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beckinasec 's review for:
Les Misérables
by Victor Hugo
I thought this book wasn't hitting me as hard as it has in the past.
And then I spent the last hour of it overcome by heaving sobs, so nm.
This book spent a lot of words talking about a love that is made complete by satisfaction. It heaps praises upon that love, calls it divine, the meaning of life. And I kept being distracted, because that love, of all the loves in this book, was the one I found uncompelling, superficial, vapid.
But while it may talk a lot about that love - that's not the love that makes you feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest. There are so many compelling displays of love in this book. Eponine, dying in Marius' arms. The bishop's love for humanity and his God. Friends, dying side by side on the barricade (whether or not their cause warrants it. I kept asking myself, what are they even doing this for? And the book does eventually address and admit that). And. Of course. Those devastating last 100 pages.
The book talks about a love that is made complete through satisfaction. The book is ABOUT a love that is made complete by sacrifice.
A love that has all the same desires and instincts for fulfillment, but that stops itself, fights with itself, and conquers. That love is divine. That love comes from only one source. That love is a reflection of the cross. And this book is one of the most beautiful depictions of it in all of literature.
(I freaking HATE that Hugo writes Cosette as such a completely un-interesting character but thinks he's writing an angel. Her defining feature is her virginal purity. A man's fantasy, that removes her humanity. Give me a break
And then I spent the last hour of it overcome by heaving sobs, so nm.
This book spent a lot of words talking about a love that is made complete by satisfaction. It heaps praises upon that love, calls it divine, the meaning of life. And I kept being distracted, because that love, of all the loves in this book, was the one I found uncompelling, superficial, vapid.
But while it may talk a lot about that love - that's not the love that makes you feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest. There are so many compelling displays of love in this book. Eponine, dying in Marius' arms. The bishop's love for humanity and his God. Friends, dying side by side on the barricade (whether or not their cause warrants it. I kept asking myself, what are they even doing this for? And the book does eventually address and admit that). And. Of course. Those devastating last 100 pages.
The book talks about a love that is made complete through satisfaction. The book is ABOUT a love that is made complete by sacrifice.
A love that has all the same desires and instincts for fulfillment, but that stops itself, fights with itself, and conquers. That love is divine. That love comes from only one source. That love is a reflection of the cross. And this book is one of the most beautiful depictions of it in all of literature.
(I freaking HATE that Hugo writes Cosette as such a completely un-interesting character but thinks he's writing an angel. Her defining feature is her virginal purity. A man's fantasy, that removes her humanity. Give me a break