#this is what the french look like when you butcher hugo

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

Every time I read Les Misérables or its manga adaptation by Takahiro Arai (which is, without hyperbole, a masterpiece and the BEST, most faithful and most moving Les Mis adaptation that I know of) I am just SEETHING that the BBC series was allowed to exist. Even Shoujo Cosette (2007) is closer to the spirit of the books, and Javert and Gavroche and the little brothers survive Shoujo Cosette.

Like, oh, the musical is *bad* and we need to "free the legacy of the book from it" and "finally make a faithful adaptation"? Tom Shankland, you pretentious, arrogant, self-deluded wanker. Kiss my French copy of the book as it flies into your stupid head, because a Japanese man understood it a million times better than you who's from one our closest neighbor countries.

Seriously, what were you thinking making Javert black? - that it checked out because he was kind of a social outcast? You wanker. The whole point of his character was that his 'otherness' couldn't be seen. His origins - being in born in prison to vagrants - disgusted him because they tainted him, because he hated to be associated with filth and crime - not because he was visibly 'different'. If you make him black in 19th century France you make it impossible for him to become that anonymous cog in the machine of justice he prides himself in being, AND you superficially equate the alienation he would have suffered as a black man with his book-canon SELF-alienation, where he essentially considers himself a dog and has no ambition of rising in status, but finds his self-worth in being a well trained, efficient hound instead of the rabble. How could the two experiences POSSIBLY be similar? What even was your thought process? ‘Oh, this character has no friends and we need more diversity, let’s slap some melanin onto him?’ If anything Javert can be read as Romani, so congrats on erasing that because being Romani and being black still wouldn’t be remotely the same experience, and it’s still important thematically that he passes as white. 

And also, making Javert attracted to that hot, sexy, sexy Jean Valjean body? You imbecile. Javert takes pride in the fact that he has no moral flaws or 'twisted desires' to speak of - which is how he would have perceived any unlawful attraction towards anyone, be it a married woman, a man, or, and especially, a convict - and the whole thing is that he is right about that: he doesn't desire. (In fact, he and Jean can both easily be read as asexual.) Javert is not some repressed Catholic-guilt-ridden hypocrite à la Claude Frollo, he is utterly passionless except for the pursuit of justice, and he doesn't have *anything* other than his hatred of crime and criminals lurking beneath his stone cold exterior. That's his whole problem! He can't conceive of living for anything other than the law (so again in relation to my previous point: he hated his origins because his parents were criminals - rooting his identity issues in race first and foremost is huh maybe not the best choice) to the point than when his worldview is turned upside down and he can’t rely on the law as his absolute moral guide, he kills himself. 

The POINT of Javert's dynamic with Jean Valjean is that it's not personal to him - even though countless adaptations have gotten that one wrong - it's about The Law. He's not obsessed with Jean Valjean, they just happen to cross paths serendipitously over and over - he's obsessed with The Law. Why would you make him attracted to Jean?! 

ALSO, yeah, faithfulness to the book, that’s why you made Fantine a brunette and Cosette a blonde - exactly like in the 2012 musical movie you hate so much - WHEN IT’S THE OPPOSITE IN THE BOOK. You gigantic, self-sufficient prick. 

AND FINALLY because I can't bear to think about this travesty any longer: making Jean Valjean angry 24/7. Why. What. Have you read the book at all. You butchered the Petit Gervais scene and that alone would take too long to explain, but how could you DARE make Jean a violent man and borderline abusive father when he hasn’t been angry since THE VERY BEGINNING OF THE STORY. Seriously, Jean doesn’t act out of anger at all after his encounter with Bishop Myriel, not even with the Thénardiers, that’s his whole character!!! How could you Dumbledore-“he said calmly” his scene where he endures torture for Cosette’s sake - when he is *supremely calm* the book and you make him act like an animal. 

I hate that this thing exists. I hate it so bad. Jean felt SO GUILTY for entertaining for half a minute the hope that Marius would die, and you made it look like he regretted dragging him through the sewers. Wtf. Oh yeah, and possessiveness? From the guy who IMMEDIATELY lets the most precious person in his life go the second he knows she’ll be fine without him, because he feels like he doesn’t deserve her and should under no circumstances tarnish her happiness with his dark past?? WHAT?! 

