Just briefly translated the last section of the above post:
"Convenor of Speaking-In-Human-Language Forum:
'…It's close to the end of the sharing. Thank you. I would like to make a short conclusion for today’s discussion.
Why did the United States hype up the tragedy of this young man so much?
May him rest in peace!
However, the half-mast was order to express condolences for a non-public official or a major international event, which is quite unusual. Recalling 3 months ago (June 14, 2025,) Minnesota Rep. Melissa Hortman, her husband Mark, and their dog, were killed in a politically motivated assassination at their home. The leader didn’t seem aware of this tragedy well, let alone lower the flag to express public condolences. On April 13, 2025, an arsonist burned down Governor Josh Shapiro's Pennsylvania residence in Harrisburg; Arizona Rep. Gabby Giffords was shot and almost killed at a voter event in Tucson on January 8, 2011. The targeted officials of these unfortunate incidents are members of the Democratic Party. The cold, political treatment seemed understandable…
The group of people with power continues pin-pointing the opposite Party as the trouble-makers while itself has repeatedly taken the advantage of the misfortune of this 31 years of age, far-right-winger’s sad death to psych up political interests, harvest his innocent followers' loyalty, take over his cumulated legacy, divert attention from the rampant social disorders derived from the gun violence, deepen social class/racial/ethnic/gender-sexuality divisions, ignore major issues threatening people's livelihood, and directly or indirectly cause international turmoil. And most obviously, effectively is to distract all dimensional scrutiny of the Epstein scandal, just to name a few… ' ”
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The Man Who Laughs - by Victor Hugo.
"This is not a novel in the traditional sense. It is a slow descent into a world where cruelty wears the mask of comedy, and deformity is not of the flesh—but of the soul of civilization. I finished it with a chill in my chest and a sense that I had witnessed something ancient and eternal: a wound in the human story, still bleeding beneath powdered wigs and parliamentary robes.
Victor Hugo carved this novel out of grief and fire.
It seethes. It mourns.
And yet somehow, it sings.
The image that lingers—and will linger, maybe forever—is that of Gwynplaine, the child left to die in a snowstorm, his mouth slashed into a permanent grin by men who trafficked in human suffering. That smile—the smile that never fades—unraveled me.
Because it isn’t funny.
It never was.
It’s the laughter of the powerless, contorted into entertainment. It’s society’s way of applauding the suffering it secretly causes. Gwynplaine is both victim and mirror—he reflects a world that punishes the innocent and rewards the monstrous.
And yet, within this grotesque parody of a face, Hugo places the purest of hearts.
Dea broke me.
She’s blind, but she sees. Sees Gwynplaine more truly than anyone. She knows his soul, touches it in the dark, and finds only light. Their love—fragile, doomed, radiant—made me ache. It reminded me how brutal the world is to tenderness. How it refuses to let the broken love one another in peace.
When Dea weeps for Gwynplaine,
I felt as though the entire world was asking forgiveness for what it did to him.
And then came the twist: Gwynplaine was not born a freak—he was born a noble.
That irony. That violence.
He returns to the House of Lords, not to take power, but to deliver a truth so thunderous, I held my breath as I read it. He speaks of the abyss between the rich and the poor, the way privilege insulates cruelty, how justice is not blind—it is missing.
They laugh at him.
Not because he’s funny. But because they cannot feel.
That’s when I realized the novel’s true horror.
Not the smile carved into a boy’s face.
But the smiles worn by those who believe themselves whole, noble, civilized.
This book is not perfect. It is dense. Overwritten in places. Swollen with digressions and long philosophical detours. And yet, none of that matters. Because beneath every page is the pulse of a novelist burning with compassion for the broken.
Victor Hugo does not entertain.
He pleads. He condemns.
He demands that we look—not at the mask, but what the mask was made to hide.
⸻
When I closed The Man Who Laughs, I sat still for a long time.
There was a tightness in my throat I couldn’t explain.
Because the book doesn’t just tell you a story.
It brands you.
It asks what kind of world finds amusement in the pain of others.
And worse—what kind of person you become when you learn to look away.
I don’t think I’ll ever look at a smile the same way again."
BOOK: https://amzn.to/4piGK0u See less
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The Man Who Laughs: Oasis Classics