#b/c i knew going into that episode that it was going to decimate me

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Hello, 911? Hi, yes, I’d like to report a crime⏤ Chapter 23 of the Mandalorian came into my house and kicked me in the teeth. I am physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually broken so if you could do something about that I’d be much obliged thanks.

[dadsbongos]

Hargreeves Kids in Order of Their Problems (and do i have a problem?)

No secret that the Hargreeves children are all fucked up, but as I was re-watching I was like damn - what if we ranked them? So here we go, I’m ranking all the Hargreeves�� spawn by their pain; taking into account their trauma with and without Reginald (mostly for Five/Klaus) and how bad it messed them up. I’ll be sticking mostly to the first season because that’s where a lot of the meat is, but I might include a tiny peek into season two.

Also, I will be directly addressing the frequent question I ask myself “Am I attracted to trauma when it comes to characters?” by looking at my favorites and if they’re all deeply scarred.

S Tier Pain - Five Hargreeves:

Not only was he forced to endure Reginald’s abusive training regime (at least until the haha moment), but he also got stuck in the future after a miscalculated time jump. You’d think that’d be bad enough, what with no longer being able to see your family, but no. Well, technically he did see them when he found their dead bodies but that’s just more to Five’s suffering. He also got jammed into a post-Apocalyptic life where he was the sole survivor and had to live all on his own (though he had Dolores, which is a whole can of sad, loneliness worms we don’t have time for). Then to make matters worse he was taken into the Commission where he was turned into as assassin for years, to which he quit early to save his family from the Apocalypse. After the first one - yes, the first - and arriving in the 60s, Five got to see a glimpse of his siblings dying to the second one. All he ever does is for his family’s survival, even if it means his misery. In season one (and two) he makes a deal with the Handler, who he can’t stand, just to

maybe

 ensure she’ll protect his loved ones from the end of the world. He willingly works with a woman he hates and likely doesn’t trust so his family would be safe. And who could forget that redheaded lady in the bowling alley, like gosh, she really ruined his life by assuming his age like that... poor guy.

A Tier Pain - Klaus Hargreeves:

Unlike Five, he got to stick around for the entirety of Reggie’s cuck ways of abusing his kids physically/emotionally/mentally. From a young age (if that episode two lunch scene is anything), Klaus has been using drugs as a way to cope with his family life and his power. His addiction has led to a rather sad life, as evident from the first episode and some of his own dialogue - he’s not used to staying in one place, if anything his visits to rehab centers are the longest homes he really has. He’s not expected to stay sober long by the counter employee, indicating he’s been there before multiple times. When talking to Five outside of the prosthetic department, he outright admits he hasn’t been with someone for longer than about two weeks. He’s never shown to even hold down a job unless you count supplying local pawn shops - or, you know, the army. He served in war, straight up war, he likely has PTSD and to make things better, note the sarcasm, he lost his boyfriend in that war. Dave, the one person he’s described as loving more than he does himself. Klaus is constantly brushed under the rug as this crazy, attention-seeking junkie for most of season one by his family, but he’s more likely just calling for the help he clearly needs. Speaking of his family, I just wanna throw in that Klaus was kidnapped and tortured and not one person seemed to notice or even care.

B Tier Pain - Vanya Hargreeves:

Neglected by her adoptive father and siblings her entire life, Vanya was left out of the loop of even her own powers until she discovered them fucking decades later. She wrote a book trying to air out her father’s awful deeds and rather than finding solidarity with their shared agony at least a little, her siblings pushed her even further away. Quick mention, during the argument on whether or not to turn off Grace, she was immediately shut down on an opinion until she was shown to agree with Diego. Her vote didn’t matter until she sided with another sibling. Vanya grew up so starved for attention and love that when she got into her first relationship with Leonard (that bitchy murderer) she mistook it for a real love. Stayed with an abusive, gaslighting killer against all her sister’s warnings. She was betrayed by her own brother (fuck Luther, me and the homies hate Luther) after coming home, sobbing and pleading forgiveness, just wanting to help into being locked back in that vault Reginald used to keep her in. Vanya snapped, felt there was no other outlet and truly there possibly wasn’t for her, and ended the world. She was in so much pain, so angry with her life and how it was ruined by her own family that she blew up the moon. And honestly? I’m not even mad at her for it.