Jean Valjean is the kindest, most loving, most gentle, most compassionate shining beacon of goodness of a character ever written, who was able to completely turn away from his rage and bitterness and love his fellow man so much that he gives money to people trying to rob him, and spares the lives of his worst enemies, and throws his life away to save one innocent, and dedicates his whole being to a girl he owes nothing to, and you wrote him as an angry, possessive monster. F*ck. 

Congrats on making the Thénardiers mixed race, btw, love how going for race-blind casting because you wanted forced diversity resulted in you perpetuating awful racial stereotypes. That’s the kind of representation we needed, the money-hungry, thieving, child-abusing f*cking Thénardiers. Like it makes any sense whatsoever. (HEY, REMEMBER THAT THENARDIER - THE GUY YOU CAST AS A PAKISTANI-KENYAN MAN - BECAME A SLAVE-TRADER IN THE BOOKS, YOU IDIOT?)

Who even authorized any of this 😭😭

I can forgive The Musketeers, because the show didn’t even attempt to pretend for one second that it was going to follow the books, and it’s entertaining enough to make up for it, but BBC shouldn’t be allowed to touch French IP ever again after this pretentious self-aggrandizing trashfire. 

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.3.8 “Death Of A Horse”

Lots of reference research and then Angry Feelings About Tholomyes in this one.

The facade is starting to crumble. Tholomyes has just kissed Favourite instead of Fantine. He’s drunk and even his friends want him to shut up. And now Zephine is complaining that she likes the food at Edon’s better than Bombarda’s.

Blacheville points out the mirrors on the walls, and there’s some wordplay there with Favourite re: “glace” for looking glass and ice creams. This also sounds like Favourite deliberately defying Tholomyes’ earlier rant about not eating sugar.

Tholomyes has a weird moment, he seems maybe about to get maudlin. “Silver is more precious than bone,” says Blacheville, to which Tholomyes replies “Except when it’s on the chin.” I may be reading this wrong, or backwards, but this sounds like a brief insecurity about aging. (Also I imagine the fact that he’s staring out at the dome of the Invalides is significant, but I don’t know why.)

“A discussion is good, a quarrel is better” is really just an excellent summary of what kind of “devil’s advocate” type douchebag Tholomyes is. (It’s also interesting that at no point does he “discuss,” “debate,” or “quarrel” with any of them. He has the floor and he monologues, there’s never any real back and forth with him.)

Tholomyes is pretty drunk at this point, so I’m really not sure if this following dialogue is him being mocking or him fully dismissing philosophy altogether in favor of theatre. I’m inclined to assume it’s the second, considering his earlier comments about preferring theatre. Descartes and Spinoza are, obviously, philosophers, but Desaugiers was a composer of operas and comedies, as well as the manager of the Vaudeville from 1815 until 1820. Either way, Tholomyes is pretty blatantly saying here that he doesn’t much care for philosophy.

He’s kind of the anti-Amis here, professing essentially that he doesn’t like Serious Thinking and would rather be entertained by theatre or by grisettes than think about anything substantial. His improvising is mostly empty, crappy advice where he criticizes women and gives bad dating opinions (compare with Grantaire’s improv which is mostly good social/political critique with dashes of obnoxiousness). His “wisdom” is comprised of the 19th century version of sexist pricks saying a bunch of stupid shit and then wondering why women don’t like “nice guys like him.”

More going on about contradictions, only this time seriously, rather than in the form of punnery. Life is about contradictions and irrationality, according to Tholomyes. He’s trying to be all science-y, but then he just goes back to talking about food. He goes on about how the wine they’re drinking is from a higher altitude, but it’s cheap. (Interesting that so far all of his improvised speeches have either been about women or food/drink.)

Fameuil gets a little barb in, though. He asks Tholomyes who his favorite writer is. Arnaud Berquin (which is Fameuil’s guess) was a French children’s author in the mid to late 1700s, so basically Fameuil is calling Tholomyes childish and maybe a little stupid. Berchoux (Tholomyes’ answer) was a comedic poet who invented the word “gastronomy.”

Everything with Tholomyes comes back to the sensual pleasures. Food and sex and theatre and gratification without having to actually reciprocate. This is drastically different from nearly every other character that we see. Most of them are incredibly poor and have barely any access to things necessary for survival, much less pleasure. Or, like Valjean or Javert, deny themselves sensual pleasures for various reasons. (Valjean out of piety and guilt, Javert for control, except for his little pinch of tobacco.) Tholomyes just cares about his own pleasure (but not his own personal wellbeing, considering Hugo says he’s “in poor shape” and basically physically gross) and whatever manipulation or money or schmoozing it takes to get it.

