The Hunchback of Notre Dame

How fortuitous for me to read this book while visiting Paris!

I imagine a good portion of the populace knows the story from the classic black-and-white 1939 flick with Charles Laughton in the eponymous role. You know – hunchback Quasimodo is a bell-ringer at the Notre Dame cathedral; gets publically flogged for some reason or another; gypsy girl Esmeralda gives parched him sip of water; hunchback falls in love with her; saves her from the angry mobs of Paris; she rides off into the sunset with another guy, while he sits perched amidst the gargoyles:

“Why was I not made of stone like thee?”

Or maybe you don’t.

If not, may I be so bold as to suggest a rental from Netflix or borrowing from a local library? Even better, may I recommend Walter J. Cobb’s translation of Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame?

I’m often hesitant when I’m drawn to a classic, a translated classic much more so. So much is in the hands of the translator. I could only wade through a fifth of Tolstoy’s War and Peace a few months ago, and who should I blame, except the guy paid to turn Russian words to English? Certainly not myself, veteran of Moby Dick, Frankenstein, Siddhartha, Steppenwolf, Poe, Verne, Wells, et al. Well, perhaps partly myself.

Anyway, I felt our wonderfully fortunate trip to Paris required some like-minded reading. It was either this or Dumas’ Man in the Iron Mask. Thankfully, I chose Hunchback, and most of my down-time in France was spent with it. And it was a great, great read.

Being there helped. Famously, it’s been observed that the city of Paris plays a central role in the story – indeed, is a character in the tale. As is, just as famously, the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Both have long chapters devoted to their histories, their genesis and genealogies, their personalities, their secrets, the virtues and their vices. The cathedral itself is particularly anthropomorphized with the feminine naming of all its bells. Try reading the forty-plus-page-long life of Paris (up to the end of the fifteenth century, that is) whilst in that glorious city; it’s impossible not to be fascinated. Similarly, reading this novel in the shadows of the great cathedral only thrills the imagination and enables one to vividly visualize the events as if they are happening along the streets and landmarks you passed short hours ago.

This is all not to say that I would not have enjoyed Hugo’s work had I not been vacationing in its setting. What a master this writer is! (Forgive me, it’s my first reading of anything of his.) The novel has the inherent good of a leisurely, unhurried pace that is the mark of the true storyteller, and a rarity even among published authors. There are long scenes of dreamy-fantasy-of-sorts, where I doubted what I read was real (“the court of miracles”). There are long, heart-rending and poignant stories-with-stories (the origins of Esmeralda, her mother, and Quasimodo) mercifully peppered with laugh-out-loud humor (fat boy “Eustache” who just wants to eat that cake). And the death of a major character at the hands of the hunchback during the storming of the cathedral absolutely shocked and surprised me with its grim, seemingly unwarranted violence.

And here’s a rare treat, so very rare in the pop culture I find myself submersed within: a villain who doesn’t go around twirling his moustache, doing evil for evil’s sake (or because he’s a capitalist, businessman, Republican, rich guy). No, the heavy in The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a real person – the product of bad choices, good intentions, and delusions, all of which to varying degrees we all succumb to. Hugo masterfully brings him to life (I originally thought him a “good” albeit peripheral character). You know why he does what he does and why he’s become what he’s become.

The novel is substantially different from the movie; while the film retains the gist of the story, it’s not really the story. Hugo’s tale, despite the humor, despite the surreality, despite the slow ambling through Parisian streets, is dark. The very ending, the “reveal” so to speak, is downbeat and somewhat macabre (I’m referencing the ultimate fates of Esmeralda and Quasimodo). As is the villain’s comeuppance – much more soul-stirring than what was committed to celluloid all those years ago.

However, the conclusion of the movie – Quasimodo’s existential cry to the gargoyles – comes about ¾ of the way through the novel. So, kudos to the scriptwriters for that realization.

But the novel – simply, superbly excellent. Grade A+. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I give generous props to Walter Cobb, for the readable, wonderful translation. How much is you and how much is Hugo (I’m gonna go with a 20/80 ratio), I will never know, but I give thanks to you both.