thousand, his exalted singularity a sharp contrast to the perverted, money-grabbing "men of god". If these be the only scenes you read in this book, they will tell you all you need to know about the different approaches to religion and it's consequences. I can but imagine the difficulty it might have presented while writing, but it becomes obvious while reading that equal respect is given to polar opposite opinions - royalty, religion, status quo vs. revolution, enlightenment, new world. Be you asleep or awake, this book will touch you personally. It will give validity to your views, while opening your eyes to the other side. And every other page there's some new statement, be it about the corruption of the church, the perversion of the monasticism, the futile glory of war, the superiority of education, and you read it and you think 'why don't people write like that anymore?' It's so obvious, so self-evident, so simple, so true. You know these things and yet, when they are put on a page with such wit, such ironic honesty, you cannot help but admire it anew. After all, "the best books are those that tell you what you know already." Jean Valjean - I did not like him as a character at first. I thought him stupid, for attempted escapes that cost him 20 years in prison in all. But even if completely irrational, it was totally human - most men are prone to self-sabotage ("The Bet" by A.Chekhov), for whatever reason. It's just the wallowing in self-pity and the hatred of the justice system that I disliked, while he himself was the author of his own misfortunes. And yet, how terrible it must have been, to go from absolute servility to absolute freedom to an even harsher servility, through almost all his life? To be a master of oneself for a brief but glorious moment, to glance at the light and then being dragged back to the darkness? There are no heroes in this book. No victims, either. His relationship with Cosette I've found touching, especially when she grew up and they spent a lot of time together. In a way, he's as much of a child, as much of an innocent, as she is. It's a case of the blind leading the blind, but since one of the blind has a nice cane, they make through well enough. It can't have been much of a surprise in 1862, but now, centuries away, it's pretty surprising that Valjean was imprisoned for stealing bread - lack of it being the main reason pre-Revolutionary France had their Necker(s) in a twist at the time. There's this lovely chapter called "Deep Waters, Dark Shadows", a metaphor of imprisonement and suffering. But have we not just read something similar in the previous chapter? Was this needed? Yes. Why should a writer restrict himself? Why should he dumb-down his masterpiece for the impatient? These are beautiful couple of pages. There's a magnificent chapter called "The Year 1817", 6 pages describing the Parisien ways of life at that time. Do we, the reader, need them? Yes. It's so cynical, so ridiculous, so enlightening, so atmospheric! I cannot imagine written, before or since, anything as touching, inspiring, educational, and above all, amusing, as pages-long monologues by various characters. Especially the humorous ones. Allusions to the Classics, to current affairs and people, have me rushing to Google when they go over my head or laugh out loud when they don't. This book is like a thesis, a social indictment, a philosophical treatise, written in an unsparing, unflinching, clever, witty, wonderfully readable way, with bits of plot interposed in between. It is the Holy Book of sin and redemption and love. Parental love. Religious love. Friendly love. Filial love. Brotherly love. Love that comes out victorious in the end, in the shape of two innocent souls who find each other against all odds. And above all, the author's love - for his creation. For France and her people. Her language. Her history. Her future. Fantine - I admire her somewhat. Taking responsibility, control of her life, going from great to bad to worse, without losing her character until her very end. Yes, she's an example. But a fine one, at that. "...it would be a serious omission of this book not to relate them down to the most minute details." These words open one of the earlier chapters, but they apply equally to the book as a whole. One can just imagine the author, sitting at his writing desk, rubbing his hands together in pleasure thinking 'aha! think this is just some book, do you? all them others are just a rough outline! leave no stone unturned, that's a good motto. I am going to describe every little thing in the most minute detail!" I'm sorry, if this is not a piss-take, I don't know what is... There's not many paragraphs more terrible, more chilling, more heartwrenching that the description of the devestation left in Hougomont by French cannon. This chapter has some of the best writing in a book filled with wonderful words. It brings to life, in technicolour, the French spirit, the French character, the French men that know how to die. They may have lost at Waterloo, but their memory lives on. Ohain - There are so many writers of historical fiction and fantasy today, who write about war and battles, pages and pages forcefully filled with blood and guts, all in the name of realism. This here, short and to the point, 50 words or less, is all the "realism" one can stomach. Honest and concise, every single word is precisely chosen. "History is fiction". But this is not history. Waterloo - and all this: pages upon pages of names, places, tactics, formations, horses, cannon, wit, terror, politics, death and life. All that, just to show that a man named Thénardier saved, inadvertently, the life of a man named Pontmercy. Only once, in 1463 pages, did I wish I was reading some abridged version - "The Obidience of Martin Verga", describing the ways of the monastery Valjean & Cosette found themselves in. This sort of brainless, outdated, disgusting rituals