Imaginary

Fictional Narratives

Jean Valjean had taken no other part in the combat than to expose himself in it. Had it not been for him, no one, in that supreme phase of agony, would have thought of the wounded. Thanks to him, everywhere present in the carnage, like a providence, those who fell were picked up, transported to the tap-room, and cared for. In the intervals, he reappeared on the barricade. But nothing which could resemble a blow, an attack or even personal defence proceeded from his hands. He held his peace and lent succor. Moreover, he had received only a few scratches. The bullets would have none of him. If suicide formed part of what he had meditated on coming to this sepulchre, to that spot, he had not succeeded. But we doubt whether he had thought of suicide, an irreligious act.  Jean Valjean, in the thick cloud of the combat, did not appear to see Marius; the truth is, that he never took his eyes from the latter. When a shot laid Marius low, Jean Valjean leaped forward with the agility of a tiger, fell upon him as on his prey, and bore him off.  The whirlwind of the attack was, at that moment, so violently concentrated upon Enjolras and upon the door of the wine-shop, that no one saw Jean Valjean sustaining the fainting Marius in his arms, traverse the unpaved field of the barricade and disappear behind the angle of the Corinthe building. [Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (1862), Volume V – Jean Valjean; Book First – The War Between Four Walls, Chapter XXIV, “Prisoner”.]

One May morning, when the sun was rising on one of those dark blue skies against which Garofolo loves to place his Descents from the Cross, the recluse of the Tour-Roland heard a sound of wheels, of horses and irons in the Place de Grève. She was somewhat aroused by it, knotted her hair upon her ears in order to deafen herself, and resumed her contemplation, on her knees, of the inanimate object which she had adored for fifteen years. This little shoe was the universe to her, as we have already said. Her thought was shut up in it, and was destined never more to quit it except at death. The sombre cave of the Tour-Roland alone knew how many bitter imprecations, touching complaints, prayers and sobs she had wafted to heaven in connection with that charming bauble of rose-colored satin. Never was more despair bestowed upon a prettier and more graceful thing.  It seemed as though her grief were breaking forth more violently than usual; and she could be heard outside lamenting in a loud and monotonous voice which rent the heart.  “Oh my daughter!” she said, “my daughter, my poor, dear little child, so I shall never see thee more! It is over! It always seems to me that it happened yesterday! My God! my God! it would have been better not to give her to me than to take her away so soon. Did you not know that our children are part of ourselves, and that a mother who has lost her child no longer believes in God? Ah! wretch that I am to have gone out that day! Lord! Lord! to have taken her from me thus; you could never have looked at me with her, when I was joyously warming her at my fire, when she laughed as she suckled, when I made her tiny feet creep up my breast to my lips? Oh! if you had looked at that, my God, you would have taken pity on my joy; you would not have taken from me the only love which lingered, in my heart! Was I then, Lord, so miserable a creature, that you could not look at me before condemning me?—Alas! Alas! here is the shoe; where is the foot? where is the rest? Where is the child? My daughter! my daughter! what did they do with thee? Lord, give her back to me. My knees have been worn for fifteen years in praying to thee, my God! Is not that enough? Give her back to me one day, one hour, one minute; one minute, Lord! and then cast me to the demon for all eternity! Oh! if I only knew where the skirt of your garment trails, I would cling to it with both hands, and you would be obliged to give me back my child! Have you no pity on her pretty little shoe? Could you condemn a poor mother to this torture for fifteen years? Good Virgin! good Virgin of heaven! my infant Jesus has been taken from me, has been stolen from me; they devoured her on a heath, they drank her blood, they cracked her bones! Good Virgin, have pity upon me. My daughter, I want my daughter! What is it to me that she is in paradise? I do not want your angel, I want my child! I am a lioness, I want my whelp. Oh! I will writhe on the earth, I will break the stones with my forehead, and I will damn myself, and I will curse you, Lord, if you keep my child from me! you see plainly that my arms are all bitten, Lord! Has the good God no mercy?—Oh! give me only salt and black bread, only let me have my daughter to warm me like a sun! Alas! Lord my God. Alas! Lord my God, I am only a vile sinner; but my daughter made me pious. I was full of religion for the love of her, and I beheld you through her smile as through an opening into heaven. Oh! if I could only once, just once more, a single time, put this shoe on her pretty little pink foot, I would die blessing you, good Virgin. Ah! fifteen years! she will be grown up now!—Unhappy child! what! it is really true then I shall never see her more, not even in heaven, for I shall not go there myself. Oh! what misery to think that here is her shoe, and that that is all!” [Victor Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris, or, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1831), Volume II, Book Eighth, Chapter V, “The Mother”.]

