Personal Musings: Influential Quotes

With all the talk about story and it’s importance and power, I thought I’d give a few quotes from fiction that have influenced me, whether in my approach to literature, to life, or both.  Now just to be clear, I’m not ranking these; that’s not the point of this list, and I am only dealing with fiction because to include non-fiction would make the list way too long.  To be more specific, I’m only dealing with primarily printed fiction, so no movies (unless the quote in a movie is also in the book).  Finally, I will be confining one quote per author, again to keep this list a touch more concise.  So with those parameters, let’s get going.

(1)

The part of philanthropist is indeed a dangerous one; and the man who would do his neighbor good must first study how not to do him evil, and must begin by pulling the beam out of his own eye. 

-Lilith by George MacDonald (p. 67)

The influence of this quote is much more confined than the others as it was this quote that changed my mind and my reading of MacDonald.  Before, I’d read some of his work and found great teaching in his work, but the full force of his skill came in his seamless inclusion of Scripture in this quote above.  Never before had I found such a well-done insert, one so smooth, and it made me reconsider my opinions of George MacDonald and begin a more ernest investigation into MacDonald.  Since reading this quote, he has since increasingly earned my admiration.

(2)

Abbot Bernard folded his paws deep into the wide sleeves of his garb.

From a viewpoint on the threshold of Redwall Abbey’s west ramparts he watched the hot midsummer day drawing to a glorious close.

-Mariel of Redwall by Brian Jacques (p.3)

The influence of this quote is not so much in the quote itself as that it is the first lines of the first Redwall book I ever read.  Yes, I had watched the tv show before and got into the series through the show, but in reading Jacques writing in Mariel and then Martin the Warrior, I entered the world of 300+ page books.  From then on, I gobbled up every Brian Jacques book I could find, which impacted my writing style and raised the bar of what my 9-year-old self sought in her reading.  The full list of impacts Jacques books made on me I don’t even know, but whatever they are, they began with these two sentences.

(3)

Mine had been a life of shame.

I’m like the one black sheep born into a pure white flock.  Unable to enjoy the things my peers enjoyed, unable to grieve the things they grieved, unable to eat the things they ate-- being born an ignoble black sheep, I didn’t understand the things my friends found pleasent, such as love, kindness, and sympathy.  I simply dusted my dark wool in white powder and pretended I was a white sheep, too.

I’m still wearing my mask, still acting in this farce.

-Book Girl and the Suicidal Mime by Mizuki Nomura (p. 1)

Wow.  Yeah.  Sorry for the long quote, but I really needed to include it all.  This quote, first read when I was 14 and two years into a deep depression, complete with daily thoughts of suicide, stands as the first time I truly felt a book speak to me.  I had never felt so connected to words on a page as when I read those.  Not exactly a healthy first connection, but, ironically, it helped me.  It put to words something I felt but could not express.  I know that everyone says “I’m different; you just don’t understand” and all that, but no one truly does understand the feelings and impressions of someone encaged by depression.  Added onto that this quote still is a bit accurate of a description of me.  I am totally different from all my siblings: the straight-man born into a family of comedians, the first black sheep (rebellious) child, someone who literally couldn’t understand why my siblings would laugh or cry at certain things.  I have/had difficulty sympathizing with others, and was not very kind (I’m much better now).  Even with my friends, by middle school all my male friends had moved away and I hated, to a stubborn degree, discussing fashion and boys and those girly small-talk topics that always seemed to pop up among my female compadres.  In the end, I became an outsider.  For two years (14 in my family), I had lived in a state of disconnect, and finally I found a connection, something to which I could relate.  It was something I needed so desperately, and here it was in this book.  From this quote onward, I began to connect more with literature, learned better how to immerse myself into the story, to relate with the characters.  This quote, though depressing, I think helped open my door to sympathy.  And, yes, I’ve since grown beyond the quote, but it’s impact I cannot deny.

