1.1.1-Alasse-irena

ClubNinetyThree 1.1
Okay, first things first. I left brick!club somewhere in the middle of the Waterloo section, so this really feels a lot like picking up where I left off. Also, a great deal of dying occurs in the first, like, paragraph or so. I’m vaguely hoping this bodes well for the rest of the book. I don’t know, does Victor Hugo have a death quota per book or something? I hope so anyway.

I do like the contrast between the florid descriptions of the forest and the soldiers marching through the forest (I should have known – florid prose was always your strong point, Victor; I hope there’s some kind of Enjolras and this book for you to describe). “The birds warbled above their bayonets,” is my favourite part of this section.

Curiosity is one form of feminine bravery.

That’s an interesting hypothesis you’ve got there, Victor. I would be intrigued to see Victor Hugo’s list of forms of feminine bravery. I suspect this is an excerpt from it:


 * 1) Curiosity
 * 2) Marrying Marius Pontmercy (side note: this sounds like a song title)

Okay, secret truth: from here on is really just stream-of-consciousness with quotes, but let it be known - I really enjoyed this chapter! The mother and the sergeant are just lovely and this whole scene is beautiful.

She looked at the sergeant, whose rough face showed only his eyebrows, his moustache, and two coals which were his two eyes.

Um. Those are epic eyebrows and an epic moustache there, if that’s all we can see. But, I will take it non-literally, in which case this is excellent imagery, and I can imagine the sergeant perfectly.

The woman looked at him, terrified. She was thin, young, pale, and in rags; she wore the large hood of the Breton peasant, and the woollen cloak fastened at the neck with a string. She let her bare breast be seen with utter indifference. Her feet without stockings or shoes were bleeding. "She is poor," said the sergeant.

Well, thanks Captain Obvious. I thought she was just hiding in the woods with her three hungry, frightened children for kicks.

I really enjoyed the conversation that the sergeant and the woman had about her country. I’m imagining that it went something like:

“What is your country?” “Brittany.” “Come on, that’s just part of France.” “No it isn’t.” “Is too.” “Is not.” “Fine, have it your way. Be from Brittany then.”

I also love her absolute refusal to be on a side in the war?

"Do you belong to the Blues? Do you belong to the Whites? Whom are you with?" "I am with my children." "What, you don’t know who killed your husband?" "No." "Was it a Blue? Was it a White?" "It was a bullet."

She is just having none of it. Her children are her side and her enemy is the war, and she’s not having anything to do with all this shit at all and it’s really really great.

"She hasn’t kept any for herself," muttered the sergeant. "It is because she isn’t hungry," said a soldier. "It’s because she is their mother," said the sergeant.

Also wow. I think you have improved at writing since last I saw you, Victor. Everything you say appears true and touching and sad, and this sergeant is so suspicious and bristly at first, but then he’s trying really hard to be thoughtful…

The sergeant approached the woman and looked at the nursing child. The little one left the breast, turned her head gently, looked with her beautiful blue eyes at the frightful hairy face, rough and tawny, which bent over her, and began to smile. The sergeant straightened himself up, and a great tear was seen to roll down his cheek and rest on the end of his moustache like a pearl. He raised his voice,— "After all this, it is my opinion that the battalion ought to become a father. Is it agreed? Let us adopt these three children."

Stop making me cry, Hugo.

And the sergeant said to the mother,— "Come, citoyenne.”

I’m serious, stop it.

Commentary
Knightlypatroclus oh wait that’s today? (furiously reads the rest_