And a sudden barrage of references! Thargelia was a famous ancient Greek courtesan/hetaera who was very powerful and full of wit and had connections to Persian royalty. Hugo seems to have masculinized the name and imagined what that version would be like. I cannot find anything on Munophis of Elephanta; I’m guessing Hugo has butchered the spelling enough that whatever it is has become impossible to figure out, or he was talking out his ass. Apuleius wrote Metamorphosis, which had a lot of commentary on cultural/social life of the time; also Apuleius was part of the Dionysian cult. He quotes Solomon in Ecclesiastes (there is nothing new under the sun) and then pronounces that love is the same (quoting Virgil), there is nothing new there, either. From what I can understand by skimming that section in Georgics, that part of Virgil is about animal husbandry and is specifically talking about horny animals and how they’re going to want to mate no matter what. He’s basically saying that all men are horny and that‘s not going to change, and that they’re going to care more about sex than romance and always have. As far as I can tell, “carabine/carabin” is referencing a sex worker who caters to “carabin” aka medical students, although I’m not sure why the barge at Saint Cloud? Aspasia was the lover of Pericles; some sources depict her as a prostitute. She was foreign, so she actually had more rights than native Greek women, and she was very beautiful and very smart and witty.

Basically, Tholomyes is being a slimy bastard and saying men don’t want romance and women are there to keep men entertained and their dicks wet, and if they’re smart/witty as well as a good lay, that’s even better (perhaps a backhanded compliment for Favourite here? Since she’s supposed to be the “clever one”). Asshole. God, I hate him.

I know most people seem to say that Thenardier is the worst character in the Brick, the closest to a “bad guy” you can get in this book, but I think it’s actually Tholomyes. Thenardier, throughout the book, is awful, but most of his horrible actions are at least primarily fueled by desperation and a complete lack of access to, well, anything. Tholomyes, on the other hand, is the opposite of socially or financially desperate. He’s a rich, charismatic law student who thinks he’s hot shit. He manipulates and uses a girl 11 years younger than him, gets her pregnant, cheats on her, mocks her in front of his friends as well as her own friends (or the girls she thinks are her friends), never corrects her about the nature of their relationship, and then abandons her completely in a cruel prank. And if we’re interpreting this whole monologue right, it’s all for his own amusement. What a horrible, awful man.

The death of this poor weak horse feels like a foreshadowing, or at the very least a metaphor for the plight of poor women. Made to work hard, sacrifice themselves, starved, tired, and even when they’ve fallen either morally or literally, they’re blamed rather than helped, and then they die because no one ever tries to help them.

Tholomyes riffs on Francois de Malherbe in reaction to the death of the old horse. The Malherbe quote is from a letter of condolence to a colleague on the death of his daughter and says “But she bloomed on earth, where the most beautiful things have the saddest destiny; / And Rose, she lived as live the roses, for the space of a morning.” Tholomyes’ riff is (as best as I can do with google translate) “She was of this world where cuckoos [or cuckoo clocks?] and carriages have the same fate / And, nag, she lived as live the nags, in the space of a morning.”

Fantine gets her first spoken line here, sympathizing with the horse. Which, if this is foreshadowing as well as general commentary, is just so sad. Also, the fact that everyone else brushes off the horse’s death is interesting. If it is a metaphor, so is this brushing off. The grisettes are highly aware of their precarious position in life. One bad thing can send it all crashing down; but they expect it. They don’t sympathize or feel bad about it because they’ve seen it happen around them, they know it’ll happen to them one day too.

Favourite is the one who remembers the surprise. She’s been the only one of the girls actually talking about it. She’s the one who gets the dialogue asking for it and the one that keeps reminding the men about it. I don’t think she’s in cahoots with them about it or anything, but I wonder what she thinks is going on.

Also interesting that the “moment” that is suddenly right for this surprise has just been preceded by a downturn in mood at the shock of the dead horse. This horse has just dropped, and now the girls are waiting for yet another crushing emotional blow.

The fact that Tholomyes derails the kiss to a kiss on the forehead is definitely him trying to distance himself from Fantine. A kiss on the mouth would perhaps make her think he has feelings for her, that there’s any emotion involved in this at all. Plus he’s been cheating on her with Favourite. A kiss on the forehead is distant enough that it’s more emotionally “safe” for all of them, but especially Tholomyes, who really just wants out of this whole situation because he really doesn’t want to deal with a girl having feelings for him (or his child!) or pretty much anything that doesn’t have to do with his own pleasure. He’s just so manipulative and sleazy, I hate him.

