Fitz & The Big Read

Reading through the BBC Book List was supposed to take me a year. Six years later, I finally finished tackling that list the way I tackle life: one page at a time.

[strandbooks]

Me! 🌧️🍂☀️❄️ Tag your reading buddy (pc: @buzzfeedbooks) — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/2CJhrQg

[fitzandthebigread]

Chapter 100: The End

A few disclaimers, before I begin:

1. This is not going to be a well-structured essay.

2. It’s probably not even going to focus entirely on Les Miserables,

because I’ve been reading the 2003 BBC Book List since February 2012, and almost-seven-years of time requires just a little processing.

I started this project because I was panicking. I had just graduated from a liberal arts college with degrees in English and music, and was completely unused to the amount of free time (ample) and money (scanty) I suddenly had on my hands. This project was a coping mechanism, a way to give myself something to do other than sit around and watch my roommates play video games all day, and think about how much harder “real life” was than college, and get increasingly angry about how no one had forewarned me of this fact. I was not used to intellectual boredom, or having to set my own deadlines, or even having to prepare my own meals, honestly. Everything was different and I was panicking, big time. But reading and writing were things I was good at,  things that brought me a sense of purpose and structure. So I found myself a pretentious, ambitious list of literature, and I set myself a deadline: 1 year. 1 year to read 100 books. 39,669 pages worth of books, as it turns out. That’s 108.62 pages a day. (Too many pages. I’m not good at math.)

I almost don’t recognize the me that began this project, that sat down one day in a fit of anxiety about what her life had become and where she could possibly go from here and decided that the answer lay somewhere within 39,669 pages of literature. The me I do recognize is the one who stuck to this project, even after the 1-year deadline passed her by, and then the 2-year deadline, and the 3-year deadline. I recognize that stubbornness, that dedication and determination to finish what I started, no matter how long it took, because that’s also the quality that got me out of the post-college rut of existential angst, and into my career as a teacher, musician, and leader. Even in the darkest times of my life (which, I am fully prepared to admit, were relatively un-dark in the grand scheme of things), I believed that things would get better, that I wouldn’t always feel the way I was feeling, and - most importantly - that I had the power to change my thoughts, and from there my circumstances.

I recognized this quality too in Jean Valjean, the Christ-like hero of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. Les Mis is full of larger-than-life characters, but none more so than Jean Valjean, who makes the journey from peasant to prisoner to escaped convict to Mayor-in-disguise to fugitive to adoptive-father to convent-gardener to mysterious gentleman to revolutionary and finally to father-in-law. Jean Valjean is constantly reinventing his identity, and for most of the book this is a necessity borne of the fear that he and his adopted daughter Cosette will be discovered and separated: he thrown back in prison, and she left to fend for herself on the streets. But Valjean’s first conversion, his first change of heart, comes as the result of the forgiveness of a priest, freely given and unconditional.

This grace sparks Valjean’s quest to lead a better life, one lived for others rather than for himself, a goal he pursues to the very end of his life, and almost without recognition or acknowledgement from the other characters in the book. People have a lot to say about Valjean - “This is a man who wants to get rich,” or “he is ambitious” (161), or “what a good bear” when he routinely passed some townswomen in the woods, smiling, but without speaking to them (162). Valjean is benevolent but mysterious, and after the people have come to accept him as a good influence, they still don’t speak with any real knowledge of him. “There is a rich man who does not show pride. There is a fortunate man who doesn’t seem self-satisfied” (163). Although these observations are accurate, they barely scratch the surface; the characters in Les Mis frequently remark upon each other without probing deeper, questioning why a person might behave this way. Indeed, this lack of deep character analysis almost leads Marius to abandon Jean Valjean at the hour of his death, a mistake he only remedies with the help of the opportunistic scoundrel Thenardier, who is even more odious in the book than he is in the musical.