C Tier Pain - Diego Hargreeves:

Dude found his ex-girlfriend’s - and probably his potential love interest’s - corpse. He’s aching inside at least a bit. His spot as Number Two fueled a deep need to prove himself, whether he admits it or not, it’s why he’s a vigilante. Diego functions off of stopping crime and it’s only different from his childhood because he does it alone. He feels the need to validate what he went through, as if his suffering needs to be explained in some way. Speaking of childhoods, who gives them to us? Moms. Grace is his robo-Mom with no real sentience (well, before Cha-Cha and Hazel raided the place anyway, reboot Grace has some weird independence complex going on). She read to him, put him to bed, and fed his Mama’s Boy fixation - even going as far as to help Diego with his stutter. He put her down, in the robot sense. Diego was the first person to speak against shutting Grace down and yet he did so himself - knowing it’s what had to happen.

D Tier Pain - Ben Hargreeves:

He’s dead, so I’m not sure what he’s gone through other than having “The Horror” in his stomach and Reginald as a dad. So there’s not much to say about his trauma other than having to sit through watching people die horribly by his power’s hand. But again, he’s dead, and dying is one of the most traumatic things I can think of. That’s why he’s higher than the others but still lower than the previous four Hargreeves’ kids.

E Tier Pain - Allison Hargreeves:

She’s known as a “Daddy’s Girl” how that’s possible with Reginald, I’m not sure, but she is. Not to excuse any of the torment she got as a child or give the abuse a pass, at all. It’s just an inference that as Number Three and someone who easily got what she wanted with her power, she probably didn’t feel out-casted like Vanya. Nor was she left to survive on her own and then kill to live like Five. Allison, in all fairness, was viciously attacked by her sister after revealing she “Rumored” her memory away. Unlike Ben, she survived and went on to be the peaceful one of the family and her power didn’t directly kill, especially in ways that “The Horror” did. So I must rank her pain lower with a sad bob in my throat, nervous that all the Allison lovers will scream at/cancel me for putting her at E.

F Tier Pain - Luther Hargreeves:

Fuck Luther, me and the homies hate Luther. This little fuck found something out of proving himself to his father. So far up his dad’s ass that he was cool with being a monkey space boy for years until he realized Reginald didn’t give a shit about him. And honestly? Same. No but really, he did become a monkey man purely out of Reginald’s need for a hero to do what he said - and Luther couldn’t fill that if he was dead. I do recognize that his life was essentially wasted by his years spent on the moon, blindly following Dad’s orders but to be honest, he’s too in the background. He had nothing other than his father and therefore lost nothing other than his family, it’s hard to feel bad when you know he had no intention of doing anything other than be by Reginald. No plans unlike Klaus who had his life decimated by his drugs dependency or fuck, Five! Five had absolutely no life other than living through the Apocalypse for decades. Overall, I hate Luther but even though I can’t stand his gorilla guts, I do recognize that he has trauma.

~~~Do I Have A Problem?~~~ Considering that Five and Klaus are my favorite characters and they are the most traumatized? Yes, I am unnecessarily in love with characters in pain. I didn’t want to be a mannequin before I knew about Five, and now I crave to morph into Dolores (or at least combine with her like a Power Ranger)

[becasueimtheworstkindofperson]

Episode 1: Many Mouths Which Speak and Very Few Heads Which Think Transcript

Good morning girls, goths, and gays, and welcome to the very first episode of Because I’m the Worst Kind of Person! My name is Kate and I’m here to guide you through the minefield that is classic literature! For the very first season, I’m going to be tackling one of the longest books I own. Clocking in at two thousand four hundred and fifty three pages in it’s online pdf form, you know it as the brick, that’s right, it’s Les Miserable by Victor Hugo!

You might be thinking to yourself, “Is Les Mis really the best book to be starting on?” and honestly, It’s probably not. I’ve never taken a single french lesson in my life so I’m going to butcher this baby! But the fact of the matter is, it’s been on my reading list since I read Hunchback, and my sister’s getting really annoyed that I refuse to watch the musical before I read the book. It’s not a great standard to have, I wouldn’t recommend it. This is going to be my third time attempting to get through it.

Now. Which version will I be using? I can’t read french either, so I would obviously need a translation. At first I thought I would be fine to use the copy I had, a nice thrifted signet classic copy I picked up for a dollar. Then I ran into an issue. Copyright Law. The copy I owned was translated by Lee Fahnestock and Norman MacAfee, and while it was based on the original C. E. Wilbour translation, it wasn’t something I could just read out loud to you guys. So I had the brilliant idea to pick up a copy of the Wilbour translation! How hard could it be! Very hard apparently. By the time my copy arrived in the mail, I realized that it was the abridged version. Now I have nothing but respect for people who want the abridged version of a Hugo novel. Victor is equally, if not more concerned with us knowing every building the protagonist passes, every festival that might be taking place, the backstory of every minor character, as he is with the main plot. It can get exhausting. That said, Momma didn’t raise no bitch, and I’m very used to biting off more than I can chew. By this point I realized that since I’m going to be putting up transcripts, and I didn’t want to type up Les Mis word-for-word, it would probably be in my best interest to just use an online pdf, which lead me to the version I will be using, translated by  Isabel F. Hapgood who died in 1928, which puts me safely in the public domain. I’ll put a link in the shownotes to the pdf I’m using so y’all can read along with me.

Before we get started each week, I’d like to share a fact about the author with you. They’ll start out pretty mundane, but since this book is long as hell I’m sure I’ll get into the weirder aspects of Hugo’s life before long, and there were some pretty weird aspects. To start us out, Victor Hugo was born in 1802 at the age of zero and died in 1885 at the age of eighty three.

Without further ado, let’s get started on the book!

[From this point on, text from the novel will be formatted normally and commentary will be bolded]

 PREFACE 

So long as there shall exist, by virtue of law and custom, decrees of damnation pronounced by society, artificially creating hells amid the civilization of earth, and adding the element of human fate to divine destiny; so long as the three great problems of the century— the degradation of man through pauperism, the corruption of woman through hunger, the crippling of children through lack of light— are unsolved; so long as social asphyxia is possible in any part of the world;—in other words, and with a still wider significance, so long as ignorance and poverty exist on earth, books of the nature of Les Miserables cannot fail to be of use. HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 1862. 

VOLUME I. 

FANTINE

BOOK FIRST—A JUST MAN

CHAPTER I 

M. MYRIEL 

In 1815, M. Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D——. I’m not abbreviating that for dick or anything, it literally just says ��D’ with two dashes after it. And I’m just going to apologize for all the names I’m going to completely decimate here. He was an old man of about seventy-five years of age; he had occupied the see of D—— since 1806. 