(4)

There is no such thing as coincidence in this world; there is only hitsuzen.

-Tsubasa Resevoir Chronicles/xxxHolic by CLAMP (p. 104[TSR]/19[Holic])

Okay, so this if from manga (Japanese comics).  I never said I was limiting myself to prose, only to print.  Oh man has this quote stuck with me.  With this quote, my entire though process on fate, destiny, determinism, coincidence, etc. shifted, which of course impacts how you view the rest of the world.  Till reading this quote, I hadn’t thought much about fate, but now I had to.  My philosophically-oriented mind demanded it!  I’m no sure I entirely agree with it, but it still gets me thinking even to this day.  By the way, if you don’t know what hitsuzen is, here’s a link that gives a good explanation.  Definitely worth checking out.

(5)

In other words, the basics of alchemy is the "equivalent exchange"!  That means that to obtain something, something of equal value much be lost.

-Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa (p. 26)

Again, another manga.  FMA.  Man.  You have done so many numbers on me!  I shouldn’t have read you so early into my manga journey.  You set the bar too high.  Anyway, this is another quote that really got me thinking about my view of the world.  It made me consider the concept quoted above (equivalent exchange) into life to test it.  Again, I don’t entirely agree with it, but it really got me thinking about how the world works and my own place in everything, and encouraging thought, self-examination, and investigation into the foundations of how the world operates is more than many stories could ever claim.

(6)

“So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide.  All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

-The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien (p. 82)

Yeah, you probably knew this would be here.  But it truly is one of the most powerful truths ever stated.  I first encountered this quote (or rather its slight variation) in the Peter Jackson movie; unfortunately, my young mind missed it in the excitement of my first exposure to Middle Earth.  It was only when my church’s pastor used the quote in one of his sermons that I really heard it, and it blew my mind.  The simple truth of it, the obvious yet moving reality, indeed the freedom in living with this as your mindset, I can’t properly describe it.  I can’t tell you how much I love this quote and how much it’s already influenced my thoughts and the encouragement it gives me in my daily life.  And it’s only one of Tolkien’s amazing truths.  I just wish I had the space to list them all.

(7)

All of Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis

Okay.  I’m kind of cheating, but really I don’t know of any specific quote to summarize my experience.  The truth of the matter is the whole book changed my life, specifically how I relate to others.  To give details would require a post all its own, and I’m sure no one cares about that story.  Seriously, though, I just can’t say enough about this wonderful novel.

So there are a few quotes that have influenced me through my life.  Hope it’s been fun, and see you next week for another review.


Edit: Added a link I'd forgot to put in.  Oops.

All works mentioned here belong to their respective owners.

Spoiler Shelf: Phantom vs. Faces (Round 2)

And here it is, part 2 of my comparison of twisted love between Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera and Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis.  This week I will summarize and comment on the endings of both these stories as well as the handling of love, twisted and not.  With the direction established, let’s get going.

In my opinion, the ending of a story is one of it’s most important aspects.   A strong ending can make even stories we didn’t like before that ending into a beautiful piece of literature (as is the case for me in Where the Red Fern Grows) or can damage what used to be an excellent tale (see my Spoiler Shelf on the Prydain Chronicles for an ending I thought dissatisfying).  What’s more, the ending of a story often establishes the author’s view of a subject.  If the first Twilight book had ended with Bella dying or at least accepted the wisdom of the Edward’s decision to break up despite her grief, the message would have been totally different.  Point is, endings can make or break a story.

And Phantom’s ending is really the straw the breaks the camel’s back.

Now, before I go further, I must remind you (as I forgot to last week) that this post will be full of spoilers, and not just any spoilers but perhaps the worst kind as I’m spoiling the ending.  Okay, warning is over.  Back to Phantom.