Novels:

• Maurice Carlos Ruffin, We Cast a Shadow: A Novel (One World, 2019): “The novel draws its power from this unnamed man’s love for his family, particularly for his biracial son, Nigel.”
• John Owen, A Prayer for Owen Meany: A Novel (1989): “The story follows Owen Meany's marginal growth from a boy to a man. At age 11, he is the size of a 5-year-old. As an adult, he is barely 5 feet tall. Throughout his life, he keeps his unnaturally high-pitched voice . . .”
• Wilson Rawls, Where the Red Fern Grows (1961), is a children’s novel “portraying the unbreakable bond between a young boy named Billy and his two adorable redbone coonhounds.”
• Kristin Hannah, The Nightingale: A Novel (2015): “. . . Viann has said goodbye to husband Antoine, who's off to hold the Maginot line against invading Germans. She returns to tending her small farm, Le Jardin, in the Loire Valley, teaching at the local school and coping with daughter Sophie’s adolescent rebellion. Soon, that world is upended: The Germans march into Paris and refugees flee south, overrunning Viann’s land. Her long-estranged younger sister, Isabelle, who has been kicked out of multiple convent schools, is sent to Le Jardin by Julien, their father in Paris, a drunken, decidedly unpaternal Great War veteran.”

Poetry

Poems:

• James Joyce, “A Flower Given to My Daughter”

Music: Composers, artists, and major works

Franz Schubert, Four Impromptus, Op. 90, D. 899 (1827) (approx. 26-30’); Four Impromptus, Op. 142, D. 935 (1827) (approx. 34-40’): these are “intimate and quiet” piano pieces, of sad and tragic character, in keeping with the sense of worry that often accompanies a parent’s solicitude for a child. Top recorded performances are by Artur Schnabel in 1950, Clifford Curzon (Op. 90, in 1964; Op. 142, in 1953), Edwin Fischer in 1966, Radu Lupu in 1982, Murray Perahia in 1983, Alfred Brendel (Op. 90) (Op. 142), Krystian Zimerman in 1990, Mitsuko Uchida in 1996, Maria João Pires in 1997, Dong-Hyek Lim in 2002 (Op. 90), Paul Lewis in 2011 (Op. 90), Andras Schiff in 2014 (Op. 90; Op. 142), Alexandre Tharaud in 2021 (Op. 90), Sergei Kvitko in 2022 (Op. 90), Ronald Brautigam in 2023, and Can Çakmur in 2025.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Clarinet Concerto in A Major, K. 622 (1791) (approx. 25-28’): composed shortly before Mozart’s death, for what had become his favorite instrument, it was “the last instrumental music piece Mozart wrote before passing away two months later . . .” “The concerto is notable for its delicate interplay between soloist and orchestra, and for the lack of overly extroverted display on the part of the soloist (no cadenzas are written out in the solo part).” “In his Clarinet Concerto, Mozart left one of music’s most authentic utterances, a testament to happiness and sadness, to hope and resignation, to the realization that often in life such states represent not distinct polarities, but concurrent aspects of a deeper truth.” “. . . this is a sublimely expressive work throughout, with an achingly beautiful, serene second movement Adagio.  The finale is a rondo in a lighter spirit, but it too has a poignancy underneath its dance rhythms.  The musicologist H. C. Robbins Landon described this unique and deeply moving concerto by paraphrasing Shakespeare's Winter's Tale: 'The heart dances, but not for joy.'” Top recorded performances are by Kell (Sargent) in 1940, Wlach (Karajan) in 1949, Brymer (Marriner) in 1958, de Peyer (Maag) in 1959, Meyer (Harnoncourt) in 1998, Collins (Pletnev) in 1999, Fröst (Oundjian) in 2002, Hoeprich (Brüggen) in 2002, Di Càsola (Boyd) in 2009, Cohler in 2020, and Collins in 2022.