The difference between Favourite’s reaction as they walk out the door and Fantine’s reaction is interesting to me because it seems to confirm just how oblivious Fantine really is. It’s not like she’s judging the others and thinks she’s in a Real Relationship, which is not like what the other girls have. She’s definitely not even remotely aware of the emotional status quo that everyone else recognizes. Favourite thinks it’s all good fun and games. Fantine seems to genuinely think that everyone else feels the same as she does about their affairs with the students. She seems to assume that she’s not the only one who’s in love. All the more shock for her in the next chapter, when the other girls are laughing and she’s devastated.

This whole thing is made all the worse with the fact that every single person involved in this affair is extremely aware of the difference between Fantine and everyone else. They talk about it to each other, and even to Fantine, who doesn’t seem to notice or get it. They probably giggle about her behind her back the entire time. They all know she’s in love with Tholomyes, and I assume they all know she also has a kid. They are perfectly aware of the difference between her and them. Which means all of the men are perfectly aware of how she’ll probably react to the “surprise” and what it might do to her socially. They don’t give a shit. They obviously think she’s a space case and a child and probably think she’s “no fun” compared to the other grisettes. So it doesn’t matter to them what happens to her; it doesn’t even matter to the other grisettes what happens to her, because they’re laughing at her too.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 4: From the Mouths of Babes

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2174

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the sublime pandabearer

        Lorel started to demand to know how much RainFire knew about her past and how they knew, but the sound of a branch cracking overhead had her looking up.  Instinct had her on her feet and catching the cub that tumbled out of the tree.

        She stared at the small leopard with wide eyes; light green eyes as large as saucers stared back while golden hickory leaves rained down around them.  The part of her that was still a scared little girl braced for the inevitable recrimination for the display of inhuman speed and her ocelot readied to fend off an attack for daring to touch one of their cubs.

        “Good catch.  Jojo here’s still learning what branches can or can’t hold her weight, ” Tien smiled and ruffled the tufts of hair between her daughter’s ears.  She had also leapt into action, although she’d been a few feet farther away.

        Lorel bit back a snarl, an inborn need to curl protectively up around the cub still gripped her hard, but she forced herself to pass the cub to the other woman.  Tiny claws caught in her sweater stopped her. Jojo tried to retract them, and stopped when they threatened to shred the fabric, mewling in what was obviously a plea for help.

        Tien nudged them towards a table and together they extricated Jojo from the cardigan.  Once freed, she placed her forepaws, sans claws, on Lorel’s chest and headbutted her as she purred in thanks.  The warm weight and casual affection of the girl grounded Lorel in her body in a way she hadn’t felt in a very long time.  It felt so right she almost stroked the baby soft fur.

        As tempting as it was to pet the richly patterned coat, she didn’t feel like losing a hand.  She’d heard that predatory Changelings could be violently protective of their offspring. Moreover, she knew that interacting with one, especially in its animal form, was a slippery slope away from what it meant to be human.  She could feel her own cat rising to the surface, brushing insistently at the inside of her skin. Soon, she knew it would punish her with claws and teeth for denying it’s needs.

        Jojo, however, had different ideas.  A fluffy head nudged at her hand, a tiny whiskered nose squirming under her fingers.  Lorel gave into the urge and gently worked her nails between the ears that seemed too large for the little head.  Jojo purred and arched into the attention, her paws doing a slow dance like she wanted to knead at Lorel’s lap, but was too well-mannered to do so.

        A lump formed in her throat.  Had she once been this small and trusting?  Had she ever been this loved and cared for? Vague but colourful memories, like an impressionist painting, surfaced with the happy echoes of a childhood long past.

        She felt the eyes of every adult watching her, either overtly or in darting glances.  They would kill her before she could hurt Jojo. That watchfulness was somehow reassuring.  They’d embraced their savagery to protect their youngest and that, paradoxically, allowed her to relax.  While she would never intentionally harm a child, she wasn’t so certain about her other half; she only knew she shouldn’t trust it.

        A sandy-haired man in a blue plaid shirt set a few plates of food on the table and leaned down to press a kiss to Tien’s lips when she tilted her head up in welcome.  It was more than a quick peck. When his hand cupped the nape of her neck, Lorel averted her eyes. While the festivities certainly weren’t orgies like in the sordid tales with which she'd been regaled, the open affection was more than she was used to.

