The Napoleon of Notting Hill

The Napoleon of Notting Hill is one of the best books you've probably never read. Even for some literature majors and heavy readers, probably; it was never required reading for me. Conservative intellectuals are familiar with it. That's how I heard of it--a reference from paleoconservative critic Thomas Fleming.

Written in 1904, The Napoleon of Notting Hill is a fantasy set in 1984--coincidentally, the same year George Orwell's later novel is set in. In this future England, the Windsor dynasty is gone. There is a monarchy, but it consists of the crown being periodically given to random citizens. The political instability of the world has ended, with there being no wars because all the great powers made treaties with each other and also show more conquered all the remaining small independent nations.

An idealistic and Romantic young man feels distressed at changes planned to his neighborhood (Notting Hill) by the government and local businessmen. Tearing down buildings or other existing structures to build new roads--that sort of thing. But he wants the neighborhood to stay exactly as it is, because it's his home.
Accidentally encouraged by a sudden royal proclamation that all neighborhoods are to display the trappings of medieval England (the new randomly selected king means it to be nothing but a big joke, and expects the citizenry to take it no more seriously than he does), the protagonist convinces some of his fellow Notting Hill residents to take up arms against the march of progress.

At the time, this was the best novel I had read in years. It's the most Romantic (not romantic) novel I've read since Cyrano de Bergerac, but less childish and more philosophical. I felt inspired.

Since this is also the most quotable novel I've read in years, I offer a few of the best quotations, to entice you into reading this masterpiece:

"It is of the new things that men tire--of fashions and proposals and improvements and change. ... It is the old things that are young."

"For you and me, and for all brave men, my brother...there is good wine poured in the inn at the end of the world."

"If we have taken the child's games, and given them the seriousness of a Crusade, if we have drenched your grotesque Dutch garden with the blood of martyrs, we have turned a nursery into a temple. I ask you, in the name of Heaven, who wins?"

The Napoleon of Notting Hill is, in significant ways, the mirror image of Don Quixote. How? Don Quixote is an allegedly insane man who travels out into the world to fight evil, whatever forms it may take. He is driven by, among other things, belief in a heroic past that is probably imaginary, which he read about in books. [Background: DQ, whose real name is Alonso Quixano, is an obsessive reader of heroic fiction about medieval Europe--the chivalric age. Miguel de Cervantes depicts these books as nonsensical, historically inaccurate, and good only for entertainment. Quixano reads too many of them, and eventually "goes mad" as a result. Only then does he become Don Quixote and go questing.]
Adam Wayne (the protagonist of The Napoleon of Notting Hill) is an idealistic but sane man who stays at home to fight a material evil (the plan to tear down part of his neighborhood) that happens to represent the abstract evil of Progress. He is inspired by the societal traditions of medieval England, but unlike DQ, he is neither fighting unspecified evils nor living in the distant past mentally. Wayne is fighting for his immediate neighborhood in the present.

I reread this book on July 6-7, 2011, and was inspired again.

6/1/2013: One aspect of this story has come to disturb me; I became aware of it only after seeing more of G.K. Chesterton's personality and thought in The Everlasting Man.
The Napoleon of Notting Hill reveals a certain arrogance and militant spirit in Chesterton; he is apparently very comfortable with bloody warfare if it's for what he and his protagonists consider a righteous cause. According to what Adam Wayne and his Notting Hill army believe in, they may fight and kill for the right to not have their neighborhood physically altered. It's not that that bothers me; it's the complete lack of sorrow at causing anyone's death whether it was for the cause or not, and more generally, a glib dismissal of pain incurred for one's beliefs. You can see the latter when the ex-president of Nicaragua, which has been conquered by America in the last war, very casually stabs himself with a pin so he can use his own blood to paint the red in a recreation of his lost country's flag.
I saw subtler hints of this attitude in another male traditionalist Catholic thinker--Fleming, who extolled The Napoleon of Notting Hill. show less

This is his 1st Novel, written in 1904 and I heartily enjoyed it.
Set in 1984 in a world where nothing has changed & apathy has set in. A man who believes everything to be a joke is chosen by lottery to become the next king. For his own amusement he turns London into fiefdoms but still nothing changes until one petty ruler takes the idea seriously. I found it humorous and charming but dramatic with the juxtaposition of whimsy and the violence of war. The different ideas are fascinating (the two extremes, political apathy etc...). Plus it’s good for wondering what would happen in a fight in your city.

I stayed up much later than I should have to finish this unexpected little book. The plot was quite good, but more compelling than that was Chesterton's distinct style of writing and the little gems he scatters liberally on every page.