Throughout The Phantom of the Opera, the titular Phantom, Erik, is built up as a genius, powerful maniac of tragic past so obsessed with Christine that he would kill to have his way.  Because he was born hideous, he was rejected by his family, became a circus show, and then, when he finally found a place he could be a twisted as he wished, his superior feared his genius and tried to kill him.  Erik is not a healthy person.  Unfortunately, his brought-up-in-a-loving-home rival, Raoul, is not that much better (as I discussed a bit last week), so I can’t say I favored either of them, but at least the Phantom we had established as a crazy, twisted lover who would stop at nothing to obtain the person he desires.  Too bad that’s all thrown away.

At first, I thought Leroux was writing a fitting ending.  Erik kidnaps Christine and threatens to kill everyone in the opera house, including the two of them, if she does not become his wife; meanwhile, Raoul and the Persian (YAY!) sneak into Erik’s house to rescue Christine.  The two men end up, however, trapped and nearly drown.  Christine, who had attempted suicide earlier, promises Erik that if he frees Raoul she will not kill herself and will be the Phantom’s wife.  Erik agrees and spares the Persian and Raoul.  The Persian is then released, having to abandon Christine and trust the insane Phantom’s word that he will not kill Raoul (Leroux 210-296).  The Phantom won.  In a sweep of tragedy, twisted love conquered… until the next chapter, where we learn that right after the Persian left and Erik imprisoned Raoul, the Phantom returns to Christine, gives her a kiss on the forehead and then she returns the kiss and cries for him.  Apparently this so moves Erik that he becomes, in his own words, “no more… than a poor dog ready to die for her,” releases Christine and Raoul, and wishes them happiness (301-302).  He then relates the events the Persian before dying of grief.  Yep.  The fearsome Phantom, the insane, obsessive Phantom who was willing to kill anyone, including the one he desired, to have his victory is instantly transformed by a kiss on the forehead and tears.  What?

Now I don’t think that ending necessarily bad, especially as I am a Christian who holds that Christ can and has and does redeem even the most vile of humans.  However, with what the story had built up, especially concerning Erik, to suddenly give it such an ending falls into an anti-climactic mess.  In a different story, I might have thought that ending beautiful, but here it felt like a slap in the face.  All that build up, all that emphasis on Erik’s obsession and insanity immediately thrown out because of “my mother never loved me, but you kissed me and cried for me.”  Even the Phantom’s insistence that Christine truly cared for him or pitied him becomes untrustworthy because earlier Erik has shown to have been capable of deceiving himself into thinking Christine loves him (Leroux 248).  Also, despite how Leroux writes it, it’s not even a happy ending as Raoul is only a lesser Erik, so twisted love wins anyway just in a manner that makes it seem like it’s a good thing.  The entire ending, when taken in the context of the whole story, rings false.  

Which really is a shame because with a different ending I might have actually liked Phantom  I can even think of two examples.  First, and my preferred, would be that Christine had not tried to kill herself earlier and/or Erik ignores her pleas and kills Raoul.  Then Christine, overcome with grief, commits suicide, and it is only then, holding Christine’s lifeless body in his arms, that Erik realizes he was wrong, falling into despair himself, eventually to death.  

If you still want a happy ending, first tell the story from Erik’s perspective so that we have an emotional connection with him, witnessing his growing obsession with and adoration of Christine, and we don’t see Raoul in such a creepy light.  Then, when Erik spares and release Raoul, Christine lives but becomes a true living corpse, in contrast with Erik’s mere appearance of one.  Over time, her emptiness pains Erik’s heart.  Then, unable to bear the lack of her voice, her smile, any sign of life in her, and realizing his Christine is dead without Raoul, Erik at last releases her, knowing the woman he loved cannot live if she is with him.  Either one, a tragic ending of twisted love’s victory or twisted love’s realization of what destruction it has incurred, I think would have brought more satisfaction than Phantom’s true ending.

Although, I’ll admit I might just prefer those options because Till We Have Faces does both.  Lewis broke Faces into two different parts.  In part one, we have the tragic ending with Orual having suffocated any healthy love and relationship she has even held and hid behind a physical veil and the mental veil of queenship while blaming and condemning the gods. That conclusion alone would have been powerful.

