#fantine deserved better

[stupid-lemon-eater]

i read fantine's descent for the first time last night - i had fallen behind on les mis by 10 days so i read it all in one go when i was meant to be going to sleep, and at several points i just had to Stop and stare across my dark bedroom at the mirror and the faint outline of my face lit up by my ipad and just Breathe for a second.

the thing i found most interesting while reading it was just how horrifying it was. as mentioned in the post i just reblogged, fantine had to choose every single time to carve herself away, to give up more and more of herself until she was unrecognisable, and she did it all out of hope and love for her daughter who she doesn't even know was being mistreated, that all her sacrifice was doing was lining thernardier's pockets while cosette still suffered.

and that would be interesting enough as is, but the thing that struck me the most while reading is how all of the actual horror of fantine's fate is stripped from her in adaptations (or at least in the musical/movie) in favour of the lurid idea of her having to go into sex work. the book itself treats fantine going into sex work as another tragic loss on effectively the same level as cutting off her hair, learning how to live in winter with no heat nor light, losing her modest lodgings for an uncomfortable attic with no bedding, her persistent illness or removing her front teeth — it's, "Let us sell what is left!" — what's one more loss on top of everything else, right?

(one could even make an argument that the tooth removal was treated as the most horrifying part of fantine's descent - it certainly was for me, as someone who had two wisdom teeth removed recently! the imagery of her bloody smile with the hole where her front teeth should be lit up by candlelight is definitely one that's going to haunt me.)

but in adaptations, we don't see that slow chipping away of personhood, of identity, of belongings and comfort. it's kicked out of the workhouse - hair cut off - prostitute - dead. bamatabois is changed from an arrogant, wealthy asshole with nothing better to do with his time than torment those less fortunate than him for the crime of merely existing to a potential customer who gets angry when fantine turns him down. by adding that dynamic to their interaction it softens bamatabois' cruelty, makes it less about an act of completely unprovoked dehumanisation and, well, cruelty against someone vulnerable that was answered by that person snapping and lashing out.

bamatabois in the book did not just target fantine because she was a sex worker, but also because her hair was cut, because she had no front teeth, because of how she dressed, how she behaved - in short, she was an acceptable target.

it feels as though the people adapting the novel don't understand that the tragedy and horror of fantine's fate was not the fact that she had to sell sex for money, but the fact that she had to give up everything of herself to the point where she was an unrecognisable wretch drinking brandy to keep the misery at bay with the only thing keeping her alive being her love for cosette. even the tooth removal, when it is adapted, is changed to her back teeth, making fantine's loss less visible and more palatable, and is oft ignored in favour of focusing on fantine's work as a sex worker in a way the book never does, not realising that the sex work was a symptom, not the disease.

[squish-e]

reading les mis letters: 1.3.2

interesting thing in this chapter: the boys as having "loved", "adored", "idolised", and "had" respectivley. guess who gets the "had"

[charleshyde]

How could I be so stupid to ever think that a book that literally calls its characters "miserables" would ever bring me anything but depression and pain??????

[kim-the-miserable-rat]

I SAW A TIKTOK WHERE A GUY SAID THAT "LES MIS" WAS JUST A THREE HOUR MUSICAL OF THE FRENCH COMPLAINING

(and I mean, he's not entirely wrong.)

(JUST ACT 1 CAUSE I UNDERESTIMATED HOW LONG THIS WOULD TAKE ME)

So here's a list of what they complain about in each song:

LOOK DOWN: the prison system sucks

PROLOGUE: the life of an exconvict sucks

VALJEAN'S SOLILOQUY: this guy is too nice how dare he? And also the prison system still sucks.

AT THE END OF THE DAY: my workplace is full of cunts

I DREAMED A DREAM: men are the worst

LOVELY LADIES: selling my necklace, hair and becoming a prostitute to help my child is something that I have all the right to be mad about (she's completely right, Fantine you deserved sooooo much better queen)

FANTINE'S ARREST: (to the bourgeoisie asshole) stop dehumanizing me I will fight you (to javert) your justice is not fair (to Jean Valjean) It's kinda your fault that im in this situation tbh

THE RUNAWAY CART: (javert) YO HOMIE WTF ARE YOU HULK? [suspecting]or are you buff because of slavery?.....

WHO AM I?: Oh poo! Now I have to choose between lying (it will make god sad) or going back to jail (hundreds of people will lose their jobs and end up living in misery by my actions) Fuck them workers, im an honest man, lets save that one innocent man.

THE TRIAL: the justice system is flawed. Look at my sick ass tattoo in my chest. Ok nvm im going to se Fantine fuck you all.

FANTINE'S DEATH: I will never see my daughter again this is so unfair (it really is)

THE CONFRONTATION: (Jean Valjean) Javert could you FUCKING WAIT A SECOND! I HAVE SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO DO(Javert) Im going to drop all my lore in two lines that you will not get cause were all singing at the same time; and NO, you can't just go, WTF?

CASTLE ON A CLOUD: HELLO, CHILD SLAVERY???? SOMEBODY HELP THIS CHILD ASAP!!!

MASTER OF THE HOUSE: Madam Thenardier has a solo just to talk shit about his husband (and he deserves every bit of it)

THE BARGAIN: (Thenardiers) NO, OF COURSE YOU CAN'T TAKE OUR LITTLE TREASURE AWAY -unless you pay for her, that is-

PARIS (look down reprise): EVERYTHING IS AWFUL, WE HATE IT HERE!

