When Raoul and Christine first met that summer when they were not yet 10, Leroux describes her father’s stories of a particular girl named Little Lotte. Christine’s father served as one of the most adored figures in the book - the man to whom Christine looked up and idolised. She wheeled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music.” (Chapter 5, Leroux) Her hair was golden as the sun’s rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. “Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Yet, we do not view Raoul as a threat, simply because of his social status as Viscount, his feminine plea for Christine, and because he is contrasted with a monstrosity like the Phantom.Ĭhristine describes the Phantom’s obsession with her, “Alas, I was no longer mistress of myself: I had become his thing!” (Chapter 12, Leroux) While the Phantom may have lured Christine into loving him with his mask as her Angel of Music, Raoul and Christine share an untouched childhood for which no one can ever re-simulate. They both harness an equally terrifying infatuation for this lady. When observing both points of view from the musical and the book, the audience–or the reader–realises an important truth: Raoul and the Phantom are both equally as infatuated with Christine. It is a pity He might not have existed in the world Leroux crafted. Last time I checked, Jesus is the perfect source of love. Ben Stuart phrases it perfectly: We cannot be a source of love until we have a source of love. We are imperfect humans searching for a perfect source of love, which is-frankly-unattainable. Like the Phantom, we search for something, or rather, someone who can provide for us the love that we so desperately desire. A twisted infatuation more than authentic love. As extreme and horrifying Erik seems to be in his pursuit for love, endangering Raoul and the Persian in his torture chamber, going to great lengths to hold Christine captive to himself was a reflection of what many of us do in a modern context. Surely, one who has undergone such ridicules would likely battle with insecurity and an obsession for self-validity, to which the Phantom chooses to bestow upon Christine. This is, of course, supported by prior experience as a child who was bought into a circus, exhibited as a freak, while others mocked, jeered, and tormented his innocent soul, likening his face to a monstrosity. The Phantom chooses to wear a mask because he fears that those who see him without it would be scared off. Image by Leandro De Carvalho from Pixabay It is this obscured belief that they are individually unlovable and that they cannot possibly be loved without wearing such a mask: in our vain and conceited society, is it really a fallacy that good looks have value? Society itself carries a partial blame, unmistakably, as the social standards of physical beauty gathers the multitude to conform to this preconceived standard. It is likened to a layer of defence that adolescents draw up for themselves, cementing away their tender insides, their raw selves, encouraged by the notion that they would be unlovable otherwise. There is no denying the comfort that comes with hiding behind a mask. The mask that the Phantom wears has become a dramatised trope over the years with which millions have resonated. Perhaps it is this that makes the image of the Phantom so enticing, so luring: no matter how disturbing or irrational we find the Phantom, whom we later learn is Erik, there exists a parallel that is drawn ever so subtly by Leroux between his venture into finding love and the rest of us. To be cared for, to be paid attention to, and to be adored, despite our flaws and imperfections, is a goal that many in the world pursue, but fail to do so authentically and lovingly. The desire to be loved is no stranger even to the best of us. Captivating music aside, Leroux’s original book fictionalised a Phantom with whom a surprising great number of the world can relate.