Although this detail has no connection whatever with the real substance of what we are about to relate, it will not be superfluous, if merely for the sake of exactness in all points, to mention here the various rumors and remarks which had been in circulation about him from the very moment when he arrived in the diocese. That is the most Victor Hugo sentence I have ever read. True or false, that which is said of men often occupies as important a place in their lives, and above all in their destinies, as that which they do. M. Myriel was the son of a councillor of the Parliament of Aix; hence he belonged to the nobility of the bar. It was said that his father, destining him to be the heir of his own post, had married him at a very early age, eighteen or twenty, in accordance with a custom which is rather widely prevalent in parliamentary families. In spite of this marriage, however, it was said that Charles Myriel created a great deal of talk. He was well formed, though rather short in stature, elegant, graceful, intelligent; the whole of the first portion of his life had been devoted to the world and to gallantry. 

The Revolution came; events succeeded each other with precipitation; the parliamentary- Christ. “Events succeeded each other with precipitation.” Okay… Sorry guys, that’s- that seems really redundant there. Let’s try that one more time. The Revolution came; events succeeded each other with precipitation; the parliamentary families, decimated, pursued, hunted down, were dispersed. M. Charles Myriel emigrated to Italy at the very beginning of the Revolution. There his wife died of a malady of the chest, from which she had long suffered. He had no children. What took place next in the fate of M. Myriel? The ruin of the French society of the olden days, the fall of his own family, the tragic spectacles of ‘93, which were, perhaps, even more alarming to the emigrants who viewed them from a distance, with the magnifying powers of terror,—did these cause the ideas of renunciation and solitude to germinate in him? Was he, in the midst of these distractions, these affections which absorbed his life, suddenly smitten with one of those mysterious and terrible blows which sometimes overwhelm, by striking to his heart, a man whom public catastrophes would not shake, by striking at his existence and his fortune? No one could have told: all that was known was, that when he returned from Italy he was a priest. 

In 1804, M. Myriel was the Cure of B——. And here we’ve got in brackets Brignolles, which I’m assuming is Italian. He was already advanced in years, and lived in a very retired manner. Oh same.

About the epoch of the coronation, some petty affair connected with his curacy—just what, is not precisely known—took him to Paris. Among other powerful persons to whom he went to solicit aid for his parishioners was M. le Cardinal Fesch. One day, when the Emperor had come to visit his uncle, the worthy Cure, who was waiting in the anteroom, found himself present when His Majesty passed. Napoleon, on finding himself observed with a certain curiosity by this old man, turned round and said abruptly:— 

‘Who is this good man who is staring at me?’ 

‘Sire,’ said M. Myriel, ‘you are looking at a good man, and I at a great man. Each of us can profit by it.’ 

And then everyone clapped.

That very evening, the Emperor asked the Cardinal the name of the Cure, and some time afterwards M. Myriel was utterly astonished to learn that he had been appointed Bishop of D——. 

What truth was there, after all, in the stories which were invented as to the early portion of M. Myriel’s life? No one knew. Very few families had been acquainted with the Myriel family before the Revolution. 

M. Myriel had to undergo the fate of every newcomer in a little town, where there are many mouths which talk, and very few heads which think. He was obliged to undergo it although he was a bishop, and because he was a bishop. But after all, the rumors with which his name was connected were rumors only,—noise, sayings, words; less than words— palabres, as the energetic language of the South expresses it. 

However that may be, after nine years of episcopal power and of residence in D——, all the stories and subjects of conversation which engross petty towns and petty people at the outset had fallen into profound oblivion. No one would have dared to mention them; no one would have dared to recall them. 

M. Myriel had arrived at D—— accompanied by an elderly spinster, Mademoiselle Baptistine, who was his sister, and ten years his junior. Why is she elderly then? I know, I know, it’s like 1800’s France, but still.

Their only domestic was a female servant of the same age as Mademoiselle Baptistine, and named Madame Magloire Magloire? Madame Magloire [this worked better in audio], who, after having been the servant of M. le Cure, now assumed the double title of maid to Mademoiselle and housekeeper to Monseigneur. I’m, again, so sorry about all this French.

Mademoiselle Baptistine was a long, pale, thin, gentle creature; she realized the ideal expressed by the word ‘respectable”; for it seems that a woman must needs be a mother in order to be venerable. She had never been pretty; her whole life, which had been nothing but a succession of holy deeds, had finally conferred upon her a sort of pallor and transparency; and as she advanced in years she had acquired what may be called the beauty of goodness. So like, she’s not hot, but she’s got a great personality. What had been leanness in her youth had become transparency in her maturity; and this diaphaneity allowed the angel to be seen. She was a soul rather than a virgin. Her person seemed made of a shadow; there was hardly sufficient body to provide for sex; a little matter enclosing a light; large eyes forever drooping;— a mere pretext for a soul’s remaining on the earth. 