        Jojo stood with her forepaws on the table, her nose twitching at the scent of the food, and reached out with one claw to snag a cookie.

        “Hands for cookies,” Tien said as if it were an oft-repeated admonition.

        A shower of multi-coloured sparks burst in Lorel’s lap; she froze for fear of interfering with the shift.  An instant later, there was a naked girl sitting on her knee. Lorel shrugged out of her cardigan and helped Jojo into it.  The soft yellow hem fell to her knees. Lorel glanced at Tien and her partner. Neither of them appeared as if anything was out of the ordinary, no cutting rebukes or punishment for being nude where others could see.  There was a twinge in her heart from memories of a very different childhood.

        “This is my mate, Avery.”  Tien gestured to the man who had joined them.

        Lorel was thrown by the term.  “Mate” was such a primal word that it threatened to bring a flush to her cheeks.  She didn’t have time to mull it over because Avery offered a hand as he sat next to his… wife.

        “Nice to meet you.  Please eat.” He smiled and nudged a plate arranged with crispy bread and some sort of creamy dip towards her.  Meanwhile, Tien had moved the cookies away from Jojo and pushed the crudite, also arranged to be shared communally, in front of her.

        Lorel opened her mouth to politely refuse, but Jojo offered up a stalk of broccoli.  She couldn’t say no to that earnest expression. Making “nomnom” noises, Lorel carefully snatched the vegetable with her teeth, making the girl giggle.

        Allowing herself to relax, Lorel sat back and took the chance to look around at the people chatting, playing, and laughing. Several of the leopards looked back.  No one hid their open curiosity, but they didn’t stare either. At least they didn’t swarm her, although she suspected that if Tien wasn’t there then all bets were off.

        They all seemed so... human.  No one licked their lips over the grilling meat.  Perhaps it was too well-done to salivate over? At least they didn’t have a bloody carcass roasting in a pit.  While she was no vegetarian (her physiology couldn’t handle a no-meat diet), she couldn’t have stomached such a barbaric display.

        “Not what you expected?” asked Tien.

        “Not really,” she admitted.  “I know RainFire’s only a few years old, how did you get this many members?”

        “Well, Remi met some of us, like Lark and Theo, when he was roaming.  Some of the sentinels, and our healer, Finn, came from packs where there weren’t many opportunities for them.”  Lorel blinked at the blithe reference to soldiers, as if their occupations were something as prosaic as accountants or teachers.  That was the darker side they tried to hide, the violence hidden with a thin veneer of humanity. “Avery and I lived on our own until I got pregnant with Jojo; we wanted her to grow up in a pack like we did.  We put our feelers out among our friends and family and heard about RainFire.”

        The contentment pouring off the couple made Lorel want to wrinkle her nose.  She knew it was all a lie: love, loyalty, family. Scratch the surface and it was all illusion.  They were like everyone else, only with a public façade to lure in others. She wasn’t going to fall for that again.

        “And how many were press-ganged?” she muttered under her breath.

        Being accustomed to humans and Psy, Lorel had forgotten that the leopards had hearing as sharp as her own until she caught the twin glares cast her way.

        “He said he didn’t fall, he was attacked by invisible ninja.  I asked, ‘Isn’t invisible ninja redundant?’”

        Remi was only listening with half an ear to Hugo’s story of how Jasper had broken his arm while his eyes tracked Lorelei’s every move.  His leopard was restless at having an outsider in their midst. It hadn’t even reacted this strongly when he’d rescued two half-drowned Psy assassins, unarguably among the most lethal people on the planet.  Then again, neither of them were as beautiful as the ocelot.

        She was short with curves like a winding back road that he wanted to explore.  The cat wanted to memorize what she smelled like without her bakery mixing with it.  Underneath the acrid layer of fear, which was lessening now that Tien had gotten her talking, she smelled sweet with a bite of spice.

        He had to force himself to back off.  The need to shadow the virtual stranger in their midst was riding him hard, no matter that she appeared about as dangerous and as delicious as one of her cupcakes in that mint green dress.  Her flats, while practical indoors, sank into the thick carpet of leaves. Nor did she wear anything warmer than a butter yellow cardigan. While she was a Changeling and would be fine, most cats preferred to be warm.  He was wearing a forest-green cashmere sweater himself because he liked the texture of it, not because he was cold.

