If you only know Victor Hugo from the singing revolutionaries of Les Misérables or the hunchback swinging from the bells of Notre-Dame, you’re missing out on his weirdest, darkest, and honestly, most prophetic work. I’m talking about The Man Who Laughs book. It’s a story that’s fundamentally about a man whose face was carved into a permanent, terrifying grin by criminals when he was just a child. Sounds like a horror movie, right? Well, it kind of is. But it’s also a brutal political takedown of the 17th-century English aristocracy.
Victor Hugo wrote this while he was living in exile on the island of Guernsey. He was pissed off at the world. He wanted to show how the "upper crust" literally and figuratively mutilates the poor for their own amusement. Most people today only recognize the main character, Gwynplaine, because he served as the visual inspiration for DC’s The Joker. But the book is so much more than a comic book origin story. It’s a dense, 600-plus page epic that dives into the philosophy of suffering.
What The Man Who Laughs book is actually about
At its core, the plot follows Gwynplaine, a boy abandoned on the coast of Portland, England. He’s been "deformed" by the Comprachicos—a fictionalized group of child-buyers Hugo invented who basically performed plastic surgery in reverse to create human oddities for profit. Gwynplaine survives the freezing cold, rescues a blind baby girl named Dea, and finds a father figure in a grumpy philosopher-vagrante named Ursus who lives in a van pulled by a wolf.
Fast forward fifteen years.
Gwynplaine is the star of a traveling show. People pay to laugh at his face. The irony? He’s actually a deeply kind, intelligent man trapped behind a mask of forced hilarity. He’s in love with Dea, who can’t see his deformity and loves him for his soul. It’s beautiful, honestly. But then, Hugo throws a massive wrench into the gears: it turns out Gwynplaine isn't just a random orphan. He's actually a peer of the realm, the rightful heir to a Lordship.
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The Comprachicos: Fact or Fiction?
A lot of readers get hung up on the Comprachicos. Hugo presents them as a historical reality, a secret society of "child-buyers" who traveled the world mutilating kids to turn them into jesters or monsters. Historians have debated this for over a century. While there isn't a ton of hard evidence for a unified "Comprachicos" organization, the practice of creating "monsters" for royal courts was unfortunately very real in the early modern period. Hugo took these scattered historical horrors and condensed them into a single, terrifying concept to make a point about how society treats the "lower classes" as raw material for entertainment.
Why the ending of The Man Who Laughs book hits so hard
Most novels from the 1800s follow a specific rhythm. Not this one. When Gwynplaine is eventually restored to his seat in the House of Lords, he thinks he can change the world. He stands up to give a speech about the suffering of the poor. He pours his heart out. He talks about the hunger, the cold, and the injustice he’s witnessed.
But here’s the kicker.
The Lords don't listen. They just look at his face. Every time he tries to be serious, his "permanent laugh" makes them burst into fits of hysterics. They mock him. They see his pain as a comedy routine. It’s one of the most soul-crushing scenes in all of literature. Hugo is basically saying: "The rich will never hear the poor, even when the poor are standing right in front of them." It’s a cynical, devastating take that feels incredibly modern. You’ve probably felt that way watching a viral video of someone’s tragedy being turned into a meme.
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The Joker Connection: More Than Just a Grin
It’s no secret that Bill Finger, Bob Kane, and Jerry Robinson looked at a photo of Conrad Veidt in the 1928 film adaptation of The Man Who Laughs book and said, "That’s our villain." But if you look closer, the Joker is the exact opposite of Gwynplaine. Gwynplaine is a saintly man with the face of a demon; the Joker is a demonic man who uses the face of a jester to justify his chaos.
Interestingly, Hugo’s novel deals with the idea of "The Laugh" as a weapon of the state. Gwynplaine’s face was mutilated by order of King James II to punish his father. The laugh isn't a choice; it's a sentence. When we look at the Joker today, we see a character who chooses to laugh at a broken world. Gwynplaine is the version of that story where the world is the one doing the laughing.
A Masterclass in Hugo’s "Digressions"
If you’ve ever tried to read Les Misérables, you know Hugo loves a good 50-page tangent about the sewer systems of Paris. He does the same thing here. He spends huge chunks of the book explaining the intricacies of the English peerage, the history of torture, and the physics of the ocean.
Some people find it boring. Personally? I think it’s where the flavor is. You get to see his massive brain at work. He’s not just telling a story; he’s building a world. He wants you to understand the weight of the crown so you can feel the weight of Gwynplaine’s chains.
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The Tragic Romance of Gwynplaine and Dea
We need to talk about Dea. She is essentially the moral anchor of the book. Because she’s blind, she is the only person in the world who "sees" Gwynplaine correctly. Their relationship is pure, almost to a fault. Hugo uses their love as a contrast to the decadent, bored, and frankly gross lust of the Duchess Josiane.
Josiane is a fascinating character. She’s a noblewoman who is bored with "perfect" things and becomes obsessed with Gwynplaine precisely because he is "hideous." She wants to use him to satisfy her own weird cravings for the grotesque. It’s a direct commentary on how the elite fetishize the struggles of the marginalized. They don't want to help; they want a thrill.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Reader
If you're planning on diving into The Man Who Laughs book, don't go in expecting a light beach read. It’s a commitment. But it’s worth it. Here’s how to actually get through it and enjoy it:
- Don't skip the "The Sea and the Night" section. It’s the first part of the book and it’s incredibly atmospheric. It sets the stakes for Gwynplaine’s entire life.
- Get a good translation. Older translations can be clunky. Look for modern editions that keep Hugo’s fiery, poetic prose without making it sound like a dusty textbook.
- Watch the 1928 silent film afterward. Conrad Veidt’s performance is haunting. It’s a masterpiece of German Expressionism and helps visualize the surreal world Hugo described.
- Think about the "Mask" in digital spaces. As you read, consider how we all wear masks today on social media. We’re often forced to "smile" or perform for an audience, much like Gwynplaine.
The book ends on a ship. I won't spoil the very last pages, but it’s not a "happily ever after" in the traditional sense. It’s more of a "transcendence" ending. It’s heartbreaking and beautiful and will probably make you stare at a wall for twenty minutes after you close the cover. Victor Hugo didn't write this to make you feel good; he wrote it to make you feel everything.
To truly appreciate the depth of this work, pay attention to the character of Ursus. His cynical monologues often mirror Hugo’s own frustrations with society. He is the voice of reason in a world that has gone mad with cruelty. When you finish the final chapter, you’ll realize that the "man who laughs" isn't just Gwynplaine—it's the face of a society that has forgotten how to weep for its own people.
Start by picking up a copy of the Penguin Classics edition, which features an excellent introduction that contextualizes Hugo's political exile. This context is vital for understanding why he was so obsessed with the corruption of the English monarchy. Once you finish the book, compare the political speech in the House of Lords to modern political rhetoric; the parallels are often startling and suggest that Hugo’s 19th-century observations haven't aged a day.