...Oz Has A Cemetery.

The famous yellow brick road.  Magical ruby read slippers that gleam.  A good witch and a bad witch.  Cute and kindly Munchkins.  Lions and scarecrows and tin men, oh my!  The Wizard of Oz, which first made an appearance in 1939 with Judy Garland as its star, has since become a movie classic.

Now, almost 75 years after the land of Oz was epitomized in the 1939 Victor Fleming-directed film, another movie has come out in theaters, ready to whisk viewers away to the magical land once more.  Oz the Great and Powerful, starring James Franco as Oz, stays very true to the beloved 1939 film.  It is a different story altogether, transporting viewers back many years before the events of Dorothy's adventure, and with all of the new movie technology and CG effects, it looks much sharper and fantastical.

But it is, without a doubt, the same land of Oz, and this new film parallels the old.  In 1939's The Wizard of Oz, beginning events of the film are shot in black and white and color is only introduced when Dorothy reaches Oz.  In 2013's Oz the Great and Powerful, the beginning of the movie is also shot in black and white and doesn't become colorful until Oz lands in the land of Oz, via hotair balloon.  In the older film, characters of Oz represent people in Dorothy's life back in Kansas (Miss Gulch is the Wicked Witch of the West, Hunk is the Scarecrow, Hickory is the Tin Man, and Zeke is the Cowardly Lion).  In the new film, characters from Oz also represent the people Oz left behind in his reality (his love interest Annie is the good witch Glinda, his assistant Frank is the faithful monkey Finley, and the girl in the wheelchair he cannot cure is the China Girl who he can fix with glue).  The Munchkins return and when Theodora transforms into the Wicked Witch, her sharp, green features mirror that of Margaret Hamilton's Wicked Witch from 1939. 

Two totally separate films with two entirely different directors and two absolutely unconnected casts...but the concept is shared and linked.  Yet there is one difference...or rather, addition...that completley floored me.

The land of Oz has a cemetery.

I suppose this fact shouldn't be as suprising as I find it.  In our world, there are cemeteries in every town of every state of the United States and that's not even mentioning the numerous, uncountable graveyards in other parts of the globe.  People die and they must rest somewhere and I guess magical lands are no different.  But to see the tombstones, the various shades of darkness, a witch about to enter through the wiry gates that surround the entire cemetery...I think this discovery could be added to the list of Things That Set Nicole's Imagination On Fire.

Who is buried in this Oz cemetery and is it the only cemetery in Oz?  Maybe it's the main cemetery, the one that is the most occupied and the most crowded.  Perhaps, like the town of Savoy where I live, there are other small graveyards sprinkled throughout the land in the most obscure places; on hillsides, deep in the woods, in backyards, in posion ivy patches.  For certain, we only know one Oz individual who is definitely buried in this cemetery and that is Glinda's father, the king.  We know this because she visits him in the film, along with Oz, Finley, and the China Girl.

But who else?  Perhaps this is where Munchkins and Winkies are laid to rest and kings of past ages and good witches, too.  I have not yet read the books by L. Frank Baum and I know there are many other inhabitants of Oz and so there really are endless possibilities of who occupies this cemetery.  As for wicked witches and evil flying monkeys, they might have one of those hidden graveyards deep in the trees...or no resting place at all.

Now people might think to themselves...okay, Nicole, Oz has a cemetery.  So what?

It is fascinating to me that Oz, with it's Emerald City, Munchkin Country, and yellow brick road, has something as eerie, as necessary, as normal as a cemetery.  The power of creation is adamant here; authors and filmmakers can create all sorts of different worlds with fascinating individuals who have fantastic adventures and still place within their magical boundries things that are ordinary.

I, as a reader and writer and dreamer, love Other Worlds.  I am a proud American, but I love lands that aren't this land, worlds that hold characters who don't dwell anywhere in our world, places where things happen that will never happen here.  Oz is one of those lands, somewhere vastly far away and unreachable, unless you either have a tornado in your near future or a vivid imagination.  Anything that makes lands like these appear more real makes me a happy and fascinated individual.