        Judging by her clothing, she hadn’t known what to expect, or no one had told her that she was a guest.  He cast a sideways glance at Elijah, who gave an unrepentant shrug.

        “No bear tactics involved.”  The soldier held up his hands as if to ward off a chewing out.  “All cat. But Tien might have forgotten to tell her she was invited.”  Remi and his cat were amused at their strategy. A pack circle event was meant to reinforce bonds: and thus, were perfect for introducing someone to the benefits of pack life.

        “That’s smart, so I know you weren’t the brains behind the operation.”

        “Au contraire.”  He pronounced it "ow contrary."  Remi rolled his eyes.  Elijah spoke several languages to varying degrees of fluency, but he liked to butcher French just to yank his alpha’s chain.  “I said we should place an order for the party, Tien and Avery took it from there. So really it was all my idea.”

        Remi started to formulate a quip, but stopped at the sound of Tien’s voice vibrating with anger that carried under the ambient noise.  He shifted towards the dominant maternal to hear her better.

        “…here because we want to be.”

        Lorelei’s response was a murmur that not even his sharp ears could pick up, but whatever it was, it cooled Tien’s temper.

        “We can’t let a predatory Changeling live within our borders,” she explained.  A thread of surprise wound through her words, like she hadn’t imagined that someone of their race could be ignorant of their laws, but she was as patient as if she was addressing the juveniles. “There are some who’d assume that meant we can’t hold our territory and would press the issue.  We’re not big or strong enough yet for that.”

        Pride swelled and ebbed within him.  Tien was a damn fine dominant maternal and he’d never regretted allowing her and her family to join the pack.  It was the sting of shame that tempered that pride. Most alphas, if they grew up in a functional pack, were carefully guided from a young age.  Remi partly blamed that lack of formative education for having waited so long before developing his own pack.

        If he’d started building RainFire earlier, then they could have weathered the turbulence that was the fall of Silence and the subsequent restructuring of the world better.  And he wouldn’t have had to deliver an ultimatum to a single submissive Changeling whose only mistake was to live on land they needed to claim.

        He huffed a laugh that brought him out of the pity party for one.  Once, being alpha of his own pack was unthinkable to him. Sometimes he looked around at his people and what they’d built together and felt as bemused as Lorelei looked.  Now he was kicking his own ass for not starting sooner. Fate was no doubt having a laugh at him.

        “…dominants are driven to protect,” Avery explained.  “…sives…” The male was no doubt explaining the hierarchy to her.  Really, it should have come as no surprise that she was unfamiliar with the power structure, but he’d assumed that she knew instinctually.  Then again, he of all people should know that instincts didn’t always coincide with what experience taught.

        Taking a drink of his beer, he turned to catch a glimpse of the small group.  Lorelei looked down at Jojo with an abashed expression. She had looped her arms around the girl to ensure she didn’t tumble off, not that the cub was in any danger of that.

        With the innocent honesty of small children, Jojo wrinkled her nose and said, “You smell funny.”

        Lorelei frowned and made a show of sniffing herself.  “I promise I showered today, with soap even.” She feigned confusion and the cub giggled.

        Remi’s blood ran cold.

        The slashes on Jojo’s face were more than an unusual birthmark.  They were the sign of a hunter, someone born with the skills to hunt those of their kind who went rogue, ones who subsumed themselves in their animal half.  Once they lost their humanity, they slaughtered without compunction, beginning with their loved ones.

        And a hunter’s chief ability was scent.

[newagesispage]

                                                              FEBRUARY          2020

PAGE  RIB

 *****

Just as we said good bye to 2019, 75 of The Rolling Stones outtakes and such were released for a minute on You tube.  The thinking seems to be that the tracks which could be found under 69RSTRAX were ‘released’ before public domain sets in.

*****

Check out Somebody up there likes me, a doc about the life of Ronnie Wood.

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Bill Wyman has a new book out set for release on Feb, 29 called Stones: From the Inside

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The film, The Burnt Orange Heresy looks great and will open on March 6.

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Steve Martin has been talking about next year’s Hulu series he did with Martin Short, Only murders in the building. I thought it was a bit but apparently it is real and I can’t wait!!

*****

I loved Samantha Bee’s take on ghost sex: Spook softly and carry a big dick. Too funny!

*****

Bill Maher just bought a new place in Avalon on Santa Catalina Island for a mil. The area boasts hardly any cars as most people get around on foot or by golf cart.

