Six-Week Reading Goals Update
Les Miserables, Tartuffe, Candide, The Little Prince, and French Poetry
On January 1, I shared my reading goals for 2023. They're very heavy on French novels and poetry, much to my husband's bafflement, but his Gallophobia is a topic for another day.
Today's post will be a series of lists, with some notes on the logistics of meeting my goals and some journal-style reflections on the works I finished.
2023 Reading Goals: Progress!
1. Finish Les Miserables by Victor Hugo: DONE!
2. Read Tartuffe by Molière (a play): DONE!
3. Candide by Voltaire (a satirical novella): DONE!
4. The French Revolution by Hilaire Belloc (a relatively brief history)
5. Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini (historical fiction about the French Revolution)
6. Napoleon: A Life by Andrew Roberts (a biography)
7. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
8. Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: DONE!
9. An anthology of French poetry: DONE!
10. Pensées by Blaise Pascal (philosophical musings of a great mathematician)
11. Julie; or, The New Heloise by Jean-Jacques Rousseau (thank you, Katie, for suggesting this title!)
Other Things I Read:
I promised that I'd read other things besides my official "reading goals," partly to keep me from rebelling against the goals, and partly because I need simple, narrative prose in bed at night.
The Moment of Tenderness by Madeleine L'Engle
The Severed Wasp by Madeleine L'Engle
Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout
Tranquility by Tuesday by Laura Vanderkam
Bible: 1 and 2 Kings, most of the major and minor prophets, and the Gospel of Matthew
The Logistics of Meeting My Goals:
Though I highly recommend using e-books and audiobooks to increase your reading capacity, this can backfire. For the first three weeks of January, I over-relied on my phone's availability for audiobooks and e-books...until my phone died. I dug out my Kindle, which mercifully still worked, but I couldn't access as many of the library's apps that way. I also depended too heavily on the library's available copies. If someone else had signed them out, I'd have to wait a few weeks before continuing progress.
I decided to invest in buying physical copies of most of the books, plus an audio copy of Les Miserables. I'm pretty cheap, even when it comes to books, and I always prefer the free library option, but I've extended myself the privilege of buying a book if I *know* that I will read it immediately (and if it's in my budget, and if I think I'll want it in my personal library long-term, and if I can’t talk myself out of it, and like I said, I'm cheap).
I got a used copy of Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini for less than a dollar at a local bookstore, and I found a cheap copy of Hilaire Belloc's The French Revolution on Amazon. I also picked up a copy of Marcel Proust's Swann's Way for under a dollar, but that will remain an aspirational read for a few months. Alas, my physical copy of Les Miserables, bought on a whim at Barnes & Noble, turned out to be partially abridged, so I returned it. I'll have to wait a little longer before owning a physical copy of that tome.
As for the rest of my reading, the library's physical and digital resources have proved very reliable. The library also provided some CDs of French cafe music. Up next: Edith Piaf, Claude Debussy, and Erik Satie.
Journal-Style Reflections
Les Miserables:
Exquisite. What can you say when you spend three months with a book? Any well-written book or movie or play, regardless of its length, will bring you deep into its world, but there was something special about devoting so many weeks to it. I lived through the book along with Valjean, Fantine, Cosette, and Marius, and their ordeals and victories felt more lasting.
For example, there were six weeks for me between Fantine's death scene and the finale of the book. Her sufferings were no longer fresh in my mind when Valjean finally tells Cosette her mother's name:
"Cosette, the time has come to tell you the name of your mother. Her name was Fantine. Remember that name: Fantine. Fall on your knees whenever you pronounce it. She suffered much. And loved you much. Her measure of unhappiness was as full as yours of happiness. Such are the distributions of God. He is on high, he sees us all, and he knows what he does in the midst of his great stars. So I am going away, my children."
I wept. Hugo is brilliant, and I only love the musical more after reading this brilliant, brilliant novel. The book explains a few things that the musical left confusing to me. I won't get into them all now, but it definitely helped me understand Thenardier, Valjean, Javert, and Cosette more.
Oh, and I love Gavroche, that noblest of heroes. He is easily the bravest, most generous, and most joyous character in the book, though he grew up as good as orphaned on the streets. I would happily read a fan fiction in which Valjean and Gavroche both survive the novel to go live in a little chateau together.