THE ROBBERY: (Eponine) FUCK YOU MARIUS MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS! (Javert) Ewwww... i hate criminals! and also poor people. Same thing to me, really.

STARS: I'm so obsessed with that fugitive that it's starting to blur into an homoerotic desire. Also HOW DARE HE to be free? I will hunt him for sport

EPONINE'S ERRAND: (Eponine) So now I have to help YOU, the boy im in love with to find a random girl? ALSO WTF DON'T GIVE ME MONEY YOU ASSHOLE.

ABC CAFE: (Enjolras) STOP WHINING MARIUS, NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR NON EXISTENT LOVE LIFE, WE ARE PLANNING A REVOLUTION HERE, YOU KNOW? Also please guys can we take this thing seriously? Please please please :(

DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?: (the people, obviously) time to eat the rich or die trying!

RUE PLUMMET/IN MY LIFE: (Cosette) father, ur cool to be around and all that but.... Who the fuck are you? And why do we act like we are convicts running from the law (cause ur dad kinda is, sweetie)

A HEART FULL OF LOVE: (Eponine) It fucking sucks to have helped my crush find the girl he's in love with[who would have thought?] Guess I will look at them longingly from like five feet away while they confess their love for each other and purposefully ignore me.

THE ATTACK ON RUE PLUMMET: (Eponine) GODAMNIT they will think I'm one of those assholes I have to do something! Go away or I'll scream IM INSANE I WILL FUCKING DO IT. Also fuck you dad. (Babet) I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THE LORE, GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY THENARDIER (Thenardier) Im surrounded by idiots! (Jean Valjean) TIME TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, FUCK EVERYONE WHO WANTS TO SEE MY DOWNFALL.

ONE DAY MORE: (Jean Valjean) Kinda sucks to have to run from the law [yeah homie we noticed that] (Marius & Cosette) OH NO! I'LL BE SEPARATED FROM THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THAT I MET A WEEK AGO. WHAT A GREAT TRAGEDY (Eponine) Marius still doesnt care about me. (Enjolras) He's not complaining, he's having the best time of his life. Good for him. Enjoy it while it lasts, citizen! (Javert) Guess I'll go as a spy with this cool new outfit. [Again, not a complain but important to notice]

OK, THIS DESCENDED INTO MADNESS.

EXPECT ACT 2 SOON :)

[broadwaydivastournament]

Broadway Divas Tournament: Round 1B

Lea Salonga (1971) made history in 1991 as the youngest performer to ever win Best Leading Actress in a Musical for Miss Saigon. She was just twenty years old at the time, and now all these years later, she qualifies for our MILF tournament. Lea has starred in six Broadway shows including Les Miserables (as first Eponine and then later Fantine), Once On This Island (2017), and most recently a brief stint in Here Lies Love (2023). She is also the singing voice for Disney's Mulan.

Diva, icon, certified GILF Christine Baranski (1952) has a theatre resume a mile long. A two-time Tony winner, Christine has performed on and off-Broadway, regionally, and internationally in shows such as Mame at the Kennedy Center, the pre-Broadway workshop of Sunday in the Park with George, and the infamous flop that was Nick & Nora (1991). She can be seen alongside a slew of other Broadway Divas in HBO's The Gilded Age, and has also participated in at least ten Sondheim shows and concerts over the years.

PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT:

"Lea Salonga was our only major Asian representation on Broadway for decades, and yeah okay, Miss Saigon was the single most racist, orientalist, offensive show I've ever seen on Broadway, but-- Actually, no, I have no "buts" for this. It's just a bad show, and Lea Salonga deserved a better star vehicle."

"If you didn't turn into a raging lesbian from the moment you watched Christine Baranski perform "Does Your Mother Know?" in Mamma Mia, then are you really queer? THE GILF, and still able to be a high kicking bitch when she wants to."

[cliozaur]

If someone in the Brick rants, it’s a bad sign. This is Hugo’s way of saying: Run for your life! (Even in the case of Grantaire.) Tholomyès is one of the worst. On top of everything, even his friends do not want to listen to him. We do not know about Fantine’s reaction to his harangue, but I’m genuinely afraid that his loquaciousness may be the only thing that attracted her to him (we know that he is old, ugly, and unkind).

But the rant itself is the true offender. Tholomyès doesn't merely vent; he launches into self-righteous pronouncements, dictating how others should live (while possessing zero moral high ground himself). His comments about women, both generally and specifically towards those present, are appalling, revealing a deep-seated disrespect and hypocrisy. The "accidental" embrace of Favourite speaks volumes about his infidelity and lack of genuine connection.

Oh, Fantine, you deserved so much better!

[dolphin1812]

Choosing to stay in the worst place available out of low self-esteem is, tragically, a very Jean Valjean thing to do, but having his meetings with Cosette in this cellar is especially ominous. The spiders and dead flies call to mind her post-Fantine and pre-Valjean childhood, when she’d chop at dead flies with her tiny sword because it was the only toy she had. The entire room, in fact, feels like a place the Thénardiers would have placed her in, given how run-down and sad it is for her.

That it’s a cellar also feels representative of the lifestyle of this family. Yes, there’s a veneer of happiness and prosperity on the top floors, but crushing poverty lurks in both Marius and Cosette’s pasts, as do the secrets (namely, Valjean) that haunt their marriage.