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Stephen Colbert’s executive producer Tom Purcell came up with the idea years ago for a home makeover show that does a re-do on murder houses. Someone else came along and thought it again because now we have Murder House Flip.

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Abby Huntsman has left the View.

*****

The Oscar noms are out with Joker leading the pack. There is Leo and Joaquin for actor and Hanks, Hopkins, Pacino, Pesci and Pitt for supporting. That is the TOUGH category. For actress there is Cynthia Erivo and Renee Z. Kathy Bates is up for supporting. Johansson is up for 2. For films, they love Ford V Ferrari, The Irishman, Jo Jo Rabbit, Marriage Story, Joker, Little Women, 1017, Parasite and Once upon a time in Hollywood.

*****

Dave Chappelle, Marianne Williamson and Donald Glover are helping to raise $ for Andrew Yang.

*****

The last season of Criminal Minds is officially underway and I was so fucking glad that Dorian Harewood was there for the final shows. Woo Hoo!!

*****

Neil Young and John Oliver are now American citizens

*****

Interrogation is a new tv series that looks promising.

*****

Wes Anderson’s new film, French Dispatch that he wrote with Hugo Guinness, Jason Schwartzman and Roman Coppola will be out on July 24. The production features Benecio del Toro, Adrien Brody, Tilda Swinton, Frances McDormand and Bill Murray.

*****

The Russell Simmons doc about his incidents with women has lost its executive producer, Oprah.

*****

John Stewart has written and directed a new film, Irresistible starring Steve Carell and Chris Cooper.

*****

I am so sick of the multiple pens it takes to sign the documents when they sign something into law etc. You are wasting our money signing a letter at a time, politicians just so U can give some crap as a keepsake. Let’s have a real signature! I don’t think the average person would be allowed to sign official papers that way.

*****

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has decided on their new inductees: Depeche Mode, The Doobie Brothers, T Rex, Whitney Houston, Notorious B.I.G., Nine inch nails and the Ahmet Ertegun award will go to manager Irving Azoff along with journalist and manager Jon Landau.

*****

Julian Castro is out, Marianne Williamson is out, Cory Booker is out.** Sanders got the endorsement of Nevada’s largest teacher’s union and the black caucus.** Bloomberg says he will use his $ for whoever is the democratic candidate. He is also running an anti-gun ad during the Super Bowl.

*****

I wish Rep. Doug Collins would stop talking.

*****

Ken Jennings was the big Jeopardy winner in the showdown.

*****

Diego the tortoise has had so much sex that he saved his species. There were only a few of them left and now there are about 2,000.

*****

The Tokyo 2020 Olympics will be here July 24.

*****

Warren and Bernie got into it after the January debate. They sort of called each other liars.

*****

Hillary Clinton is the first female chancellor of Queens University.** The Justice department inquiry into Hillary has finally ended. They found nothing.

*****

The Golden Globes had some very deserving winners like Succession, Brian Cox, Laura Dern, Olivia Coleman, Patricia Arquette and Joaquin Phoenix. Tarantino was honored for his writing. I think the best dressed were numerous this year. There was hardly a wrong choice except for J Lo, Thomasin Mckenzie, Ryan Seacrest and Beyonce. I loved Joey King, Michelle Pfeifer, Kaitlin Deaver, Rose Leslie, Cate Blanchett, Ellen and Portia, Phoebe Waller- Bridge, Cynthia Erivo, Eddie Murphy and Paige Butcher, Brad and Leo, Zoe Kravitz, Helen Mirren, Annabelle Wallis, Lisa Lu, Bill Hader, Kerry Washington, Lisa Bonet, Colin Jost and Scarlett Johansson, Patricia Arquette and Nicole Ansari-Cox.

*****

The SAG award also had some very well dressed which included Reese Witherspoon, Michelle Williams, Lupita Nyongo, Zoey Kravitz, Millie Bobbie Brown the Schitts Creek cast and Patricia Arquette. Christina Applegate was a bit too old school but she rocked it. The people on the SAG carpet were very chatty.  Parasite was named best cast. Other winners included Zellweger, Joaquin, Sam Rockwell, The Crown, Laura Dern and Dinklage. I have not seen The Morning Show but I was a bit shocked to see Jennifer Aniston win over Jody Comer, Helena Bonham Carter, Olivia Coleman or Elizabeth Moss. This was an award from her fellow actors so I suppose they wanted to send her some love. Her ex Brad Pitt won as well and went on and on about himself.