So, to get to the gist of things, cemeteries are a fact of life and a common occurence on Earth and if a land like Oz has a cemetery, then it is just another link we have to that magical place.  And the more links there are, the more of a connection there is.  The more of a connection we have, the more magic there can be in daily life.

And plus, the cemetery was eerie and beautiful and wonderful.  The perfect place to get chased by evil, flying monkeys.

Victor Hugo-isms: #5

#5: "While we come and go in our native land, we imagine that we are indifferent to these streets, that these windows, roofs, and doors mean nothing to us, that these walls are strangers to us, that these trees are like any other trees, that these houses we never enter are of no use to us, that the pavement where we walk is no more than stone blocks.  Later, when we are no longer there, we find that those streets are very dear to us, that we miss the roofs, windows, and doors, that the walls are essential to us, that the trees are beloved, that every day we did enter those houses we never entered, and that we have left something of our affections, our life, and our heart on those paving stones."

Where: Pages 446-447.

What's Happening: Jean Valjean, knowing that he is being pursued by Javert, has taken Cosette and left the secluded garret, and is "threading" through the streets of Paris, so as not to be followed.  Hugo, who was away from Paris in exile, takes this opportunity to describe the once familiar streets.

What I Learned: This was another epiphany moment (and I am extremely grateful to Victor Hugo for providing me with so many of these).  I feel like it is completely true that in the course of everyday life, we become so familiar and comfortable with our surroundings that we don't think twice about them...at least not until we're far away from those places.  I know that one day, when I move out of my family's house to be on my own, I will vividly miss and remember things that I don't really think twice about now.  I'll miss how tiny our little wiener dog looks when he's waddling through the grass.  I'll affectionately think of the big ole' tree a few feet away that I was always afraid would fall on the house during a storm.  I'll remember how silly I thought the front door was because it was painted red and I'll rejoice on the days when I can walk through that red door once again.  The shapes of the windows, the placements of the door frames, the impact of listening to fifty Bruce Springsteen songs in "The Pink Room" (the sitting room that is now green), where the cereal was kept...Victor Hugo describes his version of these things in nineteenth century Paris perfectly.  There is nothing quite like nostalgia, especially when nostalgia is linked to places.  And I love, love, love the idea of “we did enter those houses we never entered.”  It makes me think that those places became so familiar that we entered them in our minds.  I believe the bottom line here is that we leave a bit of ourselves everywhere that we go, but we also take a bit of those places with us on our journeys into the future.

...I Should Feel Free To Jam In Empty Supermarkets.

I am one of those people.

You know, those people.  The intensely shy, frustratingly self-aware, prone to the ultimate of awkward situations, think-very-carefully-before-you-act-and-speak, look behind your shoulder...those kind of people.

But such is life, right?

Well, I didn't realize what a problem this was...well, I lie, because I do know what a problem this is...but I didn't realize recently what a problem this had become until I encountered an interesting situation last night. 

I don't sing in front of people.  I don't dance in front of people.  I'm one of those people who can't seem to let out musical energy in front of people for fear of looking stupid.  This is entirely normal, there are plenty of those people out there.  But here is the kicker: I couldn't even dance or sing in the middle of a deserted aisle in the center of an almost empty grocery store last night.

It was around 10 p.m, not a customer in the store, and I was performing the least-exciting task ever: mopping the floor.  Journey's "I'll Be Alright Without You" came on over the speakers, a song I hadn't heard at work before, and I was almost instantly transformed.  The sixteen year-old me - the one who has become buried by adult issues,  college, and time - instantly emerged, threatening to come out of my mouth by way of the lyrics.  I held the mop tightly, aware that my co-worker was only feet away, and waited for an opportunity when I could celebrate this song that I hadn't heard in literally years.

I had my opportunity when I went to dump the mop.  I walked through an empty aisle with the mop, heading to the back room, but alas, I had my excuse - the mop would be a burden, you cannot possibly air guitar with a mop in your hand, you cannot sing a power ballad and take yourself seriously if you are holding a mop.  I dumped the mop and headed back to the empty aisle.

