Set in medieval Paris, Victor Hugo’s powerful historical romance The Hunchback of Notre-Dame has resonated with succeeding generations ever since its publication in 1837. It tells the story of the beautiful gypsy Esmeralda, condemned as a witch by the tormented archdeacon Claude Frollo, who lusts after her. Quasimodo, the deformed bell ringer of Notre-Dame Cathedral, having fallen in love with the kindhearted Esmeralda, tries to save her by hiding her in the cathedral’s tower. When a crowd of Parisian peasants, misunderstanding Quasimodo’s motives, attacks the church in an attempt to liberate her, the story ends in tragedy.
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“What a beautiful thing Notre-Dame is!” —Gustave Flaubert
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Text: English (translation)
Original Language: French
Original Language: French
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30 of 31 people found the following review helpful
By Bookworm
Format:Paperback
Somebody once wrote that great books inspire great minds. Hugo's novel of the deformed, ugly, despicable Quasimodo is a tale of love, hate, revenge, and of a man <as producer Irving Thalberg remarked>, "God Made Different." The book is too remarkable to put into words. Yes, it's long. Yes, it's difficult to modern readers more used to Danielle Steele and others of that ilk. But "the Hunchback of Notre Dame" earns its mantle as a "classic" because of it's themes, it's timeless tale of love and honor, and it's unforgettable plot and story.
Modern readers want slam-bang climaxes and chases. Modern readers want simple plotting, no charecterization, and little thought or planning.
Hugo defies that, and makes the reader think, makes the reader pause, makes the reader reflect; then Hugo delivers a tale of horror, of humor, of love, and of grand thought and whopping entertainment.
By the way, check out Lon Cheney's silent movie version.
BUT READ THE BOOK FIRST!
15 of 15 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
Victor Hugo was, among other accomplishments, a dramatist. It shows in this book. He knows how to take his time, how to create background and setting, how to build tension and anticipation. Yet, when the denouement occurs (as several mini-climaxes do before the final one), it does so with shocking or stunning detail, effect, and speed. For all the meandering Hugo does before a climax, he is quite economical when he gets to the end. "Notre Dame" is, despite its length, a nail-biting, page-turning read.
But the dramatist also is evident in another way: dialogue. As has been mentioned by others, the dialogue seems stagey, two-dimensional, over the top (or under the bottom, if you wish). This, apparently, was typical of stage productions in Hugo's day. Claude Frollo, for example, in his last conversation with Esmeralda, is practically unbelievable. But he is not alone: Esmeralda herself stretches our credulity. (For one thing, we are never told why she seemed so sympathetic to Quasimodo on the pillory but repulsed by him in the cathedral.) She immediately falls in love with Phoebus, whom she only meets once briefly, and never changes her feelings, which is to say that she never learns, never grows, never seems aware. And this leads to the oft-repeated, central complaint about this book: the main players are not people; they are symbols, constant and unchanging.
For example, at one point, in describing Quisimodo and Esmeralda, Hugo writes, ". . . there was someting touching about the protection offered by a creature so deformed to one so unfortunate -- one condemned to death saved by Quasimodo. Here were the two extremes of physical and social wretchedness meeting and assisting each other." (Walter J. Cobb translation)
But that, in turn, may be why this long, 19th-century melodrama continues to mesmerize us today. There is something sweeping, larger than life about the story -- and the characters.
Yes, the book is melodramatic. Yes, the main characters tend to be mechanically unswerving, almost frustratingly so. Yes, the dialogue makes you occasionally wince or shake your head. And yet you keep reading -- avidly. At least I did. Why? Partly I read to find out what would happen next. As I said, Hugo has created a genuine cliff-hanger (no pun intended, Frollo). But there is something more. Hugo made me care. How did he do that? How did he make me care about two-dimensional characters?
That may be, ultimately, an unanswerable question. But part of the answer, I think, is that, as with all good larger-than-life stories, myths, or epics, the issues are central to us all. Therefore, we care not just about the characters, but about the issues they represent. When Frollo keeps falling (in more ways than one), we fall (or fear falling) with him. When Esmaralda keeps not seeing, we think of our own blindness, too. When Quasimodo is rejected, we remember the sting we have known or want forever to avoid. And when the king (most believable of all in the book) is heartless, we think of the indifference (instututional, bureaucratic, political, or otherwise) that is all around us still.
And this last observation raises an intriguing question. Why is the king so believable -- and believable in his cold, casual, indifference? Could this question point to a core irony? After all, the melodramatically-unchanging elements in the story reflect one central issue: Fate. Hugo says he wrote this book after finding a single word inscribed on a wall in the cathedral of Notre Dame: "ananke," which is Greek for "fate" (or "necessity"). It is that same word that is inscribed on the wall in Frollo's "secret room" in the cathedral. Are Hugo's characters wooden-like because they are the faces of fate: inevitable, unalterable, and trapped? Could that be why, despite the passion in the plot itself, the tone of the narrator's voice in the story is almost light and detached? Is Hugo saying, "Rage all you want against injustice, but nothing will change because we are all victims of fate"?