(And please let Valjean sleep and eat! No wonder he makes such bad decisions!)

And Cosette! Her attempt to get Jean Valjean to accept better conditions parallels earlier attempts (like getting him to sit in a warm room), but now, they don’t work because he doesn’t see himself as her father anymore. While he was responsible for Cosette’s happiness, he was willing to “indulge” himself in tolerable living conditions, but since he sees Marius as responsible for her and doesn’t see that she considers him part of her happiness, he doesn’t feel a need to give in to her demands. In fact, he thinks he doesn’t deserve to, furthering both his suffering and his ignoring of Cosette’s agency.

His use of “vous” and his formality is heartbreaking, but I will say, the translation unintentionally helps? His formal language is so outdated in English that it just sounds funny, making reading this chapter a bit easier emotionally.

“One does have freaks, but one does not cause one’s little Cosette grief. That is wrong. You have no right to be wicked, you who are so good.”

Cosette is the only one with sense here!!

I hate so, so much that he tries to distract her with pretty, expensive furniture. Cosette needs her relationship with her father – not money – and he still only thinks through that lens.

And Jean Valjean’s love for her is still so palpable! He cares so much! It’s just that he won’t express that in a way that’s clear to Cosette, leaving her feeling abandoned and isolated.

[astriexxe]

Here is my very long post about what I think of Les Misérables (2012) after watching it again recently

Tldr: the music which should be great somehow just isn't, the camera angles are fucking weird, Russel Crowe isn't as bad as I expected, Hugh Jackman was worse than I remembered

When I watched Les Misérables (2012) the first time it was the first experience I'd had of Les mis other than the odd YouTube video of one day more (or occasionally do you hear the people sing). I didn't know what it was about I didn't know many of the songs.

I found it fairly boring, the music was ok, the middle section with the revolution was the highlight. My favourite character was Javert followed by Enjolras (but that's biased because I'm a moulin rouge and n2n fan and it was Aaron tveit).

When I watched it back I entirely expected to hate Russell Crowe as Javert but have more respect for the music and the rest of the film as I have since watched the staged concerts and been to see it live and it's fucking great I love it.

I was wrong the music still sucked and I still found it kind of boring despite absolutely loving the stage production.

The orchestra is too quiet I think which means the music loses a lot of it's grandeur and the bad singing is more obvious.

Russel Crowe has a weird tone when singing (this we already knew) and when compared to other Javert's he sucks but when compared to Hugh Jackman it's a relief whenever it's his part because holy fuck Hugh Jackman was bad. Russel Crowe honestly wasn't that bad, I quite like his Javert from an acting perspective and the singing was alright, I know when I first watched the film stars was my favourite song (just imagine how amazed I was when I heard Philip Quast's version). I wish Javert's suicide was better in the film.

Hugh Jackman was far worse than I remembered him being perhaps I have more to compare him to now, bring him home was awful that's not how that should be sung and he had me bored for like the entire bit at the start where it's basically just him (end of prologue/ VJ's soliloquy).

One day more was a bit messy but not as bad as I was expecting.

The scenery was pretty epic like they had some great cinematic shots (ship at the start, the Seine, the cliff during VJ's soliloquy) like a big musical like Les Mis deserves some cool shots like that.

The camera angles were fucking weird. I find how shows use different camera angles quite interesting but I can't figure Les Mis out, it doesn't enhance the story or characters or anything it's just distracting and adds to how boring it is. I thought the camera angles during VJ's soliloquy looked like he was vlogging. Some dramatic shots could have helped that scene a lot I think. The camera angles got a little more exciting but the weird close ups were a theme and I personally think they were poorly used and distracting.

The Thenardiers were pretty good the first time I watched it but like having seen the show since it just doesn't work they're nowhere near as funny.

When my friend watched Les Mis and said she didn't like how all the dialogue was sung and I was like ok maybe she just doesn't like sung through musicals fair enough. No the film is just weird. They like added bits of sung dialogue but they seem to have forgotten to give these bits any tune.

VJ got a new song which was a bit of a shock because honestly I don't remember it from the first time round, I think the concept of the song is pretty cool but poorly written (it was sort of boring and didn't feel like it fit with the musical).

Les Amis were once again a highlight, the pace picks up, the singing gets better, all in all it's a good chunk of the film.

Fantine was better than I remembered and Anne Hathaway went for acting over singing in I Dreamed a Dream which worked but only because it was a film.

Eddie Redmayne was good as was Sam Barks I enjoyed their bits.

Aaron Tveit was also good you can tell which of the actors are theatre actors because they can act and sing at the same time (/hj). And of course respect to George Blagden.

The child actors (I don't know their names) were also great!

Yeah I think that's it if anyone read this to the end congrats on making it

[oh-shinx]

Talk about your Pokémon

They all deserve so much better than me Javert has been through as much shit as I have and he definitely did not deserve any of it All of my pokemon are such clever and wonderful pokemon except for Fantine who is just clever and Amélie who is just wonderful Dirk is slightly scary but he would not hurt a fly

[protectionsquad24601]

Fantine's death was such a wasted opportunity in the 2012 movie. It felt rushed tbh. My girl deserved better

[melancholic-pigeon]

Someday I'll write a meta essay on why Tristan McLean is the Fantine of Heroes of Olympus. Loves his daughter more than anything, feels he has to work away from her to support her because his dreams were broken when her other parent broke his heart, was too young to be a parent and circumstances/his own traumas/his idealism led him to tell himself "she's okay, she's being cared for, she doesn't need me to be with her, she just needs me to pay for her" while in reality she's being neglected and would do better with her dad nearby to love her...

