The Waffle Iron

I Recommend...

I have an idiosyncrasy, a strange fascination for frivolous humour. I see humour in the platypus' bill, the wriggling, severed tail of the house-lizard, the polyp-shaped suckers of the octopus, the irregular stripes of the zebra, the plumage in the hats (or so I recall), placed atop the heads of florid-faced, roaring fifteenth century warriors and dukes, the illustrations in Russian folk-tale books, the wag in the silly, hairless tails of mottled puppies, the monotony of red polka dots, the costumes of the pantomime and the antics of all those unparalleled comedians & their slapstick (that we LOVED as children). (Well, you know, there are many MORE such inanities that can leave me squealing with joy, however, I do not want to take credit for writing the longest ever sentence that my patrons will have read so far; and neither do I want to abuse the comma or traumatise punctuation freaks) And so, that explains my delight at finding this terrific book that tickled me and sent me into paroxysms of laughter, every page (if that be allowed as a quantum of my literary progress) of the way. I wonder (oh, and by the way, this happens to be one of my favouritest words as well as pastime. Wonderous Wonder!!) how many times an unabridged G. K. Chesterton has been discovered and devoured with such glee. I shouldn't forget to attribute this serendipitous opportunity to my room-mate who's had this book with her for seven years now (after winning it for a 'Proficieny' Prize.. whatever that means!!), and didn't know such a treasure even existed. :P

Now, coming to the book, it's called "Napoleon of Notting Hill". That's ironic, considering that my last book was an epic about Napoleon's exploits in grand, old Russia. This one ain't Bonaparte though.. Well, anyway... think of an age hundred years from now. What would it be like? Cars are faster, and maybe they'll even fly (yeah Hollywood-SF ishtyle). Your maid isn't the same sari-clad lady with the high-pitched voice wearing two-dozen green bangles on both hands, but a poker-faced android who's got contraption for flesh and blood. The night sky isn't studded with millions of stars, but with UFOs and SUVs and what-nots. Your clothes carry sensors that inject tranquilliser when you start getting hyper-emotional (Federal Policy, like the Yanks say). You think so, eh? Well, NO!! That's not what it'll be like, you see... Cuz "it's the old that startles and fascinates".

Think of just how much more fun it'd be if we were ruled by a king. Our kingdom has colourful banners and a blazing coat of arms. Not those dreary bombs and rattling rifles and nuclear weapons to fight with; but real, shining swords set in carved scabbards, armour-clad knights mounted on strong horses. This is precisely what is MY fantasy. It's not grey, dull streets that I want. It's thoroughfares, flagrant with colour and lamps set alight with fanatic patriotism that I dream about. If there's anything that underlines the mediocrity of our times, it's APATHY. There's resignation in everyone's heart, and indifference in everybody's dealings. And, if I were given this miraculous chance to change the world with the sleight of my hand (or a little more than that), I'd paint the whole world with Passion (I hope that wasn't put too indelicately). Passion that kindled the fire in the eyes of our ancestors hundreds and thousands of years ago. And this is what King Auberon Quin, the hero of our 'Napoleon' (Adam Wayne) ventures to do. In a time when people have lost complete faith in democracy, and a bunch of wide girth-ed, quibbling parliamentarians are better substituted by a monarch, Auberon is chosen from a list of citizens of London. And so, our man of crazy whims and stupid humour becomes King. Notice the protagonist's name: Auberon. It reminded me of Oberon in that wonderful Shakepearean drama, 'Midsummer Night's Dream'. The King of Fairies!! What follows is "midsummer madness".

Our Napoleon, Adam Wayne, is made Provost of Notting Hill (oh, I know you're thinking of Julia Roberts, he he!! But, Notting Hill is just that inconsequential mound where inconsequential people live in inconsequential harmony. To add a little trivia - Notting Hill is just a variation of 'Nothing Ill'). Now, Wayne takes Auberon's large-scale joke a little too seriously, and is ready to spill blood and break bones to defend Notting Hill. He wears his red uniform and carries his borough's emblem with the pride of old. And so, the dull streets of London are set aflame with the colours of Wayne's army and the fire of his enemies' fury. Wars are fought not on open fields like in the 1500s, but on streets lined with shops stocked grocery, toys and curiosities. The art of war is redefined, and the passion of patriotism rekindled.

Sigh!! How I wish I lived in those times!!

posted by Cos Θ @ 11:20 AM