What is there to say about the Phantom of the Opera that hasn’t already been said? And I don’t know why I’ve put it off for so long, because it is an absolute masterclass. I think that pocket of literature, from that time and place had a lot of writers who write with so much freedom that it’s impossible for these novels to be boring. Look at the works of Hugo, Dumas and Flaubert who broke conventions and in their experimentation of storytelling, elevated the form.
The Phantom of the Opera is more famous for its story than for its methods. But it is worthwhile to visit what the story was based on before having a closer look at the method, because the story seldom defines the method, as Leroux did here. Personally, I love it when writers mess up with alleged facts which they turn into stories, converting anecdotes into a coherent narrative, and mixing up all these hearsay stories as ingredients to the novel.
The Phantom is fictional, most likely, but perhaps built into form from stories that surround the Paris Opera that touch on the supernatural. There are historical events in the Opera, such as the death of a lady killed by the falling chandelier and the water logged at the bottom of the opera from the drainage that became the vast lake that became the moat for the Phantom’s fortress. We read novels, after all, to learn and thus, we can forgive the author for extrapolating facts into works of fiction.
But to fool us, Leroux had to use several forms of narratives to build the credibility of this story: newspaper articles, first account police reports, dialogues which resemble the opera where the majority of the story takes place, and the prose which talks to the reader as though we have known Leroux for a long time. The Phantom of the Opera is opera itself, it is theatre and it is no surprise that the story was also converted into the format that provides the foundation of the story. Each chapter is titled curtly or it can be whole sentences; the voice changes from third person omniscient to first person, as in the case of the Persian’s account.
Opera is prevalent here, and there are mentions of famous works which run almost parallel to the story at hand. Faust is more than just a leitmotif, the tragic women of the opera (Ophelia, Marguerite) are compared to Christine Daaé. It is a work that pays its due respect to the ones that come before. And if it reads like a play, of which it has become, then it is a tragic play. The form is key here, and combining the fact that the story is contained within the confines of the novel, the form is stretched to its full advantage.
There is also a freedom in how the story is weaved. Phantom starts off with a memorable foreword, playing with the concept of fiction. The story starts off with a hanging, but we know little whether it is a suicide or a murder. There is hearsay of the story of ghosts. Leroux is liberal in giving the reader a taste of what comes next, what tragedies are pending. The stories happen in parallel, such as the episode with the safety pin when the two managers discuss how to safeguard their protection money, whilst Christine was disappearing.
But all this will fall apart without Erik, the Phantom, who anchors the story. In some ways, the Phantom, like the book itself, is hard to figure out. And not until the final pages of the book can we make a judgement of his character. The Phantom vies to be Don Juan in reverse — his glory comes after, not his downfall. His goal really is to lead a normal life, with a wife and as a capable architect. His looks, we know don’t permit him to have a normal life, his looks the cause of his downfall and relations as he ended up as a freakshow in a circus.
The Phantom is a mere magician, and nothing of a ghost. He is a man who knows his ways around the Opera and take advantage of the situation. He extorts, frightens and terrorises. He does not work in the realm of ethics as we know it, and he is the subverted product of bourgeois fear and thus fits well to be their antagonist. But is this right? Can you blame the flaws of your character because life has not treated you fairly, that you are a living skeleton? I have never been a fan of anybody feeling entitled, hence I cannot side with the Phantom.
Yet, there is a lot to like about Erik. His dreams are humble — to have a home, a wife and a job. And he has the courage to go after what he wants:
“…and I heard such a triumphant symphony, seemingly setting the world ablaze, that I realized the work was ending and that ugliness, lifted on the wings of love, had dared to look beauty in the face.”
And who can blame a man in love going after the object of his affection, regardless of his imperfections? I can relate to this. Erik is a tragic figure whose outlet is his opus, that will never hear the light of day. His redemption comes as fast as the buildup of his spite is long.
Anyone can see themselves in Erik too. He is eerily relatable. Who hasn’t felt the stainless steel limits of grasping something they wanted so badly? We have to give Erik credit for his efforts. But and what’s more, we have to give credit to Leroux for creating a character and story as intricate as an opera.