Oh my god I hate how men write women so much. So this is not a modern problem, folks!

Madame Magloire was a little, fat, white old woman, corpulent and bustling; always out of breath,—in the first place, because of her activity, and in the next, because of her asthma. 

On his arrival, M. Myriel was installed in the episcopal palace with the honors required by the Imperial decrees, which class a bishop immediately after a major-general. The mayor and the president paid the first call on him, and he, in turn, paid the first call on the general and the prefect. 

The installation over, the town waited to see its bishop at work.

End of Chapter 1.

CHAPTER II 

M. MYRIEL BECOMES M. WELCOME 

The episcopal palace of D—— adjoins the hospital. 

The episcopal palace was a huge and beautiful house, built of stone at the beginning of the last century by M. Henri Puget, Puget? [Again, it works better in the audio] Doctor of Theology of the Faculty of Paris, Abbe of Simore, who had been Bishop of D—— in 1712. Oh my god. There are so many run on sentences which, like, I get and I am also guilty of them, but come on, Victor. This palace was a genuine seignorial residence. Everything about it had a grand air,—the apartments of the Bishop, the drawing-rooms, the chambers, the principal courtyard, which was very large, with walks encircling it under arcades in the old Florentine fashion, and gardens planted with magnificent trees. In the dining-room, a long and superb gallery which was situated on the ground-floor and opened on the gardens, M. Henri Puget had entertained in state, on July 29, 1714, My Lords Charles Brulart de Genlis, archbishop; Prince d’Embrun; Antoine de Mesgrigny, the capuchin, Bishop of Grasse; Philippe de Vendome, Grand Prior of France, Abbe of Saint Honore de Lerins; Francois de Berton de Crillon, bishop, Baron de Vence; Cesar de Sabran de Forcalquier, bishop, Seignor of Glandeve; and Jean Soanen, Priest of the Oratory, preacher in ordinary to the king, bishop, Seignor of Senez. I don’t think I have it in me to do another take of that, so again, like, that is completely butchered, and if I was just reading this to myself I would have completely just skipped over that list. The portraits of these seven reverend personages decorated this apartment; and this memorable date, the 29th of July, 1714, was there engraved in letters of gold on a table of white marble.

The hospital was a low and narrow building of a single story, with a small garden. 

Three days after his arrival, the Bishop visited the hospital. The visit ended, he had the director requested to be so good as to come to his house. 

‘Monsieur the director of the hospital,’ said he to him, ‘how many sick people have you at the present moment?’ 

‘Twenty-six, Monseigneur.’ 

‘That was the number which I counted,’ said the Bishop. 

‘The beds,’ pursued the director, ‘are very much crowded against each other.’

‘That is what I observed.’ 

‘The halls are nothing but rooms, and it is with difficulty that the air can be changed in them.’ 

‘So it seems to me.’ 

‘And then, when there is a ray of sun, the garden is very small for the convalescents.’ 

‘That was what I said to myself.’ 

‘In case of epidemics,—we have had the typhus fever this year; we had the sweating sickness two years ago, and a hundred patients at times,—we know not what to do.’ 

‘That is the thought which occurred to me.’ 

‘What would you have, Monseigneur?’ said the director. 

‘One must resign one’s self.’ 

This conversation took place in the gallery dining-room on the ground-floor. 

Oh my god. He’s as bad as Hemmingway, there were like no dialogue tags. Anything that was like, ‘oh yeah, it looked like that to me’ that was the bishop just so you guys all know.

This conversation took place in the gallery dining-room on the ground-floor.

The Bishop remained silent for a moment; then he turned abruptly to the director of the hospital. 

‘Monsieur,’ said he, ‘how many beds do you think this hall alone would hold?’ 

‘Monseigneur’s dining-room?’ exclaimed the stupefied director. 

The Bishop cast a glance round the apartment, and seemed to be taking measures and calculations with his eyes. 

‘It would hold full twenty beds,’ said he, as though speaking to himself. Then, raising his voice:— 

‘Hold, Monsieur the director of the hospital, I will tell you something. There is evidently a mistake here. There are thirty-six of you, in five or six small rooms. There are three of us here, and we have room for sixty. There is some mistake, I tell you; you have my house, and I have yours. Give me back my house; you are at home here.’

On the following day the thirty-six patients were installed in the Bishop’s palace, and the Bishop was settled in the hospital. 

M. Myriel had no property, his family having been ruined by the Revolution. His sister was in receipt of a yearly income of five hundred francs, which sufficed for her personal wants at the vicarage. M. Myriel received from the State, in his quality of bishop, a salary of fifteen thousand francs. On the very day when he took up his abode in the hospital, There is just one sentence every now and then that I just cannot get. Let’s try this one more time.  On the very day when he took up his abode in the hospital,  M. Myriel settled on the disposition of this sum once for all, in the following manner. We transcribe here a note made by his own hand:—