highten the feeling of despise I've always had for religion, any religion. It takes away the nice feelings I had following the bishop's chapters. And yet, this chapter is necessary, because the bishop is the anomaly - this is what religion really is. I don't have to agree with the author's religious views to respect them. At least his is a logical religion, not the fanatasicm of Thomas More or the most pious of bishops of Rome. You know all the cliché TV shows , that can have no pretensions to realism, that pile coincidences on top sod's law and by the end of each episode everything is resolved for the best for some, if not for all? This is how this book works. Everything that can go wrong - will. People you shouldn't have a chance of encountering will accost you at every turn. Real life doesn't work like that. There can be no realism there. But. There is realism enough in the streets of Paris filled with the disposessed. In the faces of the starving and dead children. In the cruel fates of small buisinesses. In the depravity of the catholic church. In the casual cruelty of those in power. There's enough realism to drown you in tears. Why not get lost in the realms of the impossible for a while? Marius - the affair of his father was heartbreaking. Who would not change something as earthly as political views for something as ethereal as a memory of a loved one? "...struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight" - seems to be a good phrase to describe Marius as a person. Because this? It happens to him alot. Though not a child, he sometimes reacts as someone with no fixed opinions of his own, that a powerful experience can change his whole view of the world, "...and what was right seems wrong, and what was wrong seems right!". He reminded me of another literary character - Henri de Joyeuse from "The Forty-Five Guardsmen", chivalrously mooning over a girl he's only ever seen from afar. He's such an old-fashioned soul... Luckily, his love story turned out less tragic. All the discourses about society and justice and religion and violence, one may call them philosophising. I shall not. Because I don't understand philosophy and not interested in it. I am interested in this. Why? Because it's obvious. "The best books are those that tell you what you know already." Éponine - it's only when we first meet her did I fully accept and understand the title of this book, that I actually felt, for what seems for the first time ever, compassion for a literary character. Because she's not really a character, is she? If each character in this book is an example, a represantation, this one little girl's existence hits you like a ton of Brick(s). This book is like a giant puzzle - we get a glimpse of an answer every time, never the whole story. And sometimes, we're not even aware of the question. We are not spoonfed information, we get a little morcel each time, little clues - some help you solve the puzzle, some you're not even aware of being clues at all. Cosette - I've found her a lovely character, who, more than anything, reminded me of her mother. Her relationship with Marius, their infatuation, their courtship, it made me sad, a bit. I watched the film before reading the book. Never in my life was I so happy to have spoilers! Oh, and that one line of text! I don't have a romantic bone in my body. That's why I was so surprised, so delighted, that this relationship left such an impression. I was "struck to the bone" and I'm not even sorry! Funnily enough, or perhaps fittingly, theirs is the only realtionship of equals in this book. Every other has a note of wilfull submissiveness. So the whole scene with the escaping criminals was but an opening to a discussion on the nature of slang! I'm past surprising at this point. Does it diminish the story? not in the least. Because that's how people talk. Just another aspect of Parisien life... I wish we had more information on the successful insurrection of 1830. But I guess it is fitting we did not. Because it was a successful insurrection (at least for a while). The failure of June 5th broke my heart a bit. Because we were there - "Facts From Which History Springs and Which History Ignores" - for the preparations, the planning, the camaraderie. Had it succeded, it might have been beautiful... The writing style is very witty, very ironic, with a slap and a wink and a je ne sais quoi. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is serious. Until it is. Marius has these Romantic notions of War, vast battlefields, orders written down on papers and executed with dash and cheer. Battle worthy of an Emperor, not mere Monsieur le Président. He's the youngest of them all, he may keep his illusions, though he lost them for a while there, in pits of despair. I've found it uplifting that all his Romantic ideas came back after meeting Cosette and he got a bit of his old self back. Grantaire - another great character, had me practically glued to Google, since my copy of the books didn't have footnotes. The fellow truly is a walking contradiction, and nowhere is it more apparent than the very end. "He ridiculed all dedication under all circumstances, in the brother as well as the father, in Robespierre the younger as well as Loizerolles. "They're no further forward being dead," he exclaimed." If to die for a blood relation is ridiculous, to die with a friend should be inconceivable... And beyond the transcendent, way above the mundane, there are moments of truly epic, breathtaking proportions. The final act of M.Mabeuf is such one. And Enjolras' comment about the bravery of the Conventionists, pronouncing "regicides" with awe and respect,is a brilliant character building moment. "Suddenly, from the depth of that shadow, a voice, so much the more ominous, because nobody could be seen, and because it seemed as though it were the obscurity itself that was speaking, cried, "Who goes there?" At the same time they heard the