Because he's a dreamer. He always has been. It's what attracted Aphrodite to him in the first place, in my view. He's young, he's immature, he's broken, and he has huge dreams: most of which are for his daughter.

Tristan McLean deserves more appreciation thank you for coming to my ted talk etc

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 5.9.3 “A Pen Is Heavy to Him Who Lifted Fauchelevent’s Cart”

It’s awful. Valjean is dying, all his strength is gone, and the description of his face has aged 30 years almost overnight. Even alone in the apartment he’s trying to self-efface--he’s had his bed moved to the front room because he doesn’t want to take up more space than that. And he’s weak enough here that it’s become clear there isn’t any coming back from this.

He lights the candlesticks, a thing I’m not sure we’ve ever seen him actually do before. Which feels part and parcel with his tendency to treat important objects as dead relics of the past rather than part of the future, just like Cosette’s childhood mourning clothes, which he also has out. The text says the candles he lights are like the candles in a room where someone is dead.

It’s holy. But I don’t think this was the only holy use they could have had.

Fun, terrible fact: You know how this chapter ends with “At that moment there was a knock at the door”? I once bought a misprinted copy of Les Mis (FMA, I think) where the book cut off after this chapter. That was the last line.

Valjean’s awful letter is meant to be a fakeout, I think--and I think that’s telling. He starts by sounding like he’s going to set the record straight (albeit very deferentially) about how Marius is mistaken about a couple of things.

He sounds like he’s about to tell Cosette the truth.

Cosette, I bless you. I am going to explain something to you. Your husband was quite right in giving me to understand that I ought to leave; while there is some mistake in what he believed, he was right. He is very good. Always love him dearly when I am dead. Monsieur Pontmercy, always love my darling child. Cosette, this paper will be found, this is what I want to tell you,

It sounds like the introduction to everything I want from him? He’s speaking to Cosette directly, at LAST. He’s finally coming clean to the person who most needs to know what the hell just happened to her life.

...And then, of course, he starts explaining, garbled, without context, how to make glass jet jewelry. He really just wants to prove Cosette’s money is hers so Marius will let her keep it.

It’s meant to be a disappointing fakeout, I’m very sure of that. I’m less sure, of course, that Hugo is anywhere near being with me on Cosette deserving to know about his past and her own--but I’m pretty sure this letter is meant to sound like it was about to tell her at least enough to clear up what happened between him and Marius.

And it matters that his last address is to Cosette, not to her husband. I don’t know what it means because Hugo is super weird about Cosette, but it feels important. The chapter even references how he’s by the same mirror where her blotter blabbed her secrets to him--and it feels almost like a hint of an idea that the two of them might be better at communicating through writing than they were out loud. It also feels like mirror associations we’ve had before, like the mirror for testing the breath of the dead which Simplice used to show him his hair had turned white. That mirror foreshadowed the death of Fantine, and this one foreshadows Valjean’s own.

That Valjean flinches and can’t go through with telling the story... it’s hard to call it a failure, he’s sick and his rambling is a symptom of illness, among other things, but it’s meant to be a sign of the sheer wrongness of the place where he is. He’s reduced to believing the only thing that matters justifying his monetary worth to people with more money and power than he he has, the same way Fantine did at the depth of her despair and illness, because that’s always how misérables are judged.

[tinky-dinky]

Les Mis 2018 Live Watch: Episode Two

- Lil Cosette is tres adorable.

- Is that Olivia Colman as Madame Thenardier? Interesting.

- Lil Eponine and Azelma are tres adorable too.

- I like that they included Azelma. She gets left out in every other adaptation.

- Don’t do it, Fantine, I see you considering leaving Cosette. Do not.

- Is Gavroche born yet?

- Adeel Akbar is a great Monsieur Thenardier and Olivia Colman is growing on me.

- Don’t do it, Fantine. Poor little Cosette.

- Monsieur Madeleine time!

- They call him Pere Madeleine? That’s adorable.

- Oh bless him, he looks so uncertain of what to do with all these people praising and cheering him.

- Oof, that was an awkward speech.

- Fantine, just tell him. He won’t care.

- I wish it was that easy to get a job these days.

- I wonder why Valjean decided to make necklaces in his factory?

- Love seeing him being so generous with the kids. Almost makes up for him robbing poor Petit Gervais in the last episode.

- Candlesticks!

- Tiny Gavroche! I want to cuddle him. He deserves so much better.

- I almost feel sorry for Madame, but she just admitted to hating her son and is abusing Cosette too, so I got nothing.

- Javert! Ooh I can feel the tension. See, this is the kind of Javert I like, who can almost be a likeable person…then he begins talking about criminals. So close.

- He doesn’t recognise you, Valjean, you can relax. Unless that’s not why you’re tense, hmm?

- Interesting motivation for Javert there. Something related to his past? Did someone do something to him or someone he cares about and get away with it?

- ….uh oh. How does Javert know about Petit Gervais?

- The long coat works better for Javert, but still gives me Cowboy/Western vibes.

- Are they changing why Fantine gets fired? I would like it if they made her smart enough to not bring an incriminating letter to work.