Hugo's long digressions, once they ceased to be a surprise, were part of why I loved the book, and why the abridged copy had to go. Take away Hugo's views on politics, religion, spirituality, history, and philosophy, and Les Miserables ceases to be Les Miserables. I also came to appreciate the dramatic purpose they served, letting you come up for a little rational air after plunging into so much emotional sympathy for the miserables. This book was a marathon, not a sprint, and I needed the "act breaks."
His 1862 preface:
"So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation, which, in the face of civilisation, artificially creates hells on earth, and complicates a destiny that is divine, with human fatality; so long as the three problems of the age - the degradation of man by poverty, the ruin of woman by starvation, and the dwarfing of childhood by physical and spiritual night - are not yet solved; as long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible; in other words, and from a yet more extended point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, books like this cannot be useless."
My challenge to you:
Get the unabridged copy out of the library, and at least read "Fantine, Book First: An Upright Man." It's only about 50 pages, and it describes a character - Bishop Myriel, who goes on to help Valjean - who truly seizes every opportunity to do good to others, whatever the sacrifice to himself. And then go re-listen to the 10th Anniversary Concert, for pity's sake.
Tartuffe:
It's even funnier than I remember. It's a 17th-century play of a family imposed on by a religious hypocrite, and how they find him out and bring justice upon him. Molière is a lot like Shakespeare, but I find his plays easier to follow: fewer characters, simpler language, and more easily-resolved plots.
My challenge to you:
Watch a free copy online. You'll be in stitches.
Candide:
It's the story of a very optimistic young man who steadfastly believes that this is the best of possible worlds and that everything works out for the best, even as he is robbed, beaten within an inch of his life, loses the love of his life, accidentally kills his friend, and...you get the idea. It might sound like a downer, but it's actually hysterically funny.
My challenge to you:
Like so many old books, this will not take long to read. Five minutes a day, and you'll be done in a month.
The Little Prince:
I read this with my daughter, and I'll be musing it for a while. It's a very philosophical story, filled with the wisdom of childhood. It reminds me a little of A.A. Milne's books and poems. The narrator, after crashing his plane in the Sahara Desert, meets a little boy who says he fell from another planet, where he carefully tended his small world, especially one tiny, fragile flower, until he decided to go explore. The boy tells him about his journeys and the things that he has learned along the way, and the narrator grows very fond of this strange, little visitor who lives so simply and nobly and unconsciously. It obviously held a lot for me to read it as a parent with my own little prince(ss) next to me, but I was happy to see that my daughter enjoyed it a lot, too.
"All grown-ups were children first. (But few of them remember it.)"
"As the little prince was falling asleep, I picked him up in my arms, and started walking again. I was moved. It was as if I was carrying a fragile treasure. It actually seemed to me there was nothing more fragile on Earth. By the light of the moon, I gazed at that pale forehead, those closed eyes, those locks of hair trembling in the wind, and I said to myself, What I'm looking at is only a shell. What's most important is invisible... As his lips parted in a half smile, I said to myself, again, What moves me so deeply about this sleeping little prince is his loyalty to a flower - the image of a rose shining within him like the flame within a lamp, even when he's asleep..."
My challenge to you:
Bake some brownies, brew a pot of decaf coffee, turn off the TV and read this in an hour and a half one night.
French Poetry:
I read through the Everyman's Library anthology of French poetry, noting which poets I’d like to explore more and which ones I’d like to ward off with a can of Lysol. That's where I found Catherine des Roches, and my interest was also piqued in Joachim du Bellay, Victor Hugo, Marie de France, and Louise Labé. I hope to continue with one of them soon.
My challenge to you:
Find a general anthology of poetry and read one poem at lunch every day until you find a poet you really want to know better.
Next Steps
I’ve already started reading Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini and The French Revolution by Hilaire Belloc. I hope to finish both by the end of the month, and then I’ll begin Andrew Roberts’s Napoleon: A Life. I’m also looking for a book to read during Lent - not a devotional per se, but something with the right balance of memento mori and hope. Let me know if you have any suggestions.
Happy Reading!