However, there is a second part.  This part follows, over a passage of time, the queen’s confrontation with the destruction she has caused.  Orual even dreams of Psyche, of Psyche performing impossible tasks made possible because Orual takes the toil, danger, and pain in Psyche’s place.  Eventually, Orual is summoned to a court before the god and the dead, where she makes her case, reunites with her deceased tutor, the Fox, faces her inner ugliness, and finally realizes her folly (Lewis 253-298).  Then, she witnesses Psyche’s final trial, for they were indeed real.  All along the way, Psyche is tempted by illusions of ones she loves, including the Fox and Orual, and Orual’s heart breaks, for she sees what torture she forced upon her sister.  Seeing the apparition of herself cry out so desperately to Psyche, now knowing the evil such cries beget, Orual can only pray that Psyche will overcome them, and so the girl does with tears streaking her face.  When the illusions fade, Orual says to the Fox, “Did we really do these things to her?… And we said we loved her.”  The Fox replies, “And we did.  She had no more dangerous enemies than us” (301-302).

Then, Psyche returns with something in her hands.  Orual goes to meet her and falls to the ground, ut Psyche lifts her up and hands Orual what she, Psyche, in her final trial fetched, “the beauty to make Ungit [Orual] beautiful” (305-306).  All her trials Psyche did for Orual’s sake.  Psyche, who loves Orual with true love, suffered for her sister and sought what would make her sister beautiful, and it does make her beautiful.  Both inside and out.  In a scene I cannot quote for it contains too many beautiful words to fit here, Orual is redeemed by the admittance of her own sin and Psyche’s love.  At last, ugly Orual’s heart is transformed, as is her appearance, and, in one of the most telling phrases of Orual’s change, upon seeing her’s and Psyche’s reflections, she sees that they are “both beautiful (if that mattered now)” (307-308).

In part 1, twisted love seems to win, but Lewis, a Christian who knew the redemptive power of Christ’s true love, does not end his story there.  Instead, true love, sacrificial love, triumphs, and Lewis concludes his story as one not just of destruction but of restoration and healing.  Faces is a story of fall and redemption, of the perversion what what is good and then its restoration.  This is a story of tikkun olam, a Jewish phrase meaning “putting back into harmony everything that is broken.”  Beautiful.

Why, Phantom, do you feels so empty in comparison?  Should not your similar ending have brought such beauty?  One main reason I can give is that the characters never feel the consequences of their actions, so any “redemption,” especially one so rushed and without an foreshadow or build up, fails to satisfy.  We barely feel Christine’s despair or the Phantom’s hurting heart.  We never even see Raoul’s reaction to his brother’s death.  It’s as if consequences don’t touch the characters.  Orual’s actions, however, impact her, and we feel it.  She dwells upon the results, justifies herself, as if we are the judges, runs away, hides behind a veil, refuses to face her own evil, and then, when at last she confronts her brokenness, she does not break down at once, but in pieces till her last defenses crumble and she stands naked before herself and us.  She sees her own wickedness, and then she sees Psyche and real love, and Orual’s heart finally breaks.  Orual has fought this entire time; we have seen the disastrous results, and now, at the end of all things, she humbles herself, admits and submits, and she is transformed and restored.

This is the Christian narrative, and it is both the most personal and universal of stories, for redemption is the world’s story, the story of all you who have removed your veils, and it is mine.  And it is beautiful.

Leroux, Gaston.  The Phantom of the Opera.  London: Penguin Group.  2008.  137.  Print.

Lewis, C. S.  Till We Have Faces.  New York: Houghton Harcourt Publishing Company.  1984.  Print.