And here’s the note.

 NOTE ON THE REGULATION OF MY HOUSEHOLD EXPENSES. 

For the little seminary … … … …. . 1,500 livres 

Society of the mission … … … …. . 100 ‘ 

For the Lazarists of Montdidier … … …. 100 ‘ 

Seminary for foreign missions in Paris … … 200 ‘ 

Congregation of the Holy Spirit … … …. 150 ‘ 

Religious establishments of the Holy Land …. . 100 ‘ 

Charitable maternity societies … … …. 300 ‘ 

Extra, for that of Arles … … … …. 50 ‘ 

Work for the amelioration of prisons … …. 400 ‘ 

Work for the relief and delivery of prisoners … 500 ‘ 

To liberate fathers of families incarcerated for debt 1,000 ‘ 

We can get behind that.

Addition to the salary of the poor teachers of the diocese … … … … … …. 2000 ‘ 

Public granary of the Hautes-Alpes … …. . 100 ‘ 

Congregation of the ladies of D——, of Manosque, and of Sisteron, for the gratuitous instruction of poor girls … … … … … …. . 1,500 ‘ 

For the poor … … … … … …. 6,000 ‘ 

My personal expenses … … … … … 1,000 ‘ 

——— 

Total … … … … … …. . 15,000 ‘

M. Myriel made no change in this arrangement during the entire period that he occupied the see of D—— As has been seen, he called it regulating his household expenses. 

This arrangement was accepted with absolute submission by Mademoiselle Baptistine. This holy woman regarded Monseigneur of D—— as at one and the same time her brother and her bishop, her friend according to the flesh and her superior according to the Church. She simply loved and venerated him. When he spoke, she bowed; when he acted, she yielded her adherence. Their only servant, Madame Magloire, grumbled a little. It will be observed that Monsieur the Bishop had reserved for himself only one thousand livres, which, added to the pension of Mademoiselle Baptistine, made fifteen hundred francs a year. On these fifteen hundred francs these two old women and the old man subsisted. 

And when a village curate came to D——, the Bishop still found means to entertain him, thanks to the severe economy of Madame Magloire, and to the intelligent administration of Mademoiselle Baptistine. 

Okay. I mean, at least they’re semi-equals. It’s not the best.

One day, after he had been in D—— about three months, the Bishop said:—

‘And still I am quite cramped with it all!’ 

‘I should think so!’ exclaimed Madame Magloire. ‘Monseigneur has not even claimed the allowance which the department owes him for the expense of his carriage in town, and for his journeys about the diocese. It was customary for bishops in former days.’ 

‘Hold!’ cried the Bishop, ‘you are quite right, Madame Magloire.’ 

And he made his demand. 

Some time afterwards the General Council took this demand under consideration, and voted him an annual sum of three thousand francs, under this heading: Allowance to M. the Bishop for expenses of carriage, expenses of posting, and expenses of pastoral visits. 

This provoked a great outcry among the local burgesses; and a senator of the Empire, a former member of the Council of the Five Hundred which favored the 18 Brumaire, and who was provided with a magnificent senatorial office in the vicinity of the town of D——, wrote to M. Bigot de Preameneu, the minister of public worship, a very angry and confidential note on the subject, from which we extract these authentic lines:—

 ‘Expenses of carriage? What can be done with it in a town of less than four thousand inhabitants? Expenses of journeys? What is the use of these trips, in the first place? Next, how can the posting be accomplished in these mountainous parts? There are no roads. No one travels otherwise than on horseback. Even the bridge between Durance and Chateau-Arnoux can barely support ox-teams. These priests are all thus, greedy and avaricious. This man played the good priest when he first came. Now he does like the rest; he must have a carriage and a posting-chaise, he must have luxuries, like the bishops of the olden days. Oh, all this priesthood! Things will not go well, M. le Comte, until the Emperor has freed us from these black-capped rascals. Down with the Pope! [Matters were getting embroiled with Rome.] For my  part, I am for Caesar alone.’ Etc., etc. 

On the other hand, this affair afforded great delight to Madame Magloire. ‘Good,’ said she to Mademoiselle Baptistine; ‘Monseigneur began with other people, but he has had to wind up with himself, after all. He has regulated all his charities. Now here are three thousand francs for us! At last!’ 

That same evening the Bishop wrote out and handed to his sister a memorandum conceived in the following terms:— 

EXPENSES OF CARRIAGE AND CIRCUIT. 

For furnishing meat soup to the patients in the hospital. 1,500 livres 

For the maternity charitable society of Aix … …. 250 ‘ 

For the maternity charitable society of Draguignan … 250 ‘ 

For foundlings … … … … … … … 500 ‘ 

For orphans … … … … … … …. 500 ‘

 ——-

 Total … … … … … … …. . 3,000 ‘ 

Such was M. Myriel’s budget. 

As for the chance episcopal perquisites, that’s perquisites not prerequisites the fees for marriage bans, dispensations, private baptisms, sermons, benedictions, of churches or chapels, marriages, etc., the Bishop levied them on the wealthy with all the more asperity, since he bestowed them on the needy. 

After a time, offerings of money flowed in. Those who had and those who lacked knocked at M. Myriel’s door,— the latter in search of the alms which the former came to deposit. In less than a year the Bishop had become the treasurer of all benevolence and the cashier of all those in distress. So basically, he organized socialism in his diocese Considerable sums of money passed through his hands, but nothing could induce him to make any change whatever in his mode of life, or add anything superfluous to his bare necessities. 