The Napoleon of Notting Hill is Chesterton's first novel and was published in 1904. In this story, he imagines a London eighty years hence (yes, 1984) in which nothing much has really changed. Horse-drawn hansom cabs still cruise the streets and the government has degenerated into a despotic democracy. A man is chosen from a list (just as one is called for jury duty) to be King. It is not a hereditary title, and the function of this King is to be a sort of national secretary. This systems is described as show more a despotic democracy because it is an ordinary man just like any other who is chosen off the list, and so he in his one person embodies the spirit of the masses — and yet he rules with an autocrat's power.

Auberon Quin is one such young man, who is standing on his head in a public garden to mortify his friends when he receives word that he has been chosen as King. Auberon is a "dangerous man" because all he cares for are jokes. As King, he indulges a fancy of dividing London into respective sections and setting up a full medieval state, complete with flowing robes, contingents of halberdiers, and heraldic insignia for the Provosts of each small city. In the first flush of his joke, Auberon happens to meet a young boy in the vicinity of Pump Street, whom he laughingly admonishes to defend his Pump Street to the death.

Ten years later, that young boy is ready to do just that. He is the Provost of Notting Hill, and he opposes a bill that would send a thoroughfare right through Pump Street, the heart of Notting Hill. At first Auberon cannot believe that Wayne is serious, but it soon becomes clear that Wayne is deadly serious. And bloody battle ensues.

This book is full of poignant insights, and one of these that struck me was Chesterton's assertion that the smaller a country is, the prouder and more loyal its subjects will be. He says a young boy playing at kingdoms in the street will be all the prouder of his territory if it is so small it barely has room for his feet to stand. This didn't seem to make sense until I thought it through in terms of national identity. The smaller your national state, the more exclusive it is, the more special it makes you feel to belong to such an elite membership.

In the end, this story is about the superiority of the small and localized over the large and cosmopolitan. And yet Chesterton is not bigoted; the grocer's store is described lovingly as a place where liquorice from the dark heart of Araby, tea from mystic China, and a whole host of other poetic items are brought to the heart of the local.

One thing that my copy's introduction says is problematic for modern readers is Chesterton's alleged glorifcation of violence. As modern readers, we agree with the idea that "small is beautiful," but are not as comfortable with the portrayal of violence as essential to the survival of the small. Chesterton sees things in sharp polarity; the Small must always defend itself against the onrushing tide of the sprawling, monstrous, civilized, monotonous Large.

There is another strong polarity in the book, between the Joker and the Fanatic. Auberon embodies the Joker, to whom nothing matters but the humor of things. Adam Wayne typifies the Fanatic, who has no sense of humor and whose loyalty never falters. Wayne takes everythings too seriously; Auberon is incapable of taking anything seriously. I love the end, where the two are finally one.

It's hard to believe this is Chesterton's first novel. Of course he had been writing essays for some time, but the work has a very masterful feel. He knows exactly what he is doing, and follows his own rules. I'll leave this with a few choice quotes from the book.

The human race, to which so many of my readers belong, has been playing at children's games from the beginning, and will probably do it till the end, which is a nuisance for the few people who grow up.

...humanity as a whole is changeful, mystical, fickle, delightful. Men are men, but Man is a woman.

I want to get my hair cut. I say, do you know a little shop anywhere where they cut your hair properly? I keep on having my hair cut, but it keeps growing again.

I have never been to St. John's Wood. I dare not. I should be afraid of the innumerable night of fir trees, afraid to come upon a blood-red cup and the beating of the wings of the Eagle.

Who is more certainly the stay of the city, the swift chivalrous chemist or the benignant all-providing grocer?

Terribly quiet; that is in two words the spirit of this age, as I have felt it from my cradle. I sometimes wonder how many other people feel the oppression of this union between quietude and terror. I see blank well-ordered streets and men in black moving about inoffensively, sullenly. It goes on day after day, day after day, and nothing happens; but to me it is a dream from which I might wake screaming.

There has never been anything in the world absolutely like Notting Hill. There will never be anything else like it to the crack of doom. I cannot believe but that God loved it as He must surely love anything that is itself and unreplaceable.

...the human being sees no real antagonism between laughter and respect, the human being, the common man, whom mere geniuses like you and me can only worship like a god... You have a halberd and I a sword; let us start our wanderings over the world. For we are its two essentials.

Highly recommended. show less

Futurists fall into two categories: those who predict the collapse of civilization (Wells, Orwell, Atwood), and those who anticipate sunshine and lollipops (Kurzwiel, The Jetsons). Chesterton invented a new category. In 1904, he wrote a novel about a future eight decades later where everything remained the same. The only thing that increased was apathy.

