Reading The Hunchback of Norte-Dame was a nightmare for me. I don't mind trudging through a certain degree of detail, but The Hunchback contained well beyond a reasonable amount of description.

The book starts out with a play no one is watching. We return to what is going on with the play again and again which distracts from the excitement of the crowd. We are then provided with an entire chapter describing Notre-Dame. Quickly followed by a longer chapter about Paris that doesn't pertain to the story any further than its being the setting. A few more chapters of story and then another description only chapter, this time about architecture and other forms of art. The description is overkill and is so dull and tiring I could barely force myself to finish the book.

Victor Hugo addressed the reader many times, like many writers of the time did. This "breaking the fourth wall" is something I personally dislike. It reminds me that I am reading a story, thus pulling me out of totally submersion. Or at least it would have if I had been able to keep my eyes open longer than a few pages at a time. At one point, Hugo writes "Our reader must excuse us" before taking us on another descriptive tangent.

I'm sorry, Mr. Hugo, but you're not excused. Every once in a while, when he focused on the actual plot, the book was interesting. Unfortunately a large majority of the book was a cross between a guide book and a text book. Why is The Hunchback of Notre-Dame a classic? Only because it's old? I don't see the appeal. ( )

14. Notre-Dame de Paris (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)—Victor Hugo

I was very impressed by Notre-Dame de Paris, and Victor Hugo managed to win me over even in the area where I doubted him the most: his emphasis on the importance of medieval architecture and its preservation, and his use of long chapters of the book to both describe Paris and develop his argument that what had been done to the city in the centuries after the events of his book was a travesty and a damn shame. I was afraid that I would get bogged down in the language (I’m relatively new to French) and that I’d get bored, wanting to get back to the story. In truth, I thought his eventual thesis, “Ceci tuera cela,” this will kill that, or, the printing press will kill architecture, was remarkable. I never thought about works of architecture as works of art in the same way as, say, a poem or a painting. Hugo says that the great architectural landmarks of antiquity all the way up to the invention of the printing press were, at heart, poems, written in the most durable language that mankind had at its disposal, with stones being the building blocks of expression instead of words. With the printing press and mass production of books, though, the written word took on a more immortal aspect in the minds of men, and because artists could now imagine the lasting presence of their works in the world, suddenly a book was able to make as lasting and far-reaching of a statement as a building or monument.

Hugo’s argument obviously goes far beyond what I can express in a paragraph of explanations, but I liked it both as a different way to look at art and architecture and as a justification for his book, one that made me understand both why he wrote it and why I was reading it nearly 200 years later. His choice of the cathedral of Notre Dame as the protagonist in an expansive novel such as Notre-Dame de Paris, considering that the cathedral was crumbling and in disrepair as he wrote this book, seems to be his attempt to preserve the beauty and inspiration he found in an architectural work of art by immortalizing it in a written work. I wonder whether he imagined that his book would lead to the renovation of the church and to works of historical preservation throughout Paris, or whether he was trying to leave a record of the grandeur of an edifice that he believed to be on the verge of disappearing from the city. I can’t imagine he would think that, in 2010, the church that we see when we visit Paris is in better shape than the one he is so fervently converting into literature. I think that his book is a good companion to the church, and if I am ever fortunate enough to go to Paris again, I’ll look at Notre Dame in a new and more familiar light.

As far as the story, it surprised me. I’ve never seen the Disney movie, but I think I was imagining the book to be something like I imagine the movie. In truth, no single character plays nearly as large of a role in the book as the church and the city of Paris. I think this is a good thing, because I was afraid I would get bored of Esmeralda, Quasimodo, Pierre Gringoire, Claude Frollo and all the rest, but I never did. I don’t think that any single character is particularly well-developed, and Esmeralda especially stood out as a character with no real substance, just a body for things to happen to over the course of the story. But, due to the fact that the focus was constantly shifting from person to person, without ever really settling on one character, I was entertained and encouraged to keep reading. A character (Pierre Gringoire, for example) would have a chapter or two devoted to him, and then float out of the book for the next 150 pages. By the time he came back, I was happy enough to see him, even though I didn’t really care that much about him in the first place. I wouldn’t have expected the author to shift away from the rising action at the cathedral to devote a 40-page chapter to the king of France, right at the climax of the book, but it worked in the context of the book. I think that the sequencing of the book was excellent, and was one of the reasons I found it so readable and enjoyable.

I also really enjoyed the ending of the book. It was not what I was expecting, and I thought it was a great way to finish the story. Notre-Dame de Paris was one of my first “big” reads of the year, and I’m happy to have completed it. I wonder if I would like it as much in English. Part of what I enjoyed was the new vocabulary and the new language, and the satisfaction of reading and completing a classic in its original language. I didn’t think the story was amazing, although I appreciated the author’s motivation for writing it. I think I would recommend it to friends who really enjoy reading, but for someone who reads just a few dozen books a year it might be too long and not really worth all the effort. ( )

I reallly liked this book, despite the fact that the ending was so sad, and completley not what I expected or wanted to happen. I loved the Disney version of it, but I knew that the book would not end like the movie. The writing was well written, and the story pulled me in. I liked Quasimodo. He was made to be a repulsive creature that no one could love, but he was kind of endearing. He just wanted to love and be loved by someone. Esmeralda was kind and beautiful, but kind of stupid. All she could think about was Pheobus, who didn't even love her back. Pheobus was a ladies man, and basically didn't care about anything.
All in all, the book was very good. I just didn't like the ending. The only good thing was Pierre saved Djali ( )

A hunchback, a gypsy, a mad priest. A church and a scaffold. Paris is not exactly the city of lights. Peopled by colourful characters, depraved creatures, hopeless beings, the architecture of the city, however, is a sight to behold. And the church of Notre Dame is the most magnificent of all.

I enjoyed very much Hugo's writing, including the digressions on the evolution of architecture as a form of “writing” and immortality, as well as the portrayal of the center of the city, street by street. I didn't enjoy the story very much, though – it was carrying martyrdom too far. The priest was vile, the soldier petty, and Esmeralda not just cloying but downright foolish, too. Quasimodo, however, made up for all that – pity he didn't live a happier life.

Though it doesn't hold a candle to Les Mis, I'm still glad to have read this, as I greatly admire Hugo's ability to paint images with words. ( )

Un chef d'œuvre, ni plus, ni moins. ( )