- This is why you shouldn’t have left your daughter with a random couple you barely knew.

- What is Valjean’s forelady doing?

- They have been taken advantage of?!

- Thenardier you are a liar and a terrible person.

- If Gillenormand hates Napoleon so much, where did Marius get his love for Napoleon from?

- Dear lord, what did they do to little Marius??

- Gillenormand, you absolute piece of shit. I loathe you. (Once again, though, got to give props for David Bradley’s ability to portray loathsome people so well.).

- Nicolette, you superstar. I want her to take Marius and run. Raise him as your own. Or find Baron Pontmercy. You could raise him together.

- Do I ship Nicolette/Baron Pontmercy?

- I think I do.

- Ooh runaway cart time.

- Javert seems very interested. Because he recognises Valjean…or for other reasons?

- Is that Maester Luwin?

- Oh bugger off you judgemental old bitch.

- Valjean, watch yourself.

- Is it not obvious why she lied? Look at how your forelady is treating her!

- Valjean, what are you doing?

- Why is this show so insistent on making Valjean a bit of a douchebag? He’s supposed to be almost supernaturally kind!

- Poor Fantine. Actually feeling sorry for her now, and kinda liking Lily Collins’ performance.

- I hope you feel guilty, Valjean. You done fucked up.

- What are you doing?

- Oh no, don’t do that!

- Oh, wait, it’s Javert? I thought it was Valjean.

- Ah, it’s the fakeout. Never understood that, doesn’t the false Valjean not have his prison brand?

- Oh wait Valjean is there. What is going on?

- This seems risky. What if someone finds them? That pile of rocks is a dead giveaway that someone was doing something.

- I like horses. Just an aside.

- Oh good, they are letting little Marius see his dad.

- I thought this was supposed to happen later? I thought Georges died when Marius was a teenager/early twenties?

- Oh is this why Marius loves Napoleon?

- Also, no, you’re utterly wrong about Thenardier. Don’t listen to him Marius.

- Eww old man postie is a bit gross.

- Here comes the downward spiral. Poor Fantine.

- How does Fantine have white teeth?

- Oh my god old postie man stop being such a creep!

- Baldy? She clearly still has hair.

- Why are they acting like Lily Collins isn’t gorgeous, even with short hair and missing teeth?

- Fantine, they don’t care.

- They’re playing with you, you idiot.

- Look, as much as Javert is being a hardass, Fantine did attack that man. And having a child isn’t a excuse to get out of consequences.

- Uh-oh, Valjean, is that consequences for your actions? Oopsy daisy, you fucked up and you’ve got to deal with it.

- Here’s supernaturally kind Valjean again.

- Javert, you are neither a judge nor a court. You cannot sentence anyone.

- No fault of her own is a little exaggerated. She blindly ignored the glaring red flags around Monsieur Dickhead. Her friends warned her. She has a little fault here.

- Yeah, I don’t think praying is doing anything for anyone, Valjean.

- Please save Cosette, Valjean, and save Gavroche too. Two kids can’t be much harder than one.

- Javert, you self flagellating fool. At least he holds himself to the same standards as everyone else.

- Still don’t get how the false Valjean thing works.

- Surely, again, he doesn’t have the right brand?

- Uh-oh, there’s the consequences for one’s actions again. Justice for Petit Gervais.

- Is it just me or does Javert actually sound a little sad to no longer be chief inspector?

- What the hell is that wimple?

- No need to snap, Valjean.

- Guilty guilty Valjean.

- He kept the coin? Or is that the coin from the town?

- It seems he’s given himself another brand. It’ll be interesting to see if they remember to give him this brand in later episodes.

- No, Valjean, don’t trust the judgmental bitch to fetch Cosette! That’s a bad bad idea!

- Ooh pretty landscape shots.

Final Thoughts:

I don’t like that they keep making Valjean douchier than he was in the books, especially post redemption. Lily Collins grew on me as Fantine, though I doubt I’ll be seeing much more of her. Loving David Oyelowo’s Javert. The Thenardiers are good too, though jury’s out on whether or not Monsieur Thenardier can pull off being an actual criminal type ala Dog Eats Dog.

Got to go to sleep now. Will watch more in the morning.

[songandflame-archived]

🎲 kiss roulette for either Valjean or Javert (reroll if needed) or else make it a drabble with another character entirely!

Kiss Roulette || @reverdies (thank you!)

(Gonna do this for both Javert and Valjean bc I can and it'll make sense for both of them, but I'll post the other one independently from this one!)

18, A Kiss While Laughing:

Fantine isn't sure when this became routine for them. Sunday would greet them both far quicker than they ever appreciated; both would begrudgingly force themselves to attend mass with Valjean and Cosette. When Javert first joined this house of misfits, it was easier to make excuses for not joining the other two, but with his increased health came increasing responsibility to assimilate. Then, when the first, licking flames in the fireplace caught and the other residents had found their beds for the night, Fantine would join Javert in his room with a bottle of something red.

It was a reward in a way, she supposed. Wine always tasted sweeter outside of church— even more so when the other made for good company. Admittedly, even that was a surprise to her, but he his appreciation and enjoyment made for a far better choice than Valjean's concerned glances whenever Fantine's fingers danced around the neck of a bottle.

They were talking about everything and nothing, the awkwardness of the first few days nothing more than a faint recollection. Despite Javert's former occupation, she soon found he had a wicked sense of humour. It was refreshing, enthralling even.

