The place, briefly
The square grew from a tollgate: the old Barrière de Clichy in the customs wall, where in 1814 Marshal Moncey improvised the defense of Paris against the allied armies — the fight commemorated by the bronze monument that has anchored the crossing since 1869. When the wall came down the square knitted four arrondissements together at a single carrefour, and the neighborhood filled with the entertainment trades: cafés, music halls, cinemas, the working pleasures of Montmartre's downhill edge.
The Place de Clichy was the landmark for Langston Hughes's first real Paris room. In April 1924 he moved into an attic at 15 rue Nollet nearby: sloping roof, old furniture, a feather bed and a window over the chimney pots. Before Hughes moved on, Alain Locke found him there and invited him to lunch at an unnamed sidewalk restaurant near the square to discuss poems for the special Survey Graphic issue that became The New Negro. Neither The Big Sea nor Hughes's account identifies that restaurant, so it should not be attached to one of today's terraces.
Céline opens Journey to the End of the Night here, in the novel's most famous scene-setting: Ferdinand Bardamu and his friend idling at a café table on the place, talking large about patriotism and the times — until a military band and recruitment parade swing around the square, and Bardamu, carried away by exactly the rhetoric he was mocking, jumps up and follows it to enlist. The whole novel — the war, Africa, America, the slums — falls out of that one impulsive minute at the crossing. No opening in French fiction gets more mileage out of a café chair.
The square never gentrified into a monument of itself: it remains what it was, a working crossroads — brasseries and cinemas around the circling traffic, the Wepler still pouring on the north side, Moncey still defending his barrier in bronze. Sit at a terrace long enough and you can watch the novel's opening re-arm itself daily, minus the band.