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variousfictions 's review for:
Notre-Dame de Paris
by Victor Hugo
Hugo's digressions in Parisian architectural history are not for everyone, and for such people, the first hundred or so pages are likely to produce a reaction not dissimilar to that of Claude Frollo during his spell of unrequited love (no spoilers). But for those who do make it through unscathed, maybe even enjoying themselves, unthinkable though it is to imagine, there is a story with enough melodrama and absurdity to fill Notre Dame cathedral to the very top of its vaulted ceiling and burst through the famous rose windows under sheer pressure of incident.
The tale of Esmeralda and Quasimodo is perhaps already familiar to you, but for others like myself, who up until now have successfully evaded the pull of Disney's 1996 adaptation, or the far less impressive contribution in the following year's made-for-television drama, The Hunchback, you may find yourself pleasantly surprised by the number of themes Hugo weaves into the narrative. Touching on issues of social justice, rationalism vs superstition, free will, the value placed on external appearance, and even foreshadowing the French Revolution in its final act, there is a lot to discover beyond the story of obsession and toxic love. Every character is distinctly drawn and leaves an indelible impression, with the men of status being notably pitiful, written almost as caricatures of their respective stereotypes in medieval French society. I was not expecting to find a Victor Hugo with such mocking wit. Some of the dialogue, particularly in the Louis XI chapter, and between the Frollo brothers (like the Jonas brothers, but only Claude taking his purity ring seriously), can only be described as slapstick. And the well-meaning but ultimately cowardly Gringoire, whose monologues are akin to the Guy Talking to Girl in Club meme. Basically—fantastic.
It is perhaps unfair to characterise the book in this way. Those interactions, wonderful though they are, do not dominate proceedings. But the way Hugo is able to combine them with moments of profoundness and a deep understanding of 15th-century Paris is no doubt the reason why he is so admired. Famously, the book was written by Hugo in response to the ongoing destruction of Gothic buildings at the time, understanding, as he alludes to in the chapter This Will Kill That, the power of writing that is easily distributed to the masses. And here the irony should not be lost on the reader, as the very books that signalled the end of these architectural feats are now the means used to save them.
But the preservation of Parisian history does not solely rest with Hugo's sweeping descriptions of Notre Dame and other such buildings, but also in the people whose spirit embodies the era, and whose lives and ideas have imbued themselves into the brick and mortar of every arch, spire, and flying buttress. And for Hugo, who in creating this unforgettable story has immortalised Notre Dame in a way that would have otherwise been impossible—it is job done.
The tale of Esmeralda and Quasimodo is perhaps already familiar to you, but for others like myself, who up until now have successfully evaded the pull of Disney's 1996 adaptation, or the far less impressive contribution in the following year's made-for-television drama, The Hunchback, you may find yourself pleasantly surprised by the number of themes Hugo weaves into the narrative. Touching on issues of social justice, rationalism vs superstition, free will, the value placed on external appearance, and even foreshadowing the French Revolution in its final act, there is a lot to discover beyond the story of obsession and toxic love. Every character is distinctly drawn and leaves an indelible impression, with the men of status being notably pitiful, written almost as caricatures of their respective stereotypes in medieval French society. I was not expecting to find a Victor Hugo with such mocking wit. Some of the dialogue, particularly in the Louis XI chapter, and between the Frollo brothers (like the Jonas brothers, but only Claude taking his purity ring seriously), can only be described as slapstick. And the well-meaning but ultimately cowardly Gringoire, whose monologues are akin to the Guy Talking to Girl in Club meme. Basically—fantastic.
It is perhaps unfair to characterise the book in this way. Those interactions, wonderful though they are, do not dominate proceedings. But the way Hugo is able to combine them with moments of profoundness and a deep understanding of 15th-century Paris is no doubt the reason why he is so admired. Famously, the book was written by Hugo in response to the ongoing destruction of Gothic buildings at the time, understanding, as he alludes to in the chapter This Will Kill That, the power of writing that is easily distributed to the masses. And here the irony should not be lost on the reader, as the very books that signalled the end of these architectural feats are now the means used to save them.
But the preservation of Parisian history does not solely rest with Hugo's sweeping descriptions of Notre Dame and other such buildings, but also in the people whose spirit embodies the era, and whose lives and ideas have imbued themselves into the brick and mortar of every arch, spire, and flying buttress. And for Hugo, who in creating this unforgettable story has immortalised Notre Dame in a way that would have otherwise been impossible—it is job done.