The Napoleon of Notting Hill
by Dale Alquist
When Chesterton was going to write his first novel, he had 10 shillings in his
pocket. He went to Fleet Street, got a shave, ordered a large lunch for himself
including a bottle of wine, and then, broke but “fortified,” went to
his publisher, outlined the book he had in mind, and asked for an advance of 20
pounds. The publisher liked it and said he would send the money the following
week.”If you want the book,” said Chesterton, “you will have to
give it me today as I am disappearing to write it.” He got the money (which
he promptly gave to his wife).
The book was The Napoleon of Notting Hill. It was written in 1904. The action of
the story takes place 80 years into the future, or 1984. Ironically, some two
decades after this book was written, Chesterton gave a break to a young writer by
publishing his first essay in G.K.’s Weekly. The writer was Eric Blair,
who, under his pen name of George Orwell, would also write a futuristic novel
which takes place in. . . 1984. Chesterton’s book is not meant to be
futuristic or prophetic, he simply needed a setting removed from his own day, but
not from his own neighborhood. His most accurate prediction is about what would
not happen. People would not change. Democracy would still be a challenge that
most people would not face up to. The most capable
people would refuse to take the responsibility of governing, and
most people in general would regard government not so much with resentment as
with indifference.
In the book, the new king, Auberon Quin, who is appointed by lottery, takes
everything as a joke, including his own kingship. He decrees the reinstatement of
medieval heraldry and requires every neighborhood in London to fly its own
colors. The commercial interests go along with the king’s charade so long
as it doesn’t affect their bottom line, and so long they can profitably
find their way to circumvent silly ideas of local patriotism. But they run into a
problem when the leader of one borough takes the King’s decrees quite
seriously. Adam Wayne carries the colors of his neighborhood, Notting Hill. The
others are perfectly willing to let the young idealist strut around with his
sword. But soon there’s a problem. They want to build a highway through
Notting Hill. Adam Wayne will not allow it. Defending his colors means defending
his neighborhood. Suddenly his sword is no longer a decoration, as he rallies the
local residents to form an army and join him.
A number of surreal battles follow in which Adam Wayne, against all odds, somehow
prevails. (His amazing strength and resourcefulness has led David Doll to suggest
that Adam Wayne is a cousin to Bruce Wayne.) The battles are exciting, but the
blood doesn’t seem real, because even real blood doesn’t seem real.
It is concealed like so many of our secrets. However, the odd characters do seem
real because even real people are preposterous. They are a shock of
delight.
At the climax of one battle, the King – who takes nothing seriously –
finds himself joining forces with Wayne – who takes everything seriously.
Auberon Quin and Adam Wayne ultimately realize that they represent the two lobes
of the brain, the brain of the ploughman. It is the common man who knows how to
fight and how to love, how to laugh and how to die. This is sanity. You cannot
have laughter without love; you cannot have love without laughter. As we stand
with the two men in the breaking morning light at the conclusion of this novel,
as we contemplate with them this sudden truth that satire is fruitless without
faith, and faith is flavorless without satire, something else startles us.
Chesterton has not given us even one female character in this book. Not one. But
in spite of that, he has revealed why mothers laugh at their children, lovers at
their lovers, and wives at their husbands.