Spoiler Shelf: Phantom vs. Faces (Round 1)

Yes, you read that title correctly.  This week, we have part one of a two-part examination of Leroux Gaston’s The Phantom of the Opera and C. S. Lewis’s Till We Have Faces.  Any who have read my past posts know I prefer Faces to Phantom, as I hold that Lewis’s story triumphs over Leroux’s in all facets of literary and storytelling element.  This post and the next will only delve into one, however: twisted love in both stories.  Under that category, I will address two main aspects characters/relationships and the endings of the stories.

So, let’s begin with mutual summaries of the plots, for those who might have forgotten or might be uninitiated.  

The Phantom of the Opera tells of an opera viscount, Raoul, and his love for an opera singer, Christine.  The two, childhood friends, reunite after several years and rekindle (or stoke) their affections for each other, but in the background is Eric, the titular Phantom, who also loves Christine with an obsessive passion, and he is willing to do anything to make her his.

Till We Have Faces is told by Orual, princess of Glome, who was rejected by those around her for her ugliness.  When she finally finds people who accept her, most notably her step-sister, Psyche, Orual finally finds happiness until the fateful day when Psyche is chosen as a sacrifice to the god of the mountain.  Orual travels to the place of sacrifice to give Psyche a proper burial but instead happily finds her sister alive and well .  The event becomes the trigger of Orual’s downfall as her twisted love destroys that which she wished to protect.

Now that we have crossed that ground, let’s begin with this post’s topic, the characters and their relationships, beginning with The Phantom of the Opera.

I cannot understand why Leroux told his story from Raoul’s viewpoint.  When compared to the Phantom, he is far less interesting, and I can’t help but see him as a lesser stalker.  Yes, we probably all know that the mad Phantom is an obsessive stalker, but Raoul is too.  After Christine rejects Raoul, a third party’s statement sends him chasing after her, hiding in the alleys of the streets on which she has been seen to catch a glimpse of her (Leroux 91-104).  I’ve been the target of similar actions, and it was NOT romantic.  There was a guy who took interest in me and started showing up wherever I went, even once entering my apartment without my permission with the support of a “helpful” third party.  The whole situation terrified me.  I felt hunted.  Thankfully the guy was genuinely nice, so when I eventually did confront him, he stopped.  It’s one thing to go to a social event when you hear your crush is going to be there; it’s another to chase after her wherever she goes at the event, any other place, or wherever!  Especially if she’s already said she doesn’t want to see you anymore, as Christine did.

It even felt as though Leroux was trying to justify Raoul, as Christine pretty much just brushes it off.  Furthermore, his suspicions of Christine’s being in a dangerous situation prove true, as if that makes his stalking and jealousy all better.  Seriously, guys (and girls), if you’re afraid your crush might be in a bad situation, mention it to the person directly.  Stalking is just no.

A similar situation of suspicion arrises in Faces, after Psyche has said she is the wife to a god.  Orual understandably struggles with the situation.  She knows the girl to be mentally sound but also fully convinced of what she has declared.  After a couple chapters of mental wrestling and discussion with her other two important relationships, her Greek tutor, the Fox, and her sword instructor and royal guard, Bardia, Orual concludes either Psyche to be duped by a thug or married to a monster.  In the end, Orual tells herself, it doesn’t matter which.  Psyche must be saved!  But this intervention, completely against Psyche’s will and only accomplished by driving the girl into a corner, brings nothing but disaster.  Orual tramples Psyche’s will, as well as assumes away some other evidence presented to her, and forces intervention because it was for Psyche’s “own good” (Lewis 117-174). 

While Raoul’s assumptions prove correct, his intervention also was forced.  Intervention can be good, especially in life-threatening situations, but it can be bad or even dangerous, especially if you’re backing the other person into a corner because you “know better.”  Even before evidence arises that Christine's life might be in danger, Raoul assumes it to be so and tries to intervene.  He should have let her make her adult choices and feel the repercussions rather than push his “help” on her.  Eventually, should he only have sought friendship with her, she might have sought him out anyway, or she might have had to face the consequences of her foolishness, but we'll never know, will we?