The two main characters in the narrative represented two elements that make the world go 'round: extreme humor and extreme seriousness. Their interplay (especially in the last chapter) is fascinating.

This is one of Chesterton's first novels. It's not as polished as The Man Who Was Thursday or even The Club of Queer Trades. It is still well worth reading. There are quotable lines on almost show more every page that mark this as vintage Chesterton. show less

The Napoleon of Notting Hill is Chesterton's crack at a futuristic tale, even if he cheats. The 1984 London described in his story is much of the same London of the era of its writing in 1904. There are still horse-drawn hansom cabs and a few of the omnibuses make appearances. Men are wearing frock and nice hats. The main change is that the people have quieted down. England has most of the free world in its power, just having officially absorbed Nicaragua. The political structure is a sort of...I'm not sure. The Kings have their power, but they are not elected nor is the throne hereditary. It is described as a sort of 'jury duty' style selection, and when Auberon Quin is chosen, things go haywire.

Quin is a man who fancies himself show more humourous, refusing (if it is indeed a conscious choice) to see anything in a serious light; the world, he believes, is a massive joke. Inasmuch he rules as he sees fit and upon taking a liking of the antics of a young, would-be soldier weilding a wooden sword one night, divides London into old fashioned kingdoms. There are provosts for ruling beneath him. Each has their own colour scheme, symbol and halberdier troupe. Things run as smoothly as can be for several years until some of the provosts, all randomly elected excusing Quin's friend Barker, come up against a brick wall in their efforts to build some road through several of the areas. Provost Wayne of Notting Hill stands against their efforts, choosing instead the love of his home.

This book, as I expected, is an astounding look into a side of humanity that I cannot say I often seek to explore, though I am sure I think on it more than I note. Chesterton shows how, despite what any one person may think at the end of any one day, he or she will very likely end up becoming something that they do not desire or even blatantly dislike. In the world of this book, before Quin stirs things up, the population of London has become complacent. They feel no real attachment or loyalty to their homes, no real 'home-town pride,' and are, in fact, puzzled by the actions of the visiting Nicaraguan president. The man, in the midst of this dull atmosphere, seeks two things. He finds one in a piece of yellow paper he tears from a street sign and the other in his own blood drawn from his hand. They are the colors of his home and his love, even though it is no longer its own country. Such a love is found in the Notting Hill provost as he defends his home against the onslaught of businessmen and politicians.

I cannot speak to much further as I do not wish to give up the ending of such a splendid novel, being a firm proponent of Reading Rainbow (but don't take my word for it) ethics. All I know is that, though there was a fabulous ending before the final chapter, Chesterton added his last chapter. It's a very philosophical conversation between two voices that is fascinating, but I am fairly sure that it went over my head. Still, fantabulous. I will leave you now with a quote from the novel itself (Forgive the lack of inclusive language, but Chesterton wasn't writing for the PC crowd, Politically Correct or Personal Computer...):

'For you and me, and for all brave men, my brother,' said Wayne, in his strange chant, 'there is good wine poured in the inn at the end of the world.' show less

In my opinion, one ofthe greatest fantasy novels ever, and one of GKC's best books, much better than Man Who was Thursday whch many praise. The revolt of local feeling against a universal deadening bureaucracy is wonderfully vivid. It is also both heroic and funny. Adam Wayne is heroic, Auberon Quinn is funny, and together they remake Britain, or at least London, into a gorgeous --yet at times terrifying-- neomedieval culture.

When I was deeply into the process of becoming a “lapsed Catholic,” two of the priests at the University of Notre Dame (where I was a student) recommended two works by Gilbert Keith Chesterton: Heretics and Orthodoxy. While neither was sufficiently compelling to keep me in the fold, I found both books to be stimulating and illuminating. Moreover, Chesterton had a reputation of being witty and clever if not necessarily profound.

Thus I optimistically looked forward to reading the Wordsworth Classics edition of The Napoleon of Notting Hill. Unfortunately, the book itself was quite a disappointment. Part of the problem is that it is quite dated. In addition, it seems to require a detailed understanding of the nuances of different show more neighborhoods of early 20th century London to understand many of the references, puns, and irony. Finally, the story just isn’t that good.

Perhaps old G.K. can be forgiven since this was his first novel. He got better with time, as his Father Brown novels attest. But this one is a hard slog, recommended only for Ph.D. candidates compelled to master his entire oeuvre.

(JAB) show less