She loved Valjean dearly, but despite all his years he remained restrained and seemingly unwilling to simply let go. It was hardly a character flaw; in fact, she admired his steadfast nature, but there were times she doubted he truly allowed himself to feel anything other than guilt.

Javert was undeniably confusing, but there was an understanding unspoken between them that once you lost everything, there was nothing else to possibly lose. Perhaps that's why he let this side show, because he had nothing to lose in showing it.

The blush he had teased her about so many months ago had returned to dye cheeks a fine red once more. Of course he would comment on it, his lips curving against the rim of his glass as he did. She couldn't help the faux pout that came to scrunch her nose before they both broke into laughter, wine nearly spilling over edges and perfectly clean floors.

Maybe it was the glow of a dying fire, or maybe it was the alcohol, but his uninhibited humanness was beautiful.

His laughter, once so hard to come by had become a joy to hear. She wished she could capture it, keep it safe and sound. Everyone deserved this happiness.

Perhaps that's why she did it. Perhaps that's why she reached out to cup his cheek, her eyes wet with laughter, her cheeks aching with joy. Perhaps that's why she consciously displaced her glass and captured his lips with hers. So she could keep this joy safe. So he would not lose it, not if she could help him look after it.

His lips, surprisingly soft, tasted of wine and salt born from a fine layer of sweat.

As quickly as she had taken this moment, she pulled back with wide eyes. Suddenly, she could no longer meet his gaze. She was hardly ever so bold, why would she think to do such a thing now? Had she ruined this too? The only moment of the week in which she felt truly herself and not simply a performance of herself?

"Please forgive me, I..." her voice faltered. Did she regret it? No. But she did not have the privilege of deciding its consequences. "I... don't know what came over me."

[lesmislettersdaily]

The Interior Of Despair

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 2: The Fall; Chapter 7: The Interior Of Despair

Let us try to say it.

It is necessary that society should look at these things, because it is itself which creates them.

He was, as we have said, an ignorant man, but he was not a fool. The light of nature was ignited in him. Unhappiness, which also possesses a clearness of vision of its own, augmented the small amount of daylight which existed in this mind. Beneath the cudgel, beneath the chain, in the cell, in hardship, beneath the burning sun of the galleys, upon the plank bed of the convict, he withdrew into his own consciousness and meditated.

He constituted himself the tribunal.

He began by putting himself on trial.

He recognized the fact that he was not an innocent man unjustly punished. He admitted that he had committed an extreme and blameworthy act; that that loaf of bread would probably not have been refused to him had he asked for it; that, in any case, it would have been better to wait until he could get it through compassion or through work; that it is not an unanswerable argument to say, “Can one wait when one is hungry?” That, in the first place, it is very rare for any one to die of hunger, literally; and next, that, fortunately or unfortunately, man is so constituted that he can suffer long and much, both morally and physically, without dying; that it is therefore necessary to have patience; that that would even have been better for those poor little children; that it had been an act of madness for him, a miserable, unfortunate wretch, to take society at large violently by the collar, and to imagine that one can escape from misery through theft; that that is in any case a poor door through which to escape from misery through which infamy enters; in short, that he was in the wrong.

Then he asked himself:—

Whether he had been the only one in fault in his fatal history. Whether it was not a serious thing, that he, a laborer, out of work, that he, an industrious man, should have lacked bread. And whether, the fault once committed and confessed, the chastisement had not been ferocious and disproportioned. Whether there had not been more abuse on the part of the law, in respect to the penalty, than there had been on the part of the culprit in respect to his fault. Whether there had not been an excess of weights in one balance of the scale, in the one which contains expiation. Whether the over-weight of the penalty was not equivalent to the annihilation of the crime, and did not result in reversing the situation, of replacing the fault of the delinquent by the fault of the repression, of converting the guilty man into the victim, and the debtor into the creditor, and of ranging the law definitely on the side of the man who had violated it.

Whether this penalty, complicated by successive aggravations for attempts at escape, had not ended in becoming a sort of outrage perpetrated by the stronger upon the feebler, a crime of society against the individual, a crime which was being committed afresh every day, a crime which had lasted nineteen years.

He asked himself whether human society could have the right to force its members to suffer equally in one case for its own unreasonable lack of foresight, and in the other case for its pitiless foresight; and to seize a poor man forever between a defect and an excess, a default of work and an excess of punishment.

Whether it was not outrageous for society to treat thus precisely those of its members who were the least well endowed in the division of goods made by chance, and consequently the most deserving of consideration.

These questions put and answered, he judged society and condemned it.

He condemned it to his hatred.

He made it responsible for the fate which he was suffering, and he said to himself that it might be that one day he should not hesitate to call it to account. He declared to himself that there was no equilibrium between the harm which he had caused and the harm which was being done to him; he finally arrived at the conclusion that his punishment was not, in truth, unjust, but that it most assuredly was iniquitous.

Anger may be both foolish and absurd; one can be irritated wrongfully; one is exasperated only when there is some show of right on one’s side at bottom. Jean Valjean felt himself exasperated.

And besides, human society had done him nothing but harm; he had never seen anything of it save that angry face which it calls Justice, and which it shows to those whom it strikes. Men had only touched him to bruise him. Every contact with them had been a blow. Never, since his infancy, since the days of his mother, of his sister, had he ever encountered a friendly word and a kindly glance. From suffering to suffering, he had gradually arrived at the conviction that life is a war; and that in this war he was the conquered. He had no other weapon than his hate. He resolved to whet it in the galleys and to bear it away with him when he departed.

