#3.5.2

On one hand, this is very reminiscent of Fantine in poverty, Hugo praises these characters for making the best out of the worst circumstances, even though Fantine’s poverty was out of her power to fix though she still tried her best to actively make it work by sewing as much as she could and living in a tiny room. There’s a very big difference between real crushing poverty like Fantine’s and temporarily not having enough money to live on like Marius and I do wish that Hugo had made that distinction much clearer. 

On the other hand, this also feels very reminiscent of the Petit-Picpus nuns enduring hardships voluntarily to reap rewards. And here too, there is a focus on how good it has been to develop character, with the whole ‘great feats are performed in small struggles.’ 

I do have to maybe give Marius a little credit for being so young and trying to make the best out of his circumstances and finishing law school (oh no, Bossuet, Bahorel and Courfeyrac would have been so disappointed in him for qualifying as a lawyer :P).

Marius’ whole experience of poverty, however, is also wrapped in shame, he feels shame whenever buying meat and clothing himself always in mourning, whereas Fantine’s poverty was long-lasting so she quickly had to get rid of the shame that came with it. It’s also why there is such a contrast between Marius and Bossuet when they first met, Bossuet has learned to adapt very well to his circumstances of being out of luck money wise. Marius has not and is also too proud to seek more help than the basic from Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac continues to be a great friend however, and does not interfere or push Marius because he knows him well.

Marius sends a letter to Gillenormand who is angry but also it seems like he cares about Marius underneath, but I personally could not care less about Gillenormand and his feelings. Marius is bitter towards his grandfather and maybe that bitterness echoes how Valjean and Fantine also felt, Valjean in prison, Fantine during her poverty and prostitution years was bitter towards Monsieur Madeleine. I still really like Aunt Gillenormand for continuing to send six hundred francs to Marius, she does possess a kind spirit towards Marius, I wish they had had a chance to be close and friendly with each other.  

3.5.2

Marius works so hard at translating the languages that somehow, he is able to come out of his poverty quickly. I do find it interesting that as a bourgeois, Marius might not even have looked at other professions that would have been beneath his class. More examples of Marius being a bourgeois include him paying money to have someone sweep his floor, and also eating out frequently, instead of cooking food himself, while living on an annual rent of 30 francs in the Gorbeau House and by all purposes, trying to save money. 

For someone trying to save money, he spends way too much on food and household chores, twenty sous every day plus thirty six sous for housekeeping, is a lot, when cheaper alternatives are available and he could so easily sweep his floor and do his own laundry. He lives like a bourgeois student and still manages to save money, he isn’t even earning a lot through his translation, 700 francs a year does not seem much, Feuilly is earning more. 

I want to feel something towards Marius for never contracting a debt but mostly, I keep thinking how much he really does not have to live like that, and I end up feeling very little sympathy for The Pontmercy, especially since it highlights that he might be terribly judgey to other people who may have to borrow money to climb out of their circumstances, which is so many levels of nope, Marius what are you doing? 

In the midst of everything, Marius finds a new goal, that of finding Thenardier and making amends to him as per his father’s memory. This highlights another of his attributes of his blind devotion/adoration to people. He attaches himself to Thenardier for the sake of his father, while coming across as rude to everyone else due to his shyness and thinking that poverty can make you low-minded? What the heck, Marius? Why are you like this?  

3.5.3

This chapter wants me to care about Gillenormand, because as Hugo tells us, underneath it all, he really cares for his grandson, which yeah, that’s not going to work on me, especially since his adoration is harsh words and physical abuse, which has bound to have had an effect on Marius growing up in the household and being who he is (You cannot make me care about Gillenormand, Hugo, I hope Gillenormand continuously steps on legos for his entire life, I hate him so much). 

Marius’ anger towards his grandfather melts away and he finds that comparing his hardships to his father shows that his father suffered all through his life and he might like Marius for suffering and enduring hardships, which also highlights how much Marius does not know his father. He expressly would not want you to suffer, the whole point of him giving you up to live with your grandfather was because he did not want you to suffer, why are you like this, Marius?

Maybe not having money in his youth he is saved from becoming an idle young man of property, like Tholomyes and Bamatabois, who have so much money to live on and are major nuisances to everyone, as Hugo mentions in this chapter but I still cannot feel anything with Hugo emphasising how good poverty is for the soul and how it makes you reflective. Hugo’s class bias is so much visible here, just no. 

Also, what contemplation is he even supposed to do, he is dreamy, yes, but his contemplation is just that it is ‘good to be poor’, instead of it filling him with a sense of injustice against how many people have to live in poverty from which they cannot escape and coming to the amis point of view. 

His dreaminess, I would counter, prevents him from such a reflection. He does not see people around him because he is so caught up in his own thoughts and reflections. It is obvious he has spent so little time with the amis. And he also rejects an offer of work for the sake of having enough time to dream, on one hand Hugo is saying work is noble, on the other hand, Marius is rejecting work with good pay, to have more time to dream and therefore live in ‘noble poverty’?

“I brought akara,” she said, handing me a golden lump from a brown paper bag marked with oil stains. “It’s beans! But molded into a ball and fried. This is a very good breakfast.”

“Goody!” Moira cried. “Gabi treats!”

“No eating in the NOC,” Kristi said, her mouth full.

I bit into it. There were minced onions and it was still slightly warm in the center.

“They should be stuffed,” Gabi said. “But that does not travel well.”

“What kind of beans do you use?” I asked.

“Here, I use black-eyed peas.” she said.

“That would be good for New Year’s,” Moira said.

Gabi’s eyes lit up. “For the New Year?”