This hints towards another of Raoul’s negatives; he is self-centered and self-righteous.  When Christine rejects him, saying it would be dangerous for him, he accuses her of purposely leading him on and slanders her to her face (91, 111).  Also, he enters Christine’s dressing room when she isn’t there (for the second time, I might add) and pouts after another rejection.  Then, when Christine returns, Raoul hides in her closet and upon hearing her utter “Poor Erik” immediately resents her, saying that he is the one deserving of pity, not this “Erik” person. (Leroux 112-114).  Raoul cares more about his own feelings than anyone else.  He’s even willing to kill to satisfy his own emotional longing.  When the Phantom spies on Raoul from the Viscount’s bedroom balcony and Raoul shoots at the Phantom, Raoul is questioned about the situation, and he says it was his “love rival” at whom he shot and that it’s a “pity” that Erik wasn’t killed (162-165).  I believed Raoul shot in self-defense until those two quotes.  Rather than an innocent lover, Raoul is like the Phantom, obsessive, possessive, and willing to do anything to obtain his desired Christine.

Now, I have read it claimed that this negative portrayal of foolish Raoul was intended by Leroux and that it was rather Christine’s relationship with Erik that held greater depth and importance.  My rebuttal to this is, if that was the case, then (1) why wasn’t the story told from Erik’s viewpoint, and (2) why did Raoul win?  By following Raoul, we are privy to all his selfish thoughts.  If we had followed the Phantom, not only could we have actually seen some of this assumed depth with Christine, Raoul could have been foolish and naive without being creepy.  He could have simply been a hopeless romantic, but by being in Raoul’s thoughts, we are exposed to how horrible he is.  And yet, he gets the girl.  Unless Leroux intended some (too) well camouflaged satire, this story’s ending, where Raoul and Christine live happily ever after, promotes twisted, possessive love (more on that next week).  Such a result I cannot accept, as it goes against the compassionate, self-sacrificing love to which Christians are called.

Let’s now turn to Orual and Psyche.  Orual loves Psyche, both in a motherly and sisterly sense, but it’s a selfish, possessive love.  Psyche, on the other hand, loves Orual but does not idolize their relationship.  She stands against Orual even when Orual thinks her crazy.  It is only when Orual threatens to kill herself that Psyche breaks (Lewis 158-167).  In my opinion, this actually shows that Psyche, too, loved her sister too much in that she disobeyed the god’s one command for the sake of her manipulative sister, but it also shows Psyche’s willingness to sacrifice for the sake of those she loves.  Psyche does not put her own good before Orual’s while Orual preys on this love, tainting it, as she does every instance of love in her life.

Speaking of other relationships, let’s look back at Raoul.  In Phantom, Raoul’s most important relationships are with Christine and his older brother.  By pursuing Christine and the Phantom, Raoul worries his brother, the brother wondering if his younger sibling might be crazy.  Eventually the brother, trying to stop Raoul’s foolishness, dies by the Phantom’s hands.  For all we know, this means nothing to Raoul, for we never see or hear about any reaction.  For the sake of his desre, Raoul destroys his close relationship with his brother and, as if it means nothing, goes and somehow lives a happy life with Christine, as if that relationship alone were invincible.  

In total contrast, all of Orual’s relationships crumble due to her possessive, obsessive love.  She frees the Fox from his position as a slave, but despite his longing to return to Greece, he remains with Orual.  Why?  Because she asks, she admits, like a child, “Do they mean you’ll leave me?  Go away?”  He speaks of his desire, a desire stronger than fear of death, to see his homeland, but after a while he changes his mind, this time using that danger of death as an excuse to stay (Lewis 207-210).  He loves Orual.  When she, now queen, makes herself so vulnerable to him, how could he, the loving tutor and grandfather figure that he is, leave her?  And so, he remains her captive. With Bardia, Orual develops romantic love for him, but Bardia is devoted to his wife, and Orual knows she cannot compete.  Instead, she shackles him to his work, draining him and leaving him too tired to spend time with his family (258-261).  She wants Bardia, so she keeps him to herself however she can, poisoning any pure love for him she might have held.  All her close relationships, Psyche, the Fox, and Bardia, Orual’s possessiveness twists.  She tries to “protect” Psyche but threatens and manipulates her; she “frees” the Fox but keeps him on a leash; she “loves” Bardia but destroys his health and happiness.  Every relationship Orual touches withers as she sucks all the love out of them like a parasite.

