"Les Miserables" by Victor Hugo

Ahem.

First, let me be clear: I read this book twenty-ish years ago, between my junior and senior years of college.  I also am quite happy to read very long classics.  And French classics.  The Count of Monte Cristo, which was published nearly twenty years before Les Miserables, and is at least as long and very equally French, is my second-favorite book of all time.  The problem here is not that I don't know how to read and understand books from the 1800s, that I don't appreciate the French, or that long books tire me out.

The problem here is twofold:

One, I should not have read Les Mis during the summer.  I get a mild case of summertime S.A.D. in late July that lasts through August and into September.  Les Mis was not the sort of thing I need to read during that time.  In late summer, I gravitate to dark and cool mysteries, ala Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, and to frothy romps, ala P. G. Wodehouse.  I should not have attempted to read this book during this season.  But a bunch of friends on Bookstagram got together a buddy read for it, and I have read lots of other books with them and really enjoy our discussions, so I decided to join.  Also, I'd totally read it once before (and during the summer, no less), so I knew I could finish it.  I just didn't reckon on the S.A.D. factor turning this book into a big bummer, or this book adding some extra grey tones to my S.A.D. or something.  Maybe both.

Two, Victor Hugo is not my kind of writer.  I like writers who can give me a good story, well told.  And who don't hesitate when doing so.  I do not appreciate entire chapters devoted to sarcastic remarks about famous Parisians I have never heard of and can't get the joke for.  I do not appreciate multi-chapter-long digressions about French slang.  I do not gravitate to writers who can't stay on track for more than about two chapters in a row.  I want to read about the characters that I have come to care about, and when you continuously wander off to look at the architecture or the flowers or the social customs... you lose me.  I don't care.  I care about your characters, and when you refuse to stick with those characters, I get frustrated and angry.

I think Victor Hugo needed a blog.  He needed somewhere to publish all his thoughts about heroism, sacrifice, the importance of Napoleon, the meaning of loyalty, and all the other extremely random rabbit trails he pursued throughout the book.  If he could only have had a blog, he could have pontificated about each one to his heart's content without gumming up a fiction book with them.  Perhaps he had ADHD.  Perhaps he got paid by the word.  I don't know.  

What I do know is, y'all, this book wearied me.  And, having read it twice, I don't think I ever need to read it again.  I love the musical, I love the Manga Classics version, and those will content me whenever I feel a Les Mis need.  I really love Jean Valjean, and his journey to forgiveness and insistence on living out a life of love and mercy and contentment are absolutely beautiful... and I wish Hugo would have presented that story in a coherent fashion instead of rambling like a senile old man.  I really do.

If This was a Movie, I Would Rate It: PG-16 for reasonably tasteful discussions of prostitution, a very frilly and oddly twee explanation of why Hugo decided not to describe a wedding night, quite a bit of violence, and a very long description of what it's like to wade through a disgusting sewer. 

This is my 17th book read for my fourth Classics club list and my 6th for my #20BooksOfSummer23 list.