arcadianambivalence:

pilferingapples:

prudencepaccard:

So, is it just me or is Valjean, in a way, sort of the embodiment of what society expects women to be vis-à-vis their children? Men are allowed to have lives, but women are supposed to be mothers first and foremost; if they have no children, they are criticized, and if they have them but have the audacity to have lives outside of them or, God forbid, prioritize their career over them, they are excoriated—never mind that it is seen as normal for a father to spend a lot of time at work or otherwise outside the home. A side effect of having no life outside of your children (to put it crassly) is that when they leave the nest, you have nothing to do and no purpose. Is it just me, or did Valjean sort of fulfill that societal expectation, making it just that more tragic and insolite because he’s a man? Think about it; we know he’s capable of amazing feats outside the home. He’s been laborer, entrepreneur, mayor, philanthropist and rescuer; when necessary, he’s also been an escape artist and master of disguise; he’s fulfilled his potential and more. Even as a prisoner he was a legend; starting from the Champmathieu affair onwards, he starts becoming a saint. And yet when Cosette is in his charge, she becomes his entire world; everything he does it either for her, or to redeem himself for his prior “sins” (Petit-Gervais, etc.). So when she leaves, he dies; that is, after all, what is says on his tombstone.

Now, I know his relationship with Cosette is more than a simple father-daughter relationship, and that this trope becomes much less feminine-coded when it shifts into romantic territory—men die of a broken heart for female love interests all the time in literature. But given that the role he is most conscious of, and which is most visible to the world, is that of caretaker, he appears—at least to the outside world—to be an all-sacrificing parent like Fantine. The difference is that Fantine fits into a common narrative; Valjean breaks the mold a bit, since as a man he is allowed, and expected, to have a life outside of Cosette. And, of course he does; but the feats he does are feats for her, just as much as Fantine’s sacrifices were.

Yesss I KNEW someone had made a good post about this Back in The Day!

–Men who assume a “motherly” or (by contemporary-to-Hugo- standards)  “womanly” devotion to a child or ward in their care seem to be quite the returning theme with Hugo, though how the narrative treats them varies greatly. I think it applies to both Radoub(with Michelle’s kids) and Cimmourdain (towards Gauvain) and  and Frollo (towards Jehan, not towards Quasimodo or Gringoire) to different degrees. 

…I’m not sure we get an entirely “fatherly” father figure –that is, properly showing real paternal care but ONLY the sort of care that would be expected from a father– until Mess. Lethierry in Toilers of the Sea (and I don’t yet know what the Family Feelings situation is in The Man Who Laughs!), who loves his niece Deruchette but really defines  himself by his work as a sailor and ship-owner, to the point of actually not noticing the moment she leaves because he’s busy with work–an unthinkable attitude for Valjean, who remembers the details of his jewelry career only because he hopes to protect Cosette’s prosperity. 

(…has anyone made an in-depth study and analysis of father figures in Hugo’s work? I haven’t stumbled across one, but that doesn’t mean anything.) 

@pilferingapples

In The Man Who Laughs, Gwynplaine is described in “motherly” terms when he finds Dea when they’re both kids (he’s only a few years older), but they later fall in love.

They also share an adoptive father figure:

“Ursus had been, in his relations with Gwynplaine and Dea, almost a father and a mother.  Grumbling all the while, he had brought them up.”

christinya24601:

I’ve just thought of something and it breaks my heart. 

As we know, Valjean sings (different versions of) ‘Who am I?’ twice: when he is struggling whether to denounce himself or not and when he confesses to Marius.

Firstly, none of them is about a personality crisis. ‘Who am I?’ is not a question through which Valjean tries to find or refind his identity. He surely knows who he is and that’s the real problem, because he is afraid, ashamed of what he is (was) and tortured by it and he can’t escape from those feelings. The irony of the fate keeps remembering him that.

In the first situation the question Who am I? is about
a choice. It’s more a synonym of the French version Common faire? (What
should I do?) or has the sense of Who should I be?: to remain monsieur
Madeleine, the mayor, or […] to resume
his own name, to become once more, out of duty, the convict Jean Valjean; that
was, in truth, to achieve his resurrection, and to close forever that hell
whence he had just emerged; to fall
back there in appearance was to escape from it in reality. […] He would enter into sanctity only in the
eyes of God when he returned to infamy in the eyes of men. […] Should he remain in paradise and become a
demon? Should he return to hell and become an angel? […] What was to be done? Great
God! what was to be done?

In the second situation the question is more about an
assurance. He knows this time there is no going back, there is no escape and
there is no choice. The struggle is bigger not because the decision is harder
to be taken. Quite the contrary. He is more sure than ever what decision he must
take, but it is heart rending, more painful than the last time he had to reveal
himself, because now it’s about Cosette, the only person he loves with all his
heart. He doesn’t ask himself Who am I? anymore, he knows the answer, but this time the question is addressed to Marius and through him, to the entire society. Perhaps the last drop of hope is still in Valjean’s
heart. He wants to say: ‘Now you know the truth, you know my life, my sins. Who am I? In your eyes, who am I?’ And when Marius response: ‘You’re Jean
Valjean’ he understands. He is no more for anyone monsieur Flauchelevent or
Cosette’s father or a father to us both, he is just the convict, the
criminal, the thief. The world didn’t forgive him. (His fortune that he didn’t do anything of what he did for the forgiveness of the world). He is still condamned. This is the final state. And what’s more hurtful is that
Marius says: ‘Monsieur, you cannot leave’ not because he keeps some gratitude
for giving me Cosette or respect for Valjean’s honest life in the past 20
years (surely Marius heard about his acts of charity, his faith, his goodness)
but because he doesn’t know what to tell Cosette about his going. It’s good
that he thinks of Cosette, but the way he does it is bad. He agrees too easily
the girl and the man that made her who she is now to be separated like that. I
almost can hear Valjean whispering for himself after Marius’ response: In his
eyes, I see his fear: ‘I do not want you here.’