As I read, I kept thinking of at least three other authors. I thought of Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, not because of style or mood, but simply because of a similar plot ingredient: a hypocritical clergy person who leaves a woman in the lurch alone. (And Hugo's woman, unlike Hawthorne's, is entirely innocent! [Perhaps too innocent?]) Some things never change. I also thought of Melville who, in Moby Dick, would offer the reader lengthy asides about whales and whale sperm and such. Hugo does the same with architecture and history. But in both cases, you go along with the detour, happily, because there is something in the energy and relish of the author for the subject that draws you in. And both stories lead to an inevitable but nontheless shocking end. And, finally, I thought of Dickens who is infamous for his highly improbable coincidences of plot. Both Hugo and Dickens have plot elements and characters intersect and reconnect in the most unlikely -- yet satisfying! -- ways, time and again. Their books are like jigsaw puzzles, puzzles which, when completed, create an improbably satisfying picture. In "Notre Dame," for example, we learn more than the movies ever tell about who Quasimodo is and about who Esmarelda is. The connection between the two may be unlikely, but, oh!, how it makes you smile with wonder when you read it. Yet, in "Notre Dame," unlike in so many of Dickens' books, the plot does not resolve pleasantly. Injustice? Or Fate . . . cruel Fate?
But the dramatist also is evident in another way: dialogue. As has been mentioned by others, the dialogue seems stagey, two-dimensional, over the top (or under the bottom, if you wish). This, apparently, was typical of stage productions in Hugo's day. Claude Frollo, for example, in his last conversation with Esmeralda, is practically unbelievable. But he is not alone: Esmeralda herself stretches our credulity. (For one thing, we are never told why she seemed so sympathetic to Quasimodo on the pillory but repulsed by him in the cathedral.) She immediately falls in love with Phoebus, whom she only meets once briefly, and never changes her feelings, which is to say that she never learns, never grows, never seems aware. And this leads to the oft-repeated, central complaint about this book: the main players are not people; they are symbols, constant and unchanging.
For example, at one point, in describing Quisimodo and Esmeralda, Hugo writes, ". . . there was someting touching about the protection offered by a creature so deformed to one so unfortunate -- one condemned to death saved by Quasimodo. Here were the two extremes of physical and social wretchedness meeting and assisting each other." (Walter J. Cobb translation)
But that, in turn, may be why this long, 19th-century melodrama continues to mesmerize us today. There is something sweeping, larger than life about the story -- and the characters.
Yes, the book is melodramatic. Yes, the main characters tend to be mechanically unswerving, almost frustratingly so. Yes, the dialogue makes you occasionally wince or shake your head. And yet you keep reading -- avidly. At least I did. Why? Partly I read to find out what would happen next. As I said, Hugo has created a genuine cliff-hanger (no pun intended, Frollo). But there is something more. Hugo made me care. How did he do that? How did he make me care about two-dimensional characters?
That may be, ultimately, an unanswerable question. But part of the answer, I think, is that, as with all good larger-than-life stories, myths, or epics, the issues are central to us all. Therefore, we care not just about the characters, but about the issues they represent. When Frollo keeps falling (in more ways than one), we fall (or fear falling) with him. When Esmaralda keeps not seeing, we think of our own blindness, too. When Quasimodo is rejected, we remember the sting we have known or want forever to avoid. And when the king (most believable of all in the book) is heartless, we think of the indifference (instututional, bureaucratic, political, or otherwise) that is all around us still.
And this last observation raises an intriguing question. Why is the king so believable -- and believable in his cold, casual, indifference? Could this question point to a core irony? After all, the melodramatically-unchanging elements in the story reflect one central issue: Fate. Hugo says he wrote this book after finding a single word inscribed on a wall in the cathedral of Notre Dame: "ananke," which is Greek for "fate" (or "necessity"). It is that same word that is inscribed on the wall in Frollo's "secret room" in the cathedral. Are Hugo's characters wooden-like because they are the faces of fate: inevitable, unalterable, and trapped? Could that be why, despite the passion in the plot itself, the tone of the narrator's voice in the story is almost light and detached? Is Hugo saying, "Rage all you want against injustice, but nothing will change because we are all victims of fate"?