click of the leveled muskets. Enjolras answered in a vibrant tone: "The French Revolution!" "Fire!" said the voice." Is it not sad and depressing to boot that the force created during La Révolution française, was now firing at one? Not that there was a lot of happiness during the first 3/4 of the book, the last quarter is just plain depressing. Not just, but mainly, because reading about the barricades and the Friends of the ABC were my favourite parts. And nothing, nothing, made me sadder than the realisation that they did not come with a thought to die at the barricade, that is was a possibility like any battle but it was not a fight to the death, that they had escape routes, that they would have left when the situation turned dire, but it's all gone to hell in a handbasket when a corrupt police officer shot an unarmed civilian. Gavroche - a great little character. A true free spirit on one hand, a terrible example of the times on the other. Always able to produce a smile, even on the faces of his enemies. It was quite surprising to discover that "Gavroche" is an assumed last name, not a first name. His death stayed with me throughout my life. It was nice to read about his life as well. There's a Hebrew phrase "המקיים נפש אחת, כאילו קיים עולם ומלואו", meaning if you save just one soul, it's like you saved the whole world. Valjean did this twice. And since each character is already a representaion, saving one orphan, one insurrectionist, is like saving them all. Boromir, Lord Marshal West, Brutus & Cassius, Thomas Cromwell, Richard III, Damar, Anne Boleyn, Stannis (if the Bastard Letter is true). This is but a short list of fictional characters in books/films/TV shows of recent years that were my absolute favourites, who were the reason I kept returning and read/watched said work of fiction again and again. These characters, different on the surface, have many things in common, with one standing out especially - they are all dead by time the credits roll/the last page is turned. They are the cause of me shedding many imaginary (in one case, actual) tears. They are the dark horse. The long shot. They could have never made it out alive. Can it be any sort of surprise that my favourite characters in this book are Enjolras and Javert? Javert - a favourite from the very beginnig. Perhaps I'm biased, always having a sort of admiration for representatives of the law. But to think, as someone of his unfortunate background, to never step over the line overstepped by Valjean (or at least never getting caught), when it could have been so easy... To face the same (worse) difficulties and turn the other way, with no easy excuses of finding religion. Oh, and I loved him at the barricade: 'I'm thirsty, I'm hungry, I'm hardly comfortable, this being-a-prisoner buisiness is so dull'. Priceless, truly. And his righteous indignation and resigntaion at seeing Valjean there. And the realisation that, like not all policemen are pigs, perhaps not all criminals are scum... And yet there are no heroes. No victims, either. Enjolras - like the "regicides" reaction, another one I absolutely loved is his, laconic as always, adress to his troops after the recon: "You will be attacked in an hour....Nothing to wait for, nothing to hope for..... You are abandoned." Another mark of character, another heartbreaking moment. He's always stood apart from them and since the execution of the cop he is the barricade, the barricade that was always going to be taken, and for him, there was never any hope. And yet, one moment made me laugh - being cold and ubrupt as usual while urging spare men to leave, he might have inadvertendly discouraged them from leaving, while Combeferre's moving speech could have backfired spectacularly - he stops speaking, every man clutching his head in horror at the presented visions, running away. He doesn't waste men or resourses or words or movements or emotions, but uses just the right amount, for just the expressed purposes. He would not only "spread his wings unexpectedly and astonish youby his soaring" but it also seems, himself. He never intended to give that big speech, but at that moment, there was an atmosphere that something must be said. So he said something. Only he said everything. I also like the distinction between the two women in his life - his mother the Republic and his mistress, Patria. Because a mistress is someone who supports you, who makes you strong. One can change a mistress, and still carry affection for a former one in one’s heart. A mother is another thing entirely. You carry your mother with you through all your life. She can be kind to you or cruel, forsaking her is unthinkable. Enjolras would have carried his love for France, even if building a new life in an exile, but he would have fought for a universal Republic anywhere. And if the final moments didn’t break what has remained of your heart by the time you reach it… Well…. “Pylades, we shall die, but let us die with glory; draw your sword, and follow me.” In the end, I don’t think this is a book about characters. Sure, there are some brilliant ones, but each of them is also an example, a representation. Much like Austen's book, this is about P&P - Paris and People. And in some ways, the bits inbetween can be just as moving, just as glorious as the plot itself. How can one not shudder at the description of the Mother of all Barricades in 1848? I dare say I would have even if I didn’t see it in the film… “Laugh, laugh at all my dreams! What I dream shall yet come true! Laugh at my belief in man, At my belief in you. Freedom still my soul demands, Unbartered for a calf of gold. For still I do believe in man, And in his spirit, strong and bold. And in the future I still believe Though it be distant, come it will When nations shall each other bless, And peace at last the earth shall fill.” ~ Shaul Tchernichovsky, “Creed”, 1894

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