“Arrival is the culmination of the sequence of events, the last in the list, the terminal station, the end of the line. And the idea of arrival begets questions about the journey and how long it took. … You fall in love with someone and the story might be of how you met, courted, consummated, but it might also be of how before all that, time and trouble shaped you both over the years, sanded your rough spots and wore away your vices until your scars and needs and hopes came together like halves of a broken whole.”
–Rebecca Solnit, “Arrival Gates: The Inari Shrine in Kyoto, Japan”–
—The Encyclopedia of Trouble and Spaciousness—
Welcome back to the Creative Life Adventure.
I wrote in January about my 2026 re-read of Victor Hugo‘s Les Miserables. Hugo was kind enough to structure his long novel in 365 chapters, making it perfectly suited to a slow, twelve month read. On this second read-through, among other things, I’m getting a much better sense of how Hugo used light and dark to symbolize the good and sinister tendencies of humanity. Describing the compassionate Bishop Myriel early in the book, we’re told, “That which enlightened this man was his heart. His wisdom was made of the light which comes from there.” Later, when Myriel gives the candlesticks to Jean Valjean, Myriel is not gifting silver trinkets, but sharing the enlightenment of his own heart. He is chasing away the bitterness that has consumed Valjean’s heart.
Consistent with the calendar, I’ve read about one-third of the novel, and recently completed the breathless night-time chase through Paris as Jean Valjean and Cosette flee Javert and his men. Hugo’s descriptions of Paris, comparing the city of the 1800s with a mythical Paris map of 1727, a city transformed by industry and expansion, create a landscape that is both a blessing and a curse: the city that offers so many escape routes and hiding places also harbors dangerous traps from which Javert and company can spring at any moment. The kind of rapid urban change described by Hugo can displace large numbers of citizens and unsettle those who remain. Hugo’s vivid portrayals call to mind the famous New York City Commissioners’ Plan of 1811, laying out Manhattan’s classic grid street pattern, or a similar plan enacted in portions of Antelope Valley, California, described in City of Quartz by Mike Davis. Hugo’s diversions into Paris history would be echoed later in Jane Jacobs‘ and Lewis Mumford‘s writings of urban history and development. And it reminded me of the above passage from Rebecca Solnit‘s The Encyclopedia of Trouble and Spaciousness, and so much of Solnit’s other writing on human communities and connectedness. When Valjean rescues Cosette from the Thenardiers, they are a different kind of “halves of a broken whole.” And when they arrive in Paris, it is not the end of their journey, but the beginning of the next phase of a longer saga. Time and trouble have shaped them both in unique ways, and will continue shaping them. We are limited to discussing history as linear events with defined start and end points, but of course real life is a continuum of choices and behavior.
This is just one of many ways in which Les Miserables remains relevant. One thing that surprises me about Les Miserables’ publication history is that it was not published initially in serial form, as were so many long books of that era. Given the considerable length, however, the book’s five volumes were published separately, with the first two volumes released in March, 1862, and the remaining volumes appearing in May of that year. That’s a lot to be absorbed by readers of any decade. I’m definitely appreciating the slower pace of reading a discrete section of the novel every day; discovering the next chapter has become a welcome addition to my daily routine.
Compare that to David Copperfield, the Charles Dickens bildungsroman that today is typically approached as a novel, but was first published in serial form from May 1849 through November 1850. Readers had no choice but to experience the story patiently, as I was reminded while listening to current episodes of the Storytime for Grownups podcast. In each season of Storytime for Grownups, writer/editor Faith K. Moore reads a literary classic along with background and explanatory “notes.” At the time I write this, Moore is sharing David Copperfield at the pace of two chapters per week, and in a recent episode she specifically encouraged listeners not to read ahead on their own, but to appreciate the novel at a slower pace, as the original readers did. Just as urban change is easier to manage when it isn’t rushed, a rousing tale endures when we give it our full time and attention. Les Miserables may not have been published in serial form, but 365 chapters doesn’t feel like an accident. It’s an invitation, whether Victor Hugo intended it or not.
As I indicated in my essay in January, it’s impossible to read Les Miserables without pondering the influence of time. Since I began reading Les Miserables on January 1, the area where I live has advanced from winter to spring: jackets have replaced winter coats, trees are green, and flowers are blooming. On a larger scale, as Les Mis reminds us, we can’t escape the judgment of history. We, as individuals, may have little influence on the larger trends of human history, but we can make a daily choice to unplug, think deep thoughts, and live deliberately. If enough of us make that decision, it’s not too late to establish a world of more light and fewer shadows.
The Creative Life Adventure 
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