Valjean does not ask for understanding, or for friendship, or even for love, though the lack of it kills him in the end. He knows that he answers to two beings alone: himself and the priest who forgave him when he deserved no forgiveness. It is his desire to show the same grace to others that was shown to him that drives Valjean’s actions throughout the novel, and no outside impetus can change his progress.

Les Miserables is much more than a feel-good story of redemption and transformation. It’s a dissection of French history, an examination of the French Revolution and its effects on society, a critique of intolerance, ignorance, and cruelty. It made me wish I knew a lot more about Napoleon, and the Battle of Waterloo, and European history in general. It reminded me of a few other historical titans on the Book List: War and Peace and Midnight’s Children among them. More than anything else, it reminded me that we as human beings are constantly trying to make sense of history and our place in the spiral of time. How are we affected by what has come before? How will we effect what comes after us? Are we important, or are we just killing time? Do our actions echo into the future, or is that privilege reserved for those with power, the political and economic leaders who set policies and call the shots?

In fact, “are we important?” seems to be a question that every book on the BBC List attempts to answer in one way or another. In some stories, the answer is clearly “no” (looking at you, Hamlet). In others, the answer might be “maybe, but only to some people,” or “only in a small way”. And for others, Les Mis being one, the answer is an unequivocal “yes.”

At the end of this project, I find myself wondering the same thing: did this matter? Yes, I have read 100 books, some of which I probably would never have even heard of if it weren’t for the BBC’s list. And yes, I have thought about all of them enough to write responses (or to find the responses of smarter people than me, in some cases). But am I really changed because of this project? What have I learned? And, if I hadn’t been reading these books for the past 6 years, 8 months, and 20 days, would I still have ended up here, sitting in the living room of the first home that I own, beside the man I believe I’ll marry, looking ahead to another week of work as a full-time artist and arts administrator?

I am an optimist, so I want to answer, confidently, “Of course I’m changed!” I want to say that I have changed so much, that these books have taught me lessons that I will carry with me my whole life, that I will think back on this time as one of great transformation. I want to affirm that I have felt connected to the most brilliant writers in history, and that my mind has been molded by some of the greatest men and women of letters that have ever lived.

But I can’t make that assertion, because it doesn’t feel entirely true. Sometimes, I didn’t feel connected to the writers of these books; I just felt annoyed by them. Sometimes I didn’t want to read another stupid Dickens novel, or to slog through hundreds of pages, just to start another book I didn’t choose for myself. Sometimes, I didn’t like the book I was reading; a few times, I was actually disturbed by it (The Wasp Factory. Never again). But I kept going.

And that is the thing that I’ll take with me, the lesson I’ve learned. No matter how many years passed, I kept going. No matter how many times the project seemed daunting, or the books too long or boring or stupid or inane or not-my-taste, I kept going. I read through relationships begun and ended, through moves, through friendships that begun and friendships that have faded away. I read through years of uncertainty, of questioning, of having to explain why I was lugging this fat, dusty literary classic around with me everywhere. I read through rainstorms and snowstorms and one infamous Blackout Week. I read on the train to 6 jobs I no longer have, in the car on the way to places I no longer visit, in the houses of friends I no longer see. I laughed. I cried. I fretted. I stressed. I bounced back. I kept reading.

And you! Thank you for reading, too.

PAGE COUNT: 39,669

BOOK COUNT: 100/100

[fitzandthebigread]

October 21, 2018 6:40 pm

I

FINISHED

THE BOOK LIST!

[fitzandthebigread]

He was experiencing what the earth may experience at the moment when it is opened by the plow so wheat may be sown; it feels only the wound; the trill of the seed and joy of the fruit do not come until later.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

“The jostling of young minds against each other has the wonderful attribute, that one can never foresee the spark, nor predict the flash.”

- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

People were transformed almost without suspecting it, by the very movement of the time. The hand that sweeps around the dial also moves among souls.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[penguinteen]

me: finishes a 300 page book in one day

also me: takes a month to read five chapters

also also me: understands that my value is not determined by the number of books I read

[fitzandthebigread]

There is one spectacle greater than the sea: that is the sky. There is one spectacle greater than the sky: that is the interior of the soul.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

Though we chisel away as best we can at the mysterious block from which our life is made, the black vein of destiny continually reappears.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

My friends, remember this: there are no bad herbs, and no bad men; there are only bad cultivators.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

We should take time to reflect, if we want to be brilliant.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

Sometimes, the simplest is the wisest.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

Society... must answer for the night it produces. If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

Whether true or false, what is said about men often has as much influence on their lives, and particularly their destinies, as what they do.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[fitzandthebigread]

She be thick.

[fitzandthebigread]

Chapter 99: Mastermind

Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is on a lot of book lists. In addition to the BBC’s infamous list (from which I devised this insane project over 6 years ago), it has managed to find a place on a 2004 study of top read-aloud books among schoolchildren in California, a 2012 list of most common books UK adults had read as children, and J.K. Rowling’s personal list of the top 10 books every child should read.

It’s universally beloved, and I too had had it read to me as a child by my second grade teacher, Mrs. Calhoun, who loved to read aloud in class almost as much as we loved to hear her. I remember feeling as we heard of the demise of each disobedient, spoiled, or rude child that justice had been served. The moral seemed simple: don’t be selfish, and you’ll inherit a large chocolate factory where you and your family can live forever.

As an adult, from my lofty perch high atop Mount Experience, the moral gets a little problematic, mostly due to the enigmatic owner of the factory itself. Willy Wonka exists somewhere between the New Testament God and Seneca Crane of The Hunger Games, benevolently bestowing candy on the world while simultaneously devising a devlish test of self-control for some spectacularly uncontrolled children. At first, as the children begin to disobey instructions, it seems that Wonka is truly dismayed at their actions. “Oh no!” he shouts, as Augustus Gloop buries his face in the chocolate river, “Please, Augustus, please! I beg of you not to do that” (77). And yet, after Augustus is swept away and the other children begin similarly to disappear, Wonka becomes less and less phased. “Well, well, well,” he sighs after Violet Beauregarde chews a very bad piece of gum and is removed to the Juicing Room, “two naughty little children gone. Three good little children left” (109). And when Charlie asks if Violet will still be blue all over after begin de-juiced, Wonka replies, “She’ll be purple! But that’s what comes from chewing disgusting gum all day long!” (109). It is at this moment in the book that we begin to suspect that Wonka’s intentions might not be entirely honorable, that he has, in fact, set a series of Herculean tasks before these children specifically to entrap them. He is, in essence, giving them tests he knows they cannot pass, and waiting for them to fail.

In the end, Wonka’s motives are revealed. He’s looking for a successor who won’t be influenced by adult vices such as selfishness or greed to take over his factory when he is no able to run it. Charlie Bucket, who has lived a life of poverty and selflessness, is impervious to every temptation, and thus wins the prize. (I found it interesting to note that Dahl initially envisioned Charlie Bucket as a black boy, adding a level of social and economic commentary to the story, but that the idea was nixed after his publishers feared that no one would be able to relate to Charlie if he were black, because white supremacist bullshit.) The Buckets (including all four grandparents, two parents, and Charlie himself) are air-lifted out of their now-ruined shack and whisked away into the sky, presumably to the factory. However, there’s something of The Little Match-Girl in the end of this story, as the starving family is taken to a fantastical land of plenty, as if by magic (162). And all this from a man who has condoned the demise of several young children, and been alarmingly vague as to his intentions until the last twenty pages of the book. It feels manipulative somehow, in a way I can’t quite identify.