“It should be lentils,” Emmy said. “We just use black-eyed peas because we have them.”

Gabi waved her hand. “Beans are beans.”

She was much more relaxed today.  I really did hate to see her upset, but here she was, feeding everyone who had been so supportive with whatever was going on. I felt sorry I couldn’t help more myself.

“How are the kids?” I asked. I knew she liked talking about them.

“They had this for breakfast,” Gabi said, “but I made so much. I am used to feeding more people.”

Moira had finished hers and was packing her stuff, wrapping her long scarf.

“OK, tech-writer,” she said to me. “See you next week.”

“We’re not going to see you at all,” Emmy said to me.

Gabi turned her head to me. “Why will we not see you? Will you be invisible?”

“Next best thing,” I said. “Working ten to seven at night next week.”

“With that man,” Gabi said icily.

“Bring a book,” Moira said as she walked out the door.

Emmy smiled at me. “You should be OK. If not, you let us know.”

“Yes!” Gabi said. “Write it down. Record it. Do not let him abuse you.”

I laughed, maybe nervously. “I’ll be OK.”

“You’re strong,” Kristi said.

Jokingly, I held up both arms in a front-double-biceps pose.

Emmy laughed. “Oh, now, whatever will the little man do when faced with that?”

For lunch adventure, Darren, Emmy, Izzy, and I went to newly opened taco joint. Allegedly, they severed actual trompo-style tacos.

Just so you know, a trompo is basically a doner: a stack of meat on a spit that turns in front of a heat source. You might see it called al pastor (shepherd style), but it all goes back to Lebanese immigrants to Mexico in the 1800s. Where a doner is lamb, a trompo is pork. And there you have it: a grand unified gyro/taco theory.

Emmy went with three lengua tacos; Izzy had three chicken. I went for the burrito and Darren had a torta. Cuban style, I noticed.

“These are terrible chairs,” Emmy said.

“High turnover,” Darren said. “Notice also: bright lights, jarring color scheme, loud bouncy music, easy to clear trays.”

“And you pay first, then get your stuff,” Izzy said. “Fast-food model.”

Emmy was looking around the room. “So, the review is: the food is good as long as you don’t eat it here?”

Izzy pointed out the window at a tall brick wall. “But there’s such a lovely park next door.”

Emmy smiled at me. “That’s the screw-you wall,” she said. “When they built the park, they didn’t want the lobby for this building to have a nice view, so they put that up.”

Darren was busily eating his sandwich. “This is a lot of food,” he said between bites.

Izzy took a long draught off her drink.  “That salsa is the devil.”

Besides our meals, Darren had also ordered the chips and dips: a queso, red sauce, and a green. The green was tomatillo based. I had not tried the red.

We ate quietly for the most part, environment allowing. The music was very loud and there was a persistent alert noise, like a text message, from the ‘ready for pickup’ window.  Darren was right. The place was designed for people to come in, get their food, and leave. Nothing in the room said, ‘Sit and enjoy this.’

The moment we stepped out of the taco joint, Emmy balled up her fists. “Oh, hell!”

“What’s that noise?” Izzy asked. There was a sort of low roar.

Darren poked his head around the corner. “There’s a parade,” he said.

The rest of us walked to the corner to look. Yes. A parade. Floats, bands, the whole nine.

“It’s the blasted Christmas parade,” Emmy said. She was genuinely angry.

“A little early,” I said.

Izzy gave me a look. “Halloween is the only reason it’s not Christmas all the time.”

“We’re never getting across that,” Darren said.

“How are we getting back?” I asked. This parade was between us and work. We could not cross the street while it was going on.

Emmy watched them for a while, eyes narrowing. Then, her eyebrows shot up and she smiled widely. “Follow me,” she said.

Not knowing what else to do, we followed her.

“There is one building south of Main that connects to the tunnels,” Emmy explained. “And it’s that parking garage, there.”

A perfectly nondescript building. It wasn’t even an interesting color.

We did a brisk walk to it, shuffled into an elevator, and rode down to a long hallway.

“This spits out at the pyramid,” Emmy said.

“You ever park here?” Izzy asked.

Emmy shook her head. “I just know the map,” she said.

“I need to get a map,” Darren said.

Sure enough, the long hallway did open to the base of the pyramid. We made our way through the lunch crowd gathered there.

“You think they know there’s a parade?” Izzy asked.

“You think they care?” Darren answered.

We got back to the NOC, only five minutes late.

“You have trouble with the parade?” Kristi asked.

“So, you knew.” Izzy said.

Gabi laughed. “And you forgot, no?”

Randal came by that afternoon, looking very pleased. “I’m guessing there haven’t been any calls.”

Emmy nodded. “Should there have been?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s the point. You got it all last week.”

“I said we would,” Emmy said.

“It’s not that I didn’t believe you,” he said. “I’m just very glad it happened.”

“We don’t need that with everything else,” Gabi said.

As Randall stood to leave, he turned and asked, “What flavor do you guys like?”

“Salty,” Gabi said.

“Sweet,” Emmy said.

“Tangy!” Kristi exclaimed.

“Angie likes spicy,” Gabi said. “And Moira likes sour. So, peppers and vinegar for them.”

Randall wrinkled his nose. “I’ll figure something out,” he said, leaving.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Randall will bring us a treat,” Gabi said. “Oh, but it will all be gone by the time I come in.”

“It would be stale by then anyway,” Emmy said.

Kristi was chair-dancing. “But at least I get pop-corn.”

I was a little confused. “What about—”

“NO EATING IN THE NOC,” the three women recited.

“That man will eat it all,” Gabi said.