Going native?

Let’s go into the wild. Now, what do we do? Do we colonise the whole bunch of inferior beings we are bound to find there? Do we go native (knowing that it will be quite hard to face our fellow Englishmen if we dare go back)? Well, let us see how a well-known British author dealt with that very question, namely H. Rider Haggard in his King Solomon’s Mines (1885).

Haggard supposedly deals with the search for the legendary mines of King Solomon (hence the aptly found title, but I am sure you have noticed that) in the heart of colonial Africa. Therefore, any reader would be waiting for great landscapes representative of the wildness to which the protagonists are confronted during their journey. And readers do find such landscapes. As Umbopa puts it:

“There is a strange land there, a land of witchcraft and beautiful things; a land of brave people and of trees and streams and white mountains and of a great white road…”

Well, if you read Haggard’s novel carefully, you realise that this description is in fact fraught with hints of the latent racism that was so common in Victorian Britain. For instance, “brave” might be a direct echo of the description of a Zulu’s voluntary death during an elephant hunt (those of you who have read my last threads on the Internet will think that I am getting old and that I have started repeating myself unduly, but please bear with it for a while):

We gave a gasp, for we knew he must die [he is being charged by an elephant and seems doomed], and ran as hard as we could towards him. In three seconds it had ended, but not as we thought. Khiva, the Zulu boy, had seen his master fall, and brave lad that he was, had flung his assegai straight into the elephant’s face. It stuck in his trunk.

With a scream of pain the brute seized the poor Zulu, hurled him to the earth, and, placing his huge foot on to his body about the middle, twined his trunk round his upper part and tore him in two.

Such condescension renders the passage hard to swallow for a modern reader. You can but see the latent racism, or at least, feeling of superiority, that characterised the Victorian era and its colonial novels. Here, hunting is the privilege of Westerners, something damn civilised, and the natives are there to make sure they are safe at the end of a day they spent destroying their country’s nature and fauna. Well, the devoted boy did end up in bits and pieces at the end of the incident. So the “brave” bit might be a good example of Haggard’s condescension. It is only normal for a Zulu to save his White master and to give his life for a man whose existence, after all, is much more valuable to the author and to the readers. He is an Englishman!

Another hint of this racism is the fact that the mountains, and the road, are white. Well, the mountains might be snowy, and that how it is. But the road being white is actually more interesting. This very road is in fact the only reminder of civilisation in the wilderness of the land they are desperately trying to reach at the beginning of the novel. So, let us see: white and civilisation. White because it is civilised? Civilised because it is white? Well, I might be out on a limb here, but to draw a parallel at this point is tempting. All the more so as the “hero”, if he might be called that, Alan Quartermain, advocated a strange conception of nature:

For to my mind, however beautiful a view may be, it requires the presence of man to make it complete, but perhaps that is because I have lived so much in the wilderness, and therefore know the value of civilisation, though, to be sure, it drives away the game. The Garden of Eden, no doubt, was fair before man was, but I always think it must have been fairer when Eve was walking about it.

Is it not a romantic idealisation of the importance of man? One has to bear in mind the fact that the Victorians were the champions of the destruction of nature. Many painters, exegetes, and even writers, underlined this fact. Just go to the Tate Britain Museum and have a look at The Last Day of His Wrath… It is pretty obvious that a Victorian city is collapsing under its own weight.

Back to my point. The underlying argument, in Haggard’s page-turner, is that man should never go native, should never be one with nature. In fact, indigenes are not real men, because they do not amplify nature with culture in Africa. Going native would be a shame. No, let me qualify that: it would be shameful.

From the April 27th, 2009 issue of Disharmonies.

Really? Hamlet in Italy... That's weird, isn’t it?

“Dumbarton Rock, Castle, Lime Kiln And The Clyde”

John Stoddart, Sceneries & Manners In Scotland (1800)

Remember, remember… Hamlet, written by dear old Shakespeare. What was the real title again? Ah, yes, of course: The Tragical History of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark for the 1603 edition. (Replace “tragical history” by “tragedy” for the 1623 version. But it really is the same… The point is that the story takes place in Denmark. But I am sure you knew that already…) So, we are looking at a gloomy castle where ghosts are very likely to appear, especially when a king has been shockingly murder by his nagging wife and her fat lover. That would be a great setting for a ghost story, I think. But Shakespeare decided to write one of the greatest tragedies ever written by men. How sad…