Far from it. As there is always more wretchedness below than there is brotherhood above, all was given away, so to speak, before it was received. It was like water on dry soil; no matter how much money he received, he never had any. Then he stripped himself. Probably not in a sexy way though. He is a man of God after all

The usage being that bishops shall announce their baptismal names at the head of their charges and their pastoral letters, the poor people of the country-side had selected, with a sort of affectionate instinct, among the names and prenomens of their bishop, that which had a meaning for them; and they never called him anything except Monseigneur Bienvenu. Which means Welcome, and I have that in brackets there. We will follow their example, and will also call him thus when we have occasion to name him. Moreover, this appellation pleased him. 

‘I like that name,’ said he. ‘Bienvenu Bienvenu? Bienvenu? Tweet at me if I’m saying that wrong. ‘I like that name,’ said he. ‘Bienvenu makes up for the Monseigneur.’ 

We do not claim that the portrait herewith presented is probable; we confine ourselves to stating that it resembles the original.

And that is the end of Chapter 2!

[From this point on I’m done reading the text so everything will be formatted normally]

Okay, so first impressions, or I guess third impressions in this case. Both times I tried to read it I didn’t get through the bishop part which is weird cause I actually really liked it. It reminded me a lot of Death Comes For the Archbishop which I read a couple years ago, and that was really good.

I haven’t had a personal great experience with religion, but it’s nice to see that in theory it can work out. I mean, it’s fictional, but like, there are genuinely good people out there practicing religion and practicing the way it is meant to be practiced, quote unquote.

I guess we almost passed the Bechdel test here. We did have two women talking to each other, and they’re both named, but it was about a man. It wasn’t romantic, which was nice, it was more about “Jesus Christ I wish he’d give us some amount of money so we can be a little comfortable.” Which honestly, Madame Magloire… I appreciate her. I appreciate all of them.

I don’t know how much of this is going to make it in the final cut, I’m just rambling at this point. But like, sorry you had to sit through like, two income statements. That’s probably not an income statement, I’m gonna get a bunch business majors yelling at me. Except I’m not because why would a business major be listening to my literature podcast. Checkmate atheists!

So yeah, let’s see where this goes.

Okay! So, well, to finish us out, I’d like to mention some more contemporary media I’ve been consuming. You know, something a little more recent than the 1800s. Uh, just so you know that this isn’t the only thing I’m doing with my life. I do- I do read modern stuff and I do watch modern stuff too. I’m not a complete nerd, or asshole depending on how you interpret that.

So, I’ve actually  found the third season of Twin Peaks at my library so I’ve been working through that. Putting a plug in for your local library, please go visit it. They- They are just happy to see people there. So, yeah, I’ve been working through the third season of Twin Peaks. It’s definitely interesting to see how it’s changed from the first two seasons. Cause this one was made in like 2016, versus the first two which were in like 1990 and 1991. And it’s a lot more gory and a lot more violent, which I’m not like the biggest fan of, but it does have a lot more of the surrealist and supernatural stuff, which I’m living for. I think it has to do with changing standards of media, honestly, and of what can be seen on television, along with the fact that they’re no longer the trope-setter. You know, they’re building off of twenty years of increasingly weird and violent crime dramas so they have to kick it up a notch somehow. So my favorite episode so far has got to be number eight, which is Gotta Light?And it was just gorgeous and abstract and terrifying all at the same time, and it was amazing and incredible. I don’t even think there’s talking for more than five minutes in it. Like, a giant portion of it is silent, and that is something I love in films and TV, is when they can utilize silence because we’re so used to having, just, constant noise, and I’m guilty of this too. I listen to all my podcasts on like two times speed because I just can’t deal with the silence. But it’s so interesting to see it incorporated in like, art forms other than- or I guess art forms at all. You know, as someone who took music lessons for like twelve years and then promptly forgot everything, or most everything. You know, the pauses and the silence are what makes the music, or it’s what makes the sound.

Anyway, so I just want to thank everyonefor listening! The intro and outro are Sunrise Expedition by Joseph McDade, if you like it, go check him out on Patreon! If you want to reach out to the show or bully me for my terrible pronunciation, you can follow the show on twitter @bcimtheworst and on tumblr and instagram @becauseimtheworstkindofperson. Transcripts will also be posted on tumblr. My personal socials are @imsoglitter on tumblr, instagram, and twitter.

Stay tuned for episode two and hear me butcher the French language even more than I already have! Why? Because I’m the worst kind of person!