*****

The Grammys were pretty somber with a lot of ballads and the sadness of the death of Kobe Bryant that day. Aerosmith refused to let drummer Joey Kramer play with them and many found the performance a mess. A wonderful moment was Tanya Tucker and Brandi Carlile with their song that went on to win best country song. Tanya Tucker won best country album. Other winners included Billir Eilish, Lizzo, Elvis Costello and the imposters, Gary Clark Jr., Nipsey Hussle and John Legend, Willie Nelson, Michelle Obama and Dave Chappelle. I had no love for the fashion of Ariana Grande or Rosalia. My best dressed were Lizzo, Camila Cabello, Elle Mai, Jameela Jamill, Billy Porter, Bebe Rexha and Alessandria Ambrosia.

*****

Roman Polanski’s An Officer and a spy captured the most noms at France’s Cesar awards.

*****

What IS Iran’s cyber capability? Give us details when it comes to Trump’s act of aggression against Iran. Wasn’t he supposed to get us out of the Middle East?** Our own government has concluded that withholding aid to Ukraine was illegal even though half the Senate does not seem to care.

*****

Dori Miller is the first person who was not a President to have an aircraft carrier named after him. The African American hero was at first not recognized for his bravery but FDR changed that. Construction will be completed in about 8 years.

*****

Gustav Klempt’s missing Portrait of a Lady was found in a hole in the wall of a house. It had not been seen since 1997.

*****

Kathy Griffin got married on New Year’s Eve to her long time love, Randy Bick with Lily Tomlin officiating.

*****

Venture capitalist Imaad Zuberi pled guilty to obstruction of justice for impeding a Federal investigation into the inaugural fraud.

*****

Eric Swalwell has said that everybody will want the Trump trial in the future wherein the person on trial gets to make the rules. It will be a thing. Who needs witnesses?

*****

So there is a story that many Puerto Rican’s have had to move to the continental U.S. (mostly Fla.) because of the lack of help they have received from the current administration. Now, they can only vote in primaries in Puerto Rico but when they settle in other places they can actually VOTE for President. Lesson: Help Others!

*****

A Federal court just affirmed an injunction preventing the Trump administration from discharging air force members living with HIV. It is hard to keep up on all the despicable things this administration is doing.** Scary Clown 45 thinks he is responsible for low cancer rates. They have been steadily going down anyway. He wants a 4.9 bil cut in medical research, 897 mil cut in National cancer institute and a 763 mil cut for the CDC. Luckily it didn’t happen.

*****

Apparently before the impeachment trial began, Trump’s legal team gave thousands of dollars in contributions to Moscow Mitch, Lindsey Graham and Ted Cruz. What a sad time for this country. KEEP INVESTIGATING ANYWAY.

*****

A new immigrant prison just opened in Baldwin, Michigan, run by GEO, a for profit prison company.

*****

The wall is costing about 20 mil a mile and the 100 miles or so completed have mostly been repairs to existing structure. When G W Bush was in office the cost was about 4 mil a mile.** About 30 feet of the wall feel into Mexico due to high winds.

*****

Season 7 of Grace and Frankie will be the last.

*****

The White House streamed a sermon from the Holy City Church of God in Christ in Memphis. The event that VP Pence attended for the MLK holiday was led by a pastor who claimed that our gay friends were possessed by demons.

*****

Days alert: Loved Kristen’s call back to Rosemary’s baby again when talking about little Andy or Jenny. I can’t believe that in those same flashbacks we learned what a horrible Mother’s Day they had.  How could so much go wrong in 1 day? ** Hooray, More Tony and Anna!! ** The heartbreak of John and Marlena and the evil of the brainwashed really harkens back to the heyday of Days.** I wish that the baby mix up story would bring Tate and Theresa back to town! It is time for she and Brady to get back together!

*****

Rudy has started a podcast.

*****

I am often not a fan of tradition (royal, religious or otherwise) but I admit it gave me great comfort to see the articles of impeachment walked carefully to the Senate chamber. We still have a little bit of order amidst all the chaos of the Trump era.

*****

The Astros are cheaters.

*****

The super bowl will be upon us on Feb.2 with Kansas City V San Francisco.

*****

6139 military vets committed suicide in 2019. R.I.P.

*****

R.I.P. victims of the Australian fires, Chris Tolkein, Neil Peart, David Olney , Terry Jones, Mr. Peanut , Jim Lehrer , victims of the Calabasas helicopter crash and Buck Henry.

[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!