This is how a twisted view of love truly works.  It cannot be isolated.  It must spread, poisoning every relationship.  And that is one reason why Till We Have Faces surpasses The Phantom of the Opera.



Leroux, Gaston.  The Phantom of the Opera.  London: Penguin Group.  2008.  137.  Print.

Lewis, C. S.  Till We Have Faces.  New York: Houghton Harcourt Publishing Company.  1984.  Print.

Reviews and Recommendations: The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux

For the most part, I will not review classics on this blog.  Long story short, a few ill-done literature classes in middle school and high school discouraged me from reading them as the teachers made a habit of praising stories while choosing very boring sections to read.  Not the whole story.  Not even an author’s best work.  Just his most famous work and a boring section from it.  I came out of those classes thinking I did not like classics (nice broad paint strokes there), except Shakespeare and mythology that is, and have only in the past few years began working on increasing my classics reading list.  Furthermore, there are instances like The Man Who was Thrusday where I think a single read through inadequate to discuss the text with any justice.

That said, for Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera, I have no inhibitions.  I don’t understand why this book is a classic.  Can I see why it has lasted till now?  Well… considering the popularity of series like Twilight, yes, I can.  For those who read my post transcribing a letter draft, you may remember my summary of Phantom, where I likened this book’s issues to some main ones I’ve heard said of Twilight: two guys in love with a black-slate female, boring main characters, and an ending without consequences.

Because I thought my initial reaction too emotionally charged and wished to provide a more objective viewpoint on Phantom, I decided to reread the story in preparation for this post.  My verdict: same issues, but not as horrible book as I first concluded.  Don’t get me wrong; it’s not a great book, not even a good book, but it’s not terrible.  I’ll even reword my main complaints into (1) a bad love story and (2) wasted potential.  Now, while I wish to address these two points, I will be largely sidestepping them in this post, especially the first, as next week’s topic more directly addresses both.  As such, this post will instead cover a few other issues I had, such as semantics and word choice.

Speaking of which, I really struggle with the style of my copy of Phantom, published and presumably translated by Puffin Classics.  Now, I can’t comment upon the style of the original text, as I cannot read French, where it perhaps sounds better.  Nor can I say how well my copy is translated.  As a (very) amateur translator myself and frequent reader of foreign material, I understand the translator’s dilemma when trying to fit a square paragraph in a round language.  Translations often can’t be verbatim or capture a word or phrase quite right.  I’m willing to be merciful, as I cannot compare the original text to my copy.  However, there are a few hiccups that really bothered me.  First off, Puffin Classics decided to translate “fantôme” as “ghost,” despite “phantom” being in the title and the most well-known title of character.  Why the change?  It also sounds clumsier to call him “the Opera Ghost.”  Linguistically speaking, “phantom” has a more ominous, mysterious feel to it.  I just don’t understand the translation decision.  Another issue comes in some of Puffin’s other word choices.  For instance, I can’t say how accurate a translation it may be, but they have the Phantom call someone a “great booby.”  Seriously?  This is our villain?  Poor word choice breaks the threatening atmosphere, Puffin.  But I suppose these points sound like nitpicks of the more linguistically minded, as a physicist might be bothered by describing the speed of light as “very fast.”  Still, I think a translation, so long as it is accurate, should attempt to present its content in a fitting manner.