Now, let us read a (not so) great novel by dear old Horace Walpole, a novel aptly entitled The Castle of Otranto. Of course, the story is set in Italy, under the overwhelming sun of the province of Lecce… And ghosts appear anyway! But that is beside the point right now… The point is that they do appear. But they do not simply appear like any other ghost. They appear as if you were at Globe Theatre! Well, Walpole did admit he had some specific sources: “That great master of nature, Shakespeare, was the model I copied.” Hell yeah! He completely plagiarised one of Shakespeare’s greatest plays! (That’s Hamlet, fore those of you who are already half asleep.) This can easily be proven. Maybe too easily…

“Lead on! cried Manfred; I will follow thee to the gulph of perdition.” Okay, that is a line from The Castle of Otranto. Now, just let me quote two passages directly and outrageously taken from Hamlet… Hamlet, to his father’s ghost: “Go on, I’ll follow thee!” (1623: I. 4. 61). Now, Horatio’s warning: “What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord? | Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff…” (1623: I. 4. 48-9).

Really, is the similarity not troubling? Not yet? Okay, let us continue, then. The Castle of Otranto, first: “If they are spirits in pain, we may ease their suffering by questioning them.” Now, from Hamlet, Horatio almost singing for the ghost: “Speak to me. | If there be any good thing to be done, | That may to thee do ease and grace to me, | Speak to me.” (I. 1. 110-3). Well… Those extracts also look alike, do they not?

So really, if you follow my point, Manfred was in fact Hamlet’s middle name. And Shakespeare was completely wrong: Hamlet was no prince of Denmark. He was the proud Prince of Otranto. Okay, I might be pushing a little there, but still…

(Walpole also took bits and pieces from Romeo and Juliet but that is much less funny since the scene takes place in Italy. That would not support my argument in the least… He also wrote Macbeth anew, knowing that Italy and Scotland are definitely the same place.)

If you consider some of the geography depicted by Walpole, you understand that his Italy cannot really be an Italian Italy, if I may so express myself. When one goes deep into a forest to try and find a cave which goes deep into a mountain, I fail to see southern Italy. I would more easily see Denmark… You could almost see the humidity and the mould that crawl down the walls of the said cave and down the trunks of the trees of the said forest at that point of the story. That does not sound very Italian, does it now? Please remember that we are in southern Italy here, with the most beautiful Mediterranean landscapes ever. Apart from pine groves, there are not that many forests around the Mediterranean… And they are not that humid, that’s for sure!

So, all in all, either Walpole or Shakespeare got it all wrong, geographically speaking… Choose the one you like, and it cannot be Shakespeare.

From the March 16th, 2009 issue of Disharmonies.

War!

French 87th Regiment,

during the 1916 Battle of Verdun.

Arthur Conan Doyle did not only write Sherlock Holmes stories. I am sure you all know about The Lost World, probably thanks to Steven Spielberg. But we might be discussing that very novel later on this year. He also wrote what could be called an autobiography, aptly entitled Memories & Adventures. One of the chapters concerns his “Experiences on the Italian Front” during WWI, and I wanted to share his views of Italy with you, my dear readers.

It is war! Italy was in many ways similar to Flanders, as the author points out several times. That is one of the characteristics of war: when bombs fall, the landscapes tend to look strikingly alike… But that is not all. To quote Doyle: “I soon saw, when I was allowed next morning to get to the front, that the conditions were very like those of Flanders in a more genial climate and in all ways less aggravated.” All in all, he states that the weather is sunnier in Italy than in Flanders. So, what else is new?

Well, that there are Italians in Italy, and that they are not Austrians (sic!). Well, to many Englishmen, Italians seemed worst since they did not “make [much of an] impression upon the Austrians”. However, Doyle did not seem to agree with that very thought. According to him, Italians are “kind” (a quality for which warmongers tend to look in a soldier, that’s for sure) and think well of their Hungarian and Austrian opponents (did they really understand war?). They are in fact a dignified people… They are appalled at their opponents’ inhumanity, for if they seem “chivalrous” enough, they tend to send Russian prisoners to their death during battles… That will not own them a Nobel Peace Prize.

All in all, Italians do not appear as very bright people in this passage of Doyle’s memoirs. But you should be careful about his views, generally speaking. I don’t mean to discriminate against lunatics… but when someone thinks they had solved war issues even before they popped up, they should not be trusted… Yeah, apparently, Doyle had military visions! That is new, definitely…

For The Literature of Disharmony,

written on February 25th, 2009.

Why the hell are Gothic novels so often set in Italy?

“John Dee and Edmund Kelly evoking a spirit”

From The Astrologer of the Nineteenth Century.

Illustration by Ebenezer Sibley (c. 1825).