Oh, perfect opportunity! My arms and legs tingled, I felt a weight in my throat (the song obviously trying to get out), and I kept thinking, this is my chance to jam to Journey at work!  Nobody was there to look, there were no cameras in that section of the store, the jars of Skippy peanut butter would not judge me, the boxes of Cheerios would not tell anyone, the pancake mix would never remember...here was my moment to be sixteen again, to recapture a part of who I am, to break free, to be something that was not boring or anxious...

I reached the end of the aisle without uttering a note, without opening my mouth, without celebrating, and went back to work.  I could not even sing or dance in an empty supermarket.

This was my epiphany, if you will.  I deeply admire people who burst into song in random moments, but I couldn't admire myself enough to belt out the chorus of a Journey song in front of nobody.  I respect people who don't care what people think of them, but I couldn't respect myself enough to not care what the empty air thought.  I love people who have fun, but I couldn't love myself enough to have a twenty-second, uplifting moment.  I could have chosen character, I chose fatigue.

It may sound a bit harsh, but it's true.  Do I want to tell any potential, future children of mine that I used to drag myself through supermarket aisles at ten o'clock at night, trying not to fall down, or do I want to tell them I danced and sang the length of an aisle every Tuesday night and was a better person because of it?

My pledge now is this: next time I encounter an empty aisle and a Journey song, I will take advantage of it.  And who knows, maybe one day I'll advance to choosing a crowded aisle.

Victor Hugo-isms #4

#4: "Nothing is so charming as the ruddy tints that happiness can shed around a garret room.  In the course of our lives, we have all had our rosy garret."

Where: Page 437.

What's Happening: Jean Valjean has just rescued Cosette from the
Thénardiers and has taken her to live in a very secluded spot.  They are living in a garret (tiny top floor room or attic room) and their father-daughter bond begins to develop and they grow to love each other.

What I Learned: I was instantly drawn to this phrase with what felt like some sort of magnetic force.  The message here is simple: you don't need to be living in a fancy mansion(although fancy mansions are one of my favorite things ever) or on some tropical island or in a glamorous, rich city to be happy. The garret where Cosette is living with Jean Valjean is rundown, poor, and definitely not pretty, but it is pretty to her because it is her safe-house from the awful Thénardiers, the dwelling of her savior, and the beginning of a new life for her. If you are truly happy, wherever you are dwelling in life will be enough for you and will hold very fond memories. and hence, seem rosy and wonderful.

Victor Hugo-isms: #3

#3: "Nobody walks alone at night in the forest without trembling.  Darkness and trees, two formidable depths - a chimeric reality appears in the indistinct distance.  An outline of the Inconceivable emerges a few steps away with a special clarity.  You see floating in space or in your brain something strangely vague and unseizable like the dreams of sleeping flowers.  There are fierce shapes on the horizon.  You breath in the odors of the great black void.  You are afraid and are tempted to look behind you.  The socket of night, the haggard look of everything, taciturn profiles that fade away as you advance, obscure dishevelments, angry clumps, livid pools, the gloomy reflected in the funereal, the sepulchral immensity of silence, the possible unknown beings, swaying of mysterious branches, frightful torsos of the trees, long wisps of shivering grass - you are defenseless against all of it...Forests are apocalypses..."

Where: Page 388-389

What's Happening: The young Cosette has been sent out in the night by the nasty Thénardiess to fetch a bucket of water from the well in the woods.  She is very afraid and her surroundings are being described to us.

What I Learned: First and foremost, this entire paragraph is stunning.  If this passage doesn't paint a vivid and animated picture, then I don't know what does!  It is simply so much fun to read this beautifully crafted paragraph.  And second, it's also very true.  Thank you, Victor Hugo, for writing down in extreme detail exactly why Nicole Knapp does not go into forests at night.  I had originally thought that I didn't venture outside at night for fear of either being eaten by bears or abducted by creepers, but now that I've read this passage and thought of it...there is something very strange about the forest at night.  While I do think the forest at night is mysteriously beautiful, I also think that it can be the stuff that nightmares are made of, if we let it.  Dangers - whether real or imagined - follow you as you step through the endless trees and the endless darkness.  And getting back to the language - the way this is written is just so cool.  The dreams of sleeping flowers, frightful torsos of the trees, forests are apocalypses...these phrases speak for themselves and emit a literary power of their very own.