There was at Toulon a school for the convicts, kept by the Ignorantin friars, where the most necessary branches were taught to those of the unfortunate men who had a mind for them. He was of the number who had a mind. He went to school at the age of forty, and learned to read, to write, to cipher. He felt that to fortify his intelligence was to fortify his hate. In certain cases, education and enlightenment can serve to eke out evil.

This is a sad thing to say; after having judged society, which had caused his unhappiness, he judged Providence, which had made society, and he condemned it also.

Thus during nineteen years of torture and slavery, this soul mounted and at the same time fell. Light entered it on one side, and darkness on the other.

Jean Valjean had not, as we have seen, an evil nature. He was still good when he arrived at the galleys. He there condemned society, and felt that he was becoming wicked; he there condemned Providence, and was conscious that he was becoming impious.

It is difficult not to indulge in meditation at this point.

Does human nature thus change utterly and from top to bottom? Can the man created good by God be rendered wicked by man? Can the soul be completely made over by fate, and become evil, fate being evil? Can the heart become misshapen and contract incurable deformities and infirmities under the oppression of a disproportionate unhappiness, as the vertebral column beneath too low a vault? Is there not in every human soul, was there not in the soul of Jean Valjean in particular, a first spark, a divine element, incorruptible in this world, immortal in the other, which good can develop, fan, ignite, and make to glow with splendor, and which evil can never wholly extinguish?

Grave and obscure questions, to the last of which every physiologist would probably have responded no, and that without hesitation, had he beheld at Toulon, during the hours of repose, which were for Jean Valjean hours of reverie, this gloomy galley-slave, seated with folded arms upon the bar of some capstan, with the end of his chain thrust into his pocket to prevent its dragging, serious, silent, and thoughtful, a pariah of the laws which regarded the man with wrath, condemned by civilization, and regarding heaven with severity.

Certainly,—and we make no attempt to dissimulate the fact,—the observing physiologist would have beheld an irremediable misery; he would, perchance, have pitied this sick man, of the law’s making; but he would not have even essayed any treatment; he would have turned aside his gaze from the caverns of which he would have caught a glimpse within this soul, and, like Dante at the portals of hell, he would have effaced from this existence the word which the finger of God has, nevertheless, inscribed upon the brow of every man,—hope.

Was this state of his soul, which we have attempted to analyze, as perfectly clear to Jean Valjean as we have tried to render it for those who read us? Did Jean Valjean distinctly perceive, after their formation, and had he seen distinctly during the process of their formation, all the elements of which his moral misery was composed? Had this rough and unlettered man gathered a perfectly clear perception of the succession of ideas through which he had, by degrees, mounted and descended to the lugubrious aspects which had, for so many years, formed the inner horizon of his spirit? Was he conscious of all that passed within him, and of all that was working there? That is something which we do not presume to state; it is something which we do not even believe. There was too much ignorance in Jean Valjean, even after his misfortune, to prevent much vagueness from still lingering there. At times he did not rightly know himself what he felt. Jean Valjean was in the shadows; he suffered in the shadows; he hated in the shadows; one might have said that he hated in advance of himself. He dwelt habitually in this shadow, feeling his way like a blind man and a dreamer. Only, at intervals, there suddenly came to him, from without and from within, an access of wrath, a surcharge of suffering, a livid and rapid flash which illuminated his whole soul, and caused to appear abruptly all around him, in front, behind, amid the gleams of a frightful light, the hideous precipices and the sombre perspective of his destiny.

The flash passed, the night closed in again; and where was he? He no longer knew. The peculiarity of pains of this nature, in which that which is pitiless—that is to say, that which is brutalizing—predominates, is to transform a man, little by little, by a sort of stupid transfiguration, into a wild beast; sometimes into a ferocious beast.

Jean Valjean’s successive and obstinate attempts at escape would alone suffice to prove this strange working of the law upon the human soul. Jean Valjean would have renewed these attempts, utterly useless and foolish as they were, as often as the opportunity had presented itself, without reflecting for an instant on the result, nor on the experiences which he had already gone through. He escaped impetuously, like the wolf who finds his cage open. Instinct said to him, “Flee!” Reason would have said, “Remain!” But in the presence of so violent a temptation, reason vanished; nothing remained but instinct. The beast alone acted. When he was recaptured, the fresh severities inflicted on him only served to render him still more wild.

One detail, which we must not omit, is that he possessed a physical strength which was not approached by a single one of the denizens of the galleys. At work, at paying out a cable or winding up a capstan, Jean Valjean was worth four men. He sometimes lifted and sustained enormous weights on his back; and when the occasion demanded it, he replaced that implement which is called a jack-screw, and was formerly called orgueil [pride], whence, we may remark in passing, is derived the name of the Rue Montorgueil, near the Halles [Fishmarket] in Paris. His comrades had nicknamed him Jean the Jack-screw. Once, when they were repairing the balcony of the town-hall at Toulon, one of those admirable caryatids of Puget, which support the balcony, became loosened, and was on the point of falling. Jean Valjean, who was present, supported the caryatid with his shoulder, and gave the workmen time to arrive.