Maybe I’m jaded. Maybe those adults who live on Mount Experience have too much worldly knowledge to approach this story with the childlike enthusiasm with which Dahl wrote. And yet, I think Dahl - genius as he was - intended every moral ambiguity in this novel. Just as Wonka masterminded the chocolate factory test for his guests, Dahl masterminds his novel for his readers - both the young and the young at heart. This ambiguity allows Dahl to acknowledge the emotional maturity of his child readers while also inviting adults into their world once more. Life is complex, both for children and adults, and Dahl and Wonka play up this complexity in ways that are both fantastic and terrifying.

PAGE COUNT: 38,206

BOOK COUNT: 99/100 (oh my gosh SO CLOSE!)

[fitzandthebigread]

Chapter 98: Oh, Ophelia

(This essay brought to you by College Fitz, and the Senior Seminar on Shakespearean Tragedy.)

Essentially silent for much of the time she is onstage, Ophelia receives little attention from the other characters even when she does speak. While Hamlet has the benefit of six long soliloquies in which to express his thoughts, Ophelia’s uninterrupted feelings are condensed to twelve lines in the middle of Act 3, scene 2. In this speech, however, Ophelia’s language is not that of an intimidated girl, but instead mirrors that of the male characters. Ophelia’s diction furthers images of usurpation and political turmoil, and suggests that Ophelia knows more about the inner workings of the Danish court than anyone suspects.

Ophelia begins her speech not with the lamentation of her lost love, but with a description of Hamlet’s lost intellect. “O,” she cries, “what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!” (149). Ophelia seems to intuit Hamlet’s promise to remember the ghost of his father “whiles memory holds a seat/ in [his] distracted globe” (I. v. 96-97). The image of holding a seat, together with that seat being overthrown, bears a striking resemblance to the political situation in Denmark. Indeed, Ophelia’s speech only grows more discerning. She describes Hamlet as “courtier…soldier…scholar,” all accurate descriptions for the young prince still trying to discover his role in the politics of the Danish court, perhaps by basing his own identity on the identities of his foils: the courtier Laertes, the soldier Fortinbras, the scholar Hortatio. However, Ophelia’s subsequent words are telling in their confusion:

The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s eye, tongue, sword,

…the observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down! (ll. 150, 153).

Standard parallel structure dictates that the order of the objects should correspond to their possessor; therefore, the order should imply “courtier’s tongue, soldier’s sword, scholar’s eye.” Ophelia’s scrambling of the words mirrors Hamlet’s confusion of his own identity; he no longer knows whether he is a scholar, a courtier, or a soldier, and which of these professions would best help him take revenge against his uncle.

Only after Ophelia’s exploration of Hamlet’s madness does she turn to her own sorrow, again using language reminiscent of earlier speeches.

And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,

That suck’d the honey of his music vows,

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason

Like sweet bells jangled out of time, and harsh;

That unmatch’d form and stature of blown youth

Blasted with ecstasy. (ll. 154-159).

The musical imagery here again mirrors Hamlet’s first address to the ghost of his father, when he vows to follow the spirit whether it brings with it “airs from heaven, or blasts from hell” (I. iv. 41). While in Hamlet’s case, the word “blasts” musically contrasts with the beautiful tones from heaven, in Ophelia’s usage, the word means “withered,” or “fallen.” Through her diction, Shakespeare draws a definitive parallel between the ghost’s appearance and Hamlet’s own demise, with music accompanying both images. Hamlet and Ophelia both “suck the honey” of a man’s “music vows”: Hamlet, those of his father’s spirit, and Ophelia, those of Hamlet. In both cases, the lull of the music changes to blasted cadences, and leads both characters to insanity.

Though her fellow characters would suppose Ophelia a simple girl with limited knowledge of the world around her, the single soliloquy she speaks while sane proves that she is anything but. Ophelia’s language “holds the mirror up to nature,” allowing the audience to draw parallels between her later madness and Hamlet’s, and providing glimpses into the mind of a young woman who is very much aware of the political and intellectual subtleties of her surroundings.

PAGE COUNT: 38,044

BOOK COUNT: 98/100