somewhere between design, writing, and math...

Enjolras: “I can’t I DON’T HAVE ONE”

Vanderisco is a warrior princess dragon rider my eight-year-old cousin (because his brain doesn’t really get my sister’s name and he asked her once if she was a princess). This has been on my mind since I first heard him suggest it a couple years ago.

or Évariste Galois, the Mathematician Who Might Have Started the June Rebellion

(I swear, I won’t actually talk about math.)

I'm currently taking this advanced math class called "Théorie de Galois" or "Galois Theory", basically about a branch of mathematics named after Évariste Galois, a French mathematician. When I told one of my friends, he commented on how "Galois died young."

I've been going through the class website in preparation of the final exam and found a link to his (French) Wikipedia page. Out of curiosity, I checked at what age he died (20) and his date of death. I found it to be May 31, 1832 ... a day before Lamarque. (Cue Gavroche's voice in my head going "General Lamarque is dead!")

Intrigued, I scroll down and read.

And holy shit. Take from all this what you will.

Putting aside a moment his mathematical genius, he was a radical republican and member of La Société des Amis du Peuple. I looked into it in a few sources, and some point to the riots from June 5 & 6 being kind of the end of this society, though it had technically disbanded in 1830 but continued to meet secretly. (I couldn't help but think of the fact that ABC, or abaissés, refers to the people, or, if I quote Hugo directly, "L’Abaissé, c’était le peuple" but maybe that's too easy of a link.)

The section about Galois's death was most intriguing. He died on May 31st and was buried on June 2nd. He was killed as a result of a duel, but the identity of his adversary is unknown. His burial on June 2nd is more interesting to me though because, well ... the date. I found this blog post that analyzes the whole event. His funerals were assisted by a few thousand republican militants (including law and medical school students, which I can’t even…). What was meant to really happen (considering the events a few days later), well … *shrugs*. But that doesn't stop me from gaping at my computer because of the mention that maybe they had intentions of starting barricades upon returning from the cemetery. And they decided to wait until Lamarque's funerals.

I mean. WHAT.

Perhaps nobody understands how strange and ridiculous this feels to me, as someone who is currently finishing (or at least hoping to) a bachelor's degree in pure mathematics and is a Les Mis enthusiast (to put it lightly). And considering I have wanted to take this class since I first discovered it during my first year (when I was most, to put it simply, buried deep in a Les Amis de l'ABC hole). Not to mention the fact that it's not even taught every year and thus I jumped on the opportunity to take it this semester. This is two worlds colliding in such a bizarre and unexpected way.

So basically in my head, the conversation at Musain should have gone something like:

Gavroche: Listen to me! Évariste Galois is dead! Enjolras: What! That’s terrible! We should start barricades after his funeral! Grantaire: But who's going to get up in arms at the funeral of a nobody? He was just an unrecognized mathematician. (He was only recognized posthumously.) Combeferre: Well, Lamarque is dying of cholera right now. If we wait, maybe we could do something after his funeral. More people would rally behind that. Enjolras: Sounds like a plan. Gavroche: I'll come back when I have news of Lamarque I guess.

No? Just me? OK, I’ll return to my studies and my absence from Tumblr.

tl;dr

Évariste Galois was a young French mathematician and radical republican whose funerals, on June 2, 1832, might (emphasis on might) have started the June rebellions portrayed in Les Mis, according to some sources. And I shall be going back to studying the theory named after him because I have an exam.

Friend: I read Fangirl, do you know it? Me: Oooh yes I love that book! Friend: Yeah the whole time I kept on thinking about you and how you are with Les Misérables! Me: ....... I can see why that would be the case.....

When Montparnasse entered the apartment, he was startled by the sight of a pair of legs sticking up behind the couch. He knew immediately it was Jehan—no one else in his circle owned and wore (especially since it wasn’t the holidays) socks with a pattern of birds kissing under a mistletoe.

He walked around the sofa and stared. Jehan was sitting or lying—Montparnasse was not sure which to call it—upside down, their feet thrown over the back, their head dangling from the front. Their hair, loose, pooled on the floor in a stream of copper. They were holding a book up with one hand. The other was draped across the length of the couch, palms turned upwards. Montparnasse could not help but remember that scene from a musical where a woman lay on the edge of the stage, her arms not unlike Jehan’s, while three men sang of their desire for her. The image disappeared as Jehan moved to run their fingers through their hair.

“What are you doing?” Montparnasse finally asked.

Jehan lifted—or lowered?—their eyes, placing the book down in their chest. “Reading,” they replied as if it was the most obvious thing.

Any other day, Montparnasse would have been curious about the title, but not this afternoon. He barely glanced at the book. “Like that?”

“Yes.” Jehan evidently could not see the problem.

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

Jehan smiled. “It took me forty-five minutes to find a comfortable position. And I have.”

Montparnasse eyed them sceptically. “Isn’t your head hurting?”

“Not yet. I’ve been like this for the last hour and a half and have not felt a thing.”

“What about your arm? Isn’t it tired, holding the book like that?”

“It’s fine. I alternate.”

“And how the hell are you getting up later?”

“We’ll see. Maybe I’ll roll off or something.”

Montparnasse said nothing. He had no more protests, yet he still was not convinced. Jehan looked at him, clearly amused. “You should try it.”

Montparnasse scoffed. “If I want a stiff neck, sure.”

Jehan smiled. “Suit yourself,” they replied. “Come sit. Don’t you have reading to do too?”

Montparnasse nodded. He dropped his bag by the couch and pulled out the book he needed to finish, plopping down next to Jehan. Jehan stretched their arm back up, returning to their book. Other than that, they did not move.

As Montparnasse read—seated normally, holding his book with one hand—he started feeling a little restless. He brought a leg up, then put it back down a minute later. He shifted slightly. From the corner of his eye, he knew Jehan had shot him an amused look. Montparnasse pretended not to see. The thought of draping himself the same way briefly crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He’d wrinkle his clothes just trying to get into position (and when he would have to “roll off”), not to mention what could happen to his hair. And it was simply ludicrous. No, he would sit upright like normal people.

Montparnasse shot Jehan another sideways glance. Jehan was not looking at him, concentrating on their book. Montparnasse could now read the title, despite its tilt. He smiled fondly in spite of himself. Jehan might not be normal people, but Montparnasse was extremely glad for it.

I don’t really understand the necessity of these replacements. While most of the replaced words are perhaps more local expressions that certainly were not used here, I’ve never really had any problems with a kid. And now I’m wondering if other books have similar treatment.

Montparnasse had always liked this place, liked the creaking floorboards, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the smell of old books. He’d always liked the nook of French books—the ones just classified as “literary fiction”. French publishing houses' design choices gave a certain appearance to shelves when books were classified by genre. While the white of the spins was perhaps a tad pretentious, it also made the bookshelves—all filled with white books—aesthetically pleasing. ... Something about the literary fiction and how it was in a corner just by the cash, a little hidden from the rest of the store, pleased Montparnasse in a way he couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

Mixture of markers and colouring pencils. From this Jehanparnasse thing I wrote where they both study literature.

That passage actually describes a real second-hand bookstore in my hometown. I really love that place and used to spend summers in there, browsing classics (though I rarely go there anymore because I’m trying to reduce my book purchases and I’m also living abroad, so this was drawn from memory). Technically there’s a CD shelf that would have hidden Montparnasse...

La Cousine Bette, Honoré de Balzac