His suppleness even exceeded his strength. Certain convicts who were forever dreaming of escape, ended by making a veritable science of force and skill combined. It is the science of muscles. An entire system of mysterious statics is daily practised by prisoners, men who are forever envious of the flies and birds. To climb a vertical surface, and to find points of support where hardly a projection was visible, was play to Jean Valjean. An angle of the wall being given, with the tension of his back and legs, with his elbows and his heels fitted into the unevenness of the stone, he raised himself as if by magic to the third story. He sometimes mounted thus even to the roof of the galley prison.

He spoke but little. He laughed not at all. An excessive emotion was required to wring from him, once or twice a year, that lugubrious laugh of the convict, which is like the echo of the laugh of a demon. To all appearance, he seemed to be occupied in the constant contemplation of something terrible.

He was absorbed, in fact.

Athwart the unhealthy perceptions of an incomplete nature and a crushed intelligence, he was confusedly conscious that some monstrous thing was resting on him. In that obscure and wan shadow within which he crawled, each time that he turned his neck and essayed to raise his glance, he perceived with terror, mingled with rage, a sort of frightful accumulation of things, collecting and mounting above him, beyond the range of his vision,—laws, prejudices, men, and deeds,—whose outlines escaped him, whose mass terrified him, and which was nothing else than that prodigious pyramid which we call civilization. He distinguished, here and there in that swarming and formless mass, now near him, now afar off and on inaccessible table-lands, some group, some detail, vividly illuminated; here the galley-sergeant and his cudgel; there the gendarme and his sword; yonder the mitred archbishop; away at the top, like a sort of sun, the Emperor, crowned and dazzling. It seemed to him that these distant splendors, far from dissipating his night, rendered it more funereal and more black. All this—laws, prejudices, deeds, men, things—went and came above him, over his head, in accordance with the complicated and mysterious movement which God imparts to civilization, walking over him and crushing him with I know not what peacefulness in its cruelty and inexorability in its indifference. Souls which have fallen to the bottom of all possible misfortune, unhappy men lost in the lowest of those limbos at which no one any longer looks, the reproved of the law, feel the whole weight of this human society, so formidable for him who is without, so frightful for him who is beneath, resting upon their heads.

In this situation Jean Valjean meditated; and what could be the nature of his meditation?

If the grain of millet beneath the millstone had thoughts, it would, doubtless, think that same thing which Jean Valjean thought.

All these things, realities full of spectres, phantasmagories full of realities, had eventually created for him a sort of interior state which is almost indescribable.

At times, amid his convict toil, he paused. He fell to thinking. His reason, at one and the same time riper and more troubled than of yore, rose in revolt. Everything which had happened to him seemed to him absurd; everything that surrounded him seemed to him impossible. He said to himself, “It is a dream.” He gazed at the galley-sergeant standing a few paces from him; the galley-sergeant seemed a phantom to him. All of a sudden the phantom dealt him a blow with his cudgel.

Visible nature hardly existed for him. It would almost be true to say that there existed for Jean Valjean neither sun, nor fine summer days, nor radiant sky, nor fresh April dawns. I know not what vent-hole daylight habitually illumined his soul.

To sum up, in conclusion, that which can be summed up and translated into positive results in all that we have just pointed out, we will confine ourselves to the statement that, in the course of nineteen years, Jean Valjean, the inoffensive tree-pruner of Faverolles, the formidable convict of Toulon, had become capable, thanks to the manner in which the galleys had moulded him, of two sorts of evil action: firstly, of evil action which was rapid, unpremeditated, dashing, entirely instinctive, in the nature of reprisals for the evil which he had undergone; secondly, of evil action which was serious, grave, consciously argued out and premeditated, with the false ideas which such a misfortune can furnish. His deliberate deeds passed through three successive phases, which natures of a certain stamp can alone traverse,—reasoning, will, perseverance. He had for moving causes his habitual wrath, bitterness of soul, a profound sense of indignities suffered, the reaction even against the good, the innocent, and the just, if there are any such. The point of departure, like the point of arrival, for all his thoughts, was hatred of human law; that hatred which, if it be not arrested in its development by some providential incident, becomes, within a given time, the hatred of society, then the hatred of the human race, then the hatred of creation, and which manifests itself by a vague, incessant, and brutal desire to do harm to some living being, no matter whom. It will be perceived that it was not without reason that Jean Valjean’s passport described him as a very dangerous man.

From year to year this soul had dried away slowly, but with fatal sureness. When the heart is dry, the eye is dry. On his departure from the galleys it had been nineteen years since he had shed a tear.

[fantasywritten]

@songandflame asked: " there's nothing left for me here. " (for valjean?)

HIS HEART BROKE for her. Fantine had been treated horribly; she deserved so much better than this wretched town. Valjean had seen many awful things here; it was no wonder Fantine wanted to leave. But how could she FEND FOR HERSELF — and her child? He knew Cosette was with another family, but Fantine still cared for her from afar. She shouldn’t have to sell her body to do so.

Valjean was wealthy, and he cared about Fantine. He hadn’t even known her that long. But he KNEW he should help her, just as that priest had helped him all those years ago. She was MUCH more deserving than he’d ever been.

“Come stay with me.” The offer surprised even Valjean, but as soon as he spoke the words, HE KNEW it was the right thing to do. “For tonight, at least. It’s late… you SHOULD NOT walk alone at night.” She, of all people, knew what could happen if she did.