Other compositions:

• Antonín Dvořák, Piano Quintet No. 2 in A Major, Op. 81, B 155 (1887) (approx. 38-43’): the opening movement best expresses the idea. “Dvořák's direct and poignant lyricism begins with the very first measures for piano and cello and it continues to bubble up in fresh new springs of melody: in pools fountains and waterfalls across all four movements.”
• Louise Farrenc, Piano Quintet No. 2 in E Major, Op. 31 (1840) (approx. 31-34’)
• Friedrich Gernsheim, Piano Quartet No. 3 in F Major, Op. 47 (1883) (approx. 35’)
• Gernsheim, Fantasiestück, Op. 33 (1876) (approx. 10’)
• Ernest Chausson, String Quartet in C Minor, Op. 35 (1899) (approx. 28-34’)
• Gabriel Fauré, Ballade in F-sharp Major, Op. 19 (1879) (approx. 13-19’): “Filled with bright splashes of color and childlike innocence, this is delightfully sunny music.”
• Samuel Adler, Piano Quintet (2001) (approx. 14’): “. . . Adler weaves winding piano lines around tangled, contrapuntal string lines, making for an at times cartoony sound that conjures images of a shepherd rounding up lively sheep.”
• Nikolay Myaskovsky, Cello Concerto in C Minor, Op. 66 (1945) (approx. 27-30’): “The somber and brooding first movement brings to mind Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto, but Miaskovsky’s solo writing is not so tortured, preferring instead a melting lyricism as the cello explores the complex emotions engendered by the Second World War and its aftermath.”
• Mieczysław Weinberg, Violin Sonatina, Op. 46 (1949) (approx. 14-17’)
• Raga Gaud Malhar is a Hindustani classical raag performed any time during the rainy season but especially late in the evening. In painting, it is represented as an anxious woman who has made a bed of flowers for her lover. Performances are by Kishori Amonkar, Vilayat Khan, Venkatesh Kumar, and Amzad Ali Khan.
• Josef Labor, Violin Sonata in D Minor, Op. 5 (1892) (approx. 27’)
• Labor, Cello Sonata in A Major, Op. 7 (1895) (approx. 21’)
• Paul von Klenau, Violin Concerto (1941) (approx. 30’)

Albums:

• Miles Davis, “In a Silent Way” (1969) (38’) “is a foreboding and deeply meditative record that has an almost spiritual quality.”
• Manuel Barrueco, “Medea: Spanish guitar music by Albéniz, Granados and Manolo Sanlúcar” (2013) (55’): guitar playing, with a tender, light touch, “like flamenco dressed in tails”
• Gary Husband, “Songs of Love & Solace” (2024) (49’): “. . . it is a collection of love songs, full of romance and yearning.”

Music: songs and other short pieces

• Cat Stevens, “Father and Son” (lyrics)
• Bruno Mars, “Count on Me” (lyrics)

Visual Arts

• Marc Chagall, The Birthday (1915)
• Marc Chagall, Mother by the Oven (1914)
• Umberto Boccioni, The Mother (1906)
• Jean-Honoré Fragonard, The Progress of Love: Love the Sentinel (1790-91)

Film and Stage

• Love: a daughter-in-law writes a series of letters “from” the elder woman’s son
• La Fille de La Valise (Girl With a Suitcase), a film that traces the line between doing for others and doing for ourselves.
• Matrimonio all’Italiana (Marriage – Italian Style): no fine lines here, both parties are our for self
• Amour(Love), a story of love and death, portraying the relationship between a long-married octogenarian couple as one of them slides into helplessness