Moving on, I will now touch the plot and writing of the story.  Here is where the idea of “wasted potential” comes out.  Again, I will not cover everything under this heading, but a few points deserve mention.  To begin, the story should not have been told from Raoul’s point of view.  More will be said next week on why, but know my opinion is that, as in all the adaptations of which I currently know, the story should have been told from the Phantom’s view point.  There’s also the whole ending thing, which I will cover next week as well.

Related, though not wholly dependent upon, the concept of telling the story from the Phantom’s eyes is Leroux’s problem of constantly breaking tension.  I give Leroux credit for his outline.  The progression of events makes sense, and under a different storytelling style, the tension would have built until its culmination and resolution.  There are even a few scenes executed well that drew me in and made me feel the atmosphere.  Too bad he couldn’t have done that consistently.

If you have read my letter transcription, I describe one scene in which Christine and Raoul are speaking on the opera rooftop and constantly think they hear some sort of exclamation, fearing the Phantom may be listening.  Now, conceptually, this scene could be tense and exciting… except Leroux states from the beginning of the scene that the Phantom has followed them and also provides quotations of what the Phantom is crying out.  From the very start of the scene and all throughout, Leroux tosses suspicion and tension from the roof of the opera house, letting it smash to pieces upon the street below.  This happens time and again, even in the prologue where Leroux spoils his own story due to his framing it as if he were reporting on a true event.  What makes this broken tension worse, though, is how Leroux shows that he can write tension and write it well during the Persian’s narrative.  This section, the climax of the story, is so good, with atmosphere and tension.  Why couldn’t the rest of the story have been told so well?

Also, why couldn’t the main characters be as good as the side-character Persian, who only shows up in the climax?  Seriously.  The Persian is my favorite, summarized in three Cs: compassionate, clever, and courageous.  Out of compassion he helps the Phantom in the past and then Raoul in the story’s climax, he displays intelligence and foresight in his actions, and he shows his courage in confronting the Phantom despite knowing the dangers.  The Persian is the best character.  I would much rather read the story of his and the Phantom’s meeting, interactions, and eventual arrival to France than the story we got.  Instead, we have a shallow love story about a greater and a lesser stalker falling into a triangle of twisted love with a singer and then trying to kill the other so he can take the trophy.  Okay, I’ll admit that description to be a bit mean-spirited, though I do think it pretty accurate (more on that next week).

Back to characters,  the main characters are disappointing.  I’m not someone who thinks you need fully realized characters to have a great story.  However, in a story like this, a 300-page novel where the romance and relationships between characters is supposed to be the driving aspect of the story, someone to cheer for would be nice.  Unfortunately, neither of the character of Christine or Raoul is engaging, the Phantom is interesting but hardly present, and the “romance” is horrible.  In addition, apparently both Raoul and Christine are idiots, as shown in the rooftop scene described earlier.  If you can hear full phrases like “Because I had seen him!” so clearly as to record them for Leroux to later find and included in his “true” story, then there is probably someone behind you.¹ So, yeah, the main couple are stupid and have barely any relationship.  What is there I do not think romantic, nor is it interesting without the Phantom, and this is coming from someone who generally loathes love triangles.

For all that, though, the story isn’t horrible and, I think, still worthy of consideration and discuss.  Yes, it has some horrible things, such as some of the writing choices, broken tension, bland main characters, and bad romance (next week), but Phantom does have some good moments.  The last third of the book containing the Persian is fun and well executed, and there are points where Leroux shows he does know how to write.  It’s just he isn’t consistent and apparently chose the wrong story to tell.  Still, it’s not dreadful.  I can understand why people would like the book.  Actually, the second read through I found much more enjoyable than the first.  I attribute this to entering into the story with dashed expectations.  The Phantom of the Opera shouldn’t be a classic, nor should it be approached as one.  If you strip off the “classic” label and read it simply as a book, then perhaps you might be pleasantly surprised, and you can certain get some good conversations out of it, and maybe even a blog.

¹Leroux, Gaston.  The Phantom of the Opera.  London: Penguin Group.  2008.  137.  Print.


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