Victor Hugo-isms: #2

#2: "If you wish to understand what Revolution is, call it Progress; and if you wish to understand what Progress is, call it Tomorrow."

Where: Page 349.

What's Happening: I've heard people who have read Les Misérables say that Victor Hugo often goes off on long tangents on specific subjects and while that is true, these tangents are important to the story.  This quote appears in one of those "tangents," when Hugo is recounting the Battle of Waterloo.  It is in a chapter titled "Should We Approve of Waterloo?" which goes into detail about revolution and its role in Waterloo.

What I Learned: It took a tad bit of thinking for me to grasp this one, but it does make perfect sense.  Why does one start a revolution?  Because they want something to change and if something is changing successfully, it is progress.  And progress doesn't happen overnight.  The progress that one seeks isn't necessarily found in the past and it might not even be found in the present, but I believe it can be found Tomorrow.  Change takes time and there are many tomorrows to witness progress developing.  I also link this quote to the musical's wonderful last line: "Tomorrow comes!"  There is hope in the future, in change, in tomorrow!  Revolution is an important part of the story of Les Misérables and so is the idea of tomorrow.

Victor Hugo-isms: #1

Victor Hugo is, in my opinion, a wonderful, wonderful man, writer, and thinker.  I am more than halfway through Les Misérables, of which I have been enjoying an almost two-month long infatuation with.  I am almost ashamed to admit that I was never very interested in reading novels from the nineteenth century (I loved the stories, but didn't quite want to read them), believing the language would be so different, difficult, stiff, unimaginative, and dull.  How wrong I was!  Victor Hugo's Les Misérables is exciting, incredible, beautiful - I could rave for pages about it.  And when I am reading and suddenly it's time to go to work, or go to bed, or go wherever, I do have a hard time forcing myself to put the book down.

I have a small, wrinkled little receipt that I have been using as a bookmark and which is now filled with page numbers.  There are phrases from the novel that are so beautiful that I need to write down the page number so that I can reflect later.  But alas, where to put this little collection of mine?  Since I now am maintaining a blog, I figured it would be fun to create a little series called Victor Hugo-isms.  It is my hope that Les Misérables fans will stumble across them and enjoy them and perhaps it will encourage those fans of the musical who have never read the book to give it a try.  It is my hope that non-Les Misérables fans will find something special in them, as well.  And if that is not the case, I have them here for me to look back on and cherish, always.

And so without any further ado, I begin this series, below.

#1: "He believed that faith gives health.  He sought to counsel and calm the despairing by pointing out the Man of Resignation, and to transform the grief that contemplates the grave by showing it the grief that looks up to the stars."

Where: Page 17.

What's Happening: Monsieur Myriel, otherwise known in the show as the Bishop of Digne who gives Jean Valjean shelter, freedom, and a chance to become an honest man, goes to comfort those who are dying and those who have lost loved ones.

What I Learned:  When I read this quote, I think I literally gasped out loud/smacked a hand to my chest in awe/had an epihany/let the air know how pleased I was.  I learned that perspective is important.  When we lose a loved one, we can deal with it in two entirely ways.  We can be shriveled by grief, staring down into a deep hole in the ground, bitterly wondering where everybody ends up, wallowing in pity and fear and despair, and letting death conquer our thoughts.  Or we can use grief to reach a higher place and instead stare up at the sky, at the eternal stars, using hope as medicine, and conquering the thought of death with faith.  Or, I suppose, you could think of it this way: one can believe that everybody dies and ends up in a hole in the ground only, or one can believe that everybody dies and gets the chance to soar through the sky.  The bottom line is that Monsieur Myriel was an extremely positive man who gave his fellow men the gift of faith and hope and comfort and I, personally, would rather look up than down.