As I read, I kept thinking of at least three other authors. I thought of Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, not because of style or mood, but simply because of a similar plot ingredient: a hypocritical clergy person who leaves a woman in the lurch alone. (And Hugo's woman, unlike Hawthorne's, is entirely innocent! [Perhaps too innocent?]) Some things never change. I also thought of Melville who, in Moby Dick, would offer the reader lengthy asides about whales and whale sperm and such. Hugo does the same with architecture and history. But in both cases, you go along with the detour, happily, because there is something in the energy and relish of the author for the subject that draws you in. And both stories lead to an inevitable but nontheless shocking end. And, finally, I thought of Dickens who is infamous for his highly improbable coincidences of plot. Both Hugo and Dickens have plot elements and characters intersect and reconnect in the most unlikely -- yet satisfying! -- ways, time and again. Their books are like jigsaw puzzles, puzzles which, when completed, create an improbably satisfying picture. In "Notre Dame," for example, we learn more than the movies ever tell about who Quasimodo is and about who Esmarelda is. The connection between the two may be unlikely, but, oh!, how it makes you smile with wonder when you read it. Yet, in "Notre Dame," unlike in so many of Dickens' books, the plot does not resolve pleasantly. Injustice? Or Fate . . . cruel Fate?
10 of 11 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
I don't know if the Hunchback was written to illustrate some social wrong - if it was, I didn't catch it. What it is is a well formed, complete and beautifully told tragedy. Archdeacon Claude Frollo starts out as an intelligent and committed scholar who longs for familial love after the death of his parents. He cares for his younger brother and the deformed foundling Quasimodo. Meanwhile, his younger brother holds him in contempt for his weakness of loving him and the townspeople view Quasimodo as some sort of demon in league with the archdeacon. Enter Esmeralda, an enchanting gypsy girl who sings and dances in the square before the cathedral. She captivates his heart and head but somewhere along the line, we find that he does not truly have the capacity to love. He wants only to possess. As he tries alternately to suppress his desires by destroying Esmeralda or possess her by force, the ill-formed and ill-fated Quasimodo does his best to protect her. He is the only character who possesses true love. Even Esmeralda's "husband" is more interested in her goat!
This is well worth the read. You will laugh and cry, love and hate.
Most Recent Customer Reviews
3.0 out of 5 stars
A Farce More than A Tragedy
It takes some time to bypass Hugo's opulent but languid prose and intricate but chaotic plot structure to see this novel as a children's tale. Read more
Published 1 month ago by Jiang Xueqin
5.0 out of 5 stars
The Hunchback of Notre-Dame is a classic of French Romanticism which...
"The Hunchback of Notre-Dame" was published in Paris in 1831. It's author is Victor Hugo (1802-85) a giant among the novelists of the nineteenth century. Read more
Published 2 months ago by C. M Mills
5.0 out of 5 stars
Hunchback
Love this book and for the price of the book it was worth every penny. Delievered fast and in better condition then i thought it was going to be.
Published 3 months ago by Joseph Mckinney
4.0 out of 5 stars
humor, drama, and commentary on history and art
It starts slow with introduction to French history and art, but if you can endure, (if you are not in a hurry, these are in fact very interesting and enlightening as well) the... Read more
Published 8 months ago by whj
5.0 out of 5 stars
classic
This is such a classic story. I have read it countless times and never get bored with it. Everyone should read this story at least once
Published 11 months ago by zuggislandgurl
5.0 out of 5 stars
Tragic, satirical, and yes, funny!
If there was one word I never would have guessed I would be using to describe "The Hunchback of Notre Dame", it is the word "funny". Read more
Published on February 19, 2011 by PuroShaggy
1.0 out of 5 stars
More Miserable than Les Mis
I read Les Miserables a few years before this one and was absolutely blown away by the depth of the plot and characters is that Victor Hugo novel. Read more
Published on February 18, 2010 by Bryan Watts
4.0 out of 5 stars
The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
An excellent, very readable translation of the UNCUT original, revealing it to be a lot more panoramic than I expected, a much broader look at the city of Paris, its physical... Read more
Published on January 31, 2009 by Barry M. Lamont
3.0 out of 5 stars
good if you can make it to the end
This book was a toughie for a half-wit like me. I honestly am not sure what was going on the first half of the book. I don't think I cared either as it was pretty boring. Read more
Published on May 29, 2008 by N
5.0 out of 5 stars
I loved this story
I would have to say it has everything, and is highly readable, which I think is an important recommendation to give potential readers of classic fiction. Read more
Published on December 6, 2005 by Justice
Citations (learn more)
This book cites 11
books:
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100
books
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- The Middle Ages by Morris Bishop on 4 pages
- The Toilers of the Sea (Modern Library Classics) by Victor Hugo in Front Matter
- The Last Day of a Condemned Man (Hesperus Classics) by Victor Hugo in Front Matter
- Napoleon the Little by Victor Hugo in Front Matter
- Notre-Dame of Paris (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) by Victor Hugo in Back Matter
See all 11 books this book cites
- Deconstructing Disney by Eleanor Byrne on 7 pages
- The Mysteries of the Great Cross of Hendaye: Alchemy and the End of Time by Jay Weidner on 6 pages
- A Victor Hugo Encyclopedia by John Andrew Fey in Front Matter, page 92, and page 275
- England under Gladstone, 1880-1884 by Justin Huntly McCarthy in Back Matter (1), and Back Matter (2)
- Anthony Hopkins: The Authorized Biography by Quentin Falk on page 152, and Back Matter
See all 100 books citing this book
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