I do not know about you, but I would more easily imagine ghost stories taking place in a gloomy German castle… Do you remember Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? Do you remember this castle in Austria? (I think it was Austria…) Well, a bit like that. But many 18th-century novelists, Walpole en tête, chose Italy as the place in which the action unfolds. That does not make any sense…

E. J. Clery, in his edition of The Castle of Otranto, states that:

Walpole set the trend for locating ‘Gothic’ fiction in Italy, rather than in the northern parts of Europe native to the Goths. In the eighteenth century, Italy was the Mecca of classical culture, the highlight of the Grand Tour of the Continent made by many young gentlemen (including Walpole) in order to complete their education. The frequent use of southern European settings in Gothic fiction is generally attributed to a mixture of Protestant prejudice and a stereotyped notion of strong Mediterranean passions.

Talk about prejudice! I strongly disagree with this idea according to which Italy would be more prone to be the setting for a strange, and often fantastic, story. Really, when I think of Italy, I see a beautiful and almost everlasting sunshine, the vast green plains of the Po, the grandiose spectacle of Roman ruins, &c. I do not see ghosts and skeletons surviving such a marvellous weather… Such creatures are often lurking in catacombs, fleeing the divine light of God, one might even say. I know Italians are Catholics and all, but that does not mean that they are more likely to become necromancers, or heretics!

I would not believe in a ghost who would appear right in front of the Piazza San Marco. On the other hand, I would be quite horrified by a ghost appearing in a dark basement on a stormy night when the electricity is down… I do not know, I mean… I used to live in Marseilles, and I am quite sure a skeleton or any other fantastic creature would be quite out of place walking on the Vieux Port! And it would be bad for business, but that’s another story. I am sorry; it is just not believable. 

Definitely, something is not quite right about this choice…

For The Literature of Disharmony,

written on February 20th, 2009.

There are two kinds of people...

I was going over some Sherlock Holmes short stories when something I had read before sprang to my mind. Have you ever heard of The Devil’s Dictionary? It is a fabulous book, written by Ambrose Bierce, and published in 1911, in which the author pinpoints most of his time’s hypocrisies by redefining common words of the English language. If you are a fan of sarcasm and cynicism, this should be your new Bible.

Well, back to my point. Whilst reading, I thought about his definition of homicide. As he puts it:

HOMICIDE, n. The slaying of one human being by another. There are four kinds of homicide: felonious, excusable, justifiable, and praiseworthy, but it makes no great difference to the person slain whether he fell by one kind or another – the classification is for advantage of the lawyers.

I thought it might be a good idea to try and justify his idea, applied to crimes and not to homicides per se, by referring to some Sherlock Holmes short stories. So, here we are! Yes, that is the subject of today’s article. Please follow my weirdness, at least.

(Oh, yeah, just so you know, this article might contain some spoilers. “Viewer discretion is advised,” as they say... And I did not choose these short stories at random. They are all part of Conan Doyle’s “top ten”, or “top twelve”, rather. You can find that on Wikipedia if you are interested.)

Let us start, shall we?


Felonious: “The Adventure of the Dancing Men” in The Return of Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes examining the drawing.

Illustration by Sidney Paget (1903).

If your life were on the line, would you not like to know? I know I would. Once again, it is the woman’s fault here. She conceals the truth from her loving and soon to be dead husband because the villain turns out to be her lover. But someone already discussed the link between women and fault in our first issue. So I might as well move on before she kicks me…

Hilton Cubitt is blissfully unaware that is fate is almost certainly doomed. He has all the proofs in his hands at one time, as always. But the fact is that it cannot read the messages because they are encrypted in a rather strange way.

“Elsie prepare to meet thy God”

That is exactly why I think this kind of crime is the most felonious of all. Imagine you are sleeping quite peacefully in your bedroom when you are suddenly woken up by an unavoidable urge. You cry: “Little boy’s room! Quick!” When you are free at long last, you hear some noises downstairs. You wonder: “Why, it’s three in the morning, what the hell is going on?” You enter in your office, which is in fact your personal stronghold against the harsh realities of the world, and there it is. You wife secretly meets her former fiancé. Your revolver is drawn out of your pocket by some invisible force, and you hear a loud noise. Another noise. You fall; the light is fading… and so on and so forth.

See? You are dead and you do not even know why. That is indeed very hard to live with! It is in some aspects similar to that reflection by 330th-century (give or take) Arnold Rimmer, from the Red Dwarf TV series:

At least he gets 24 hours notice. All the notice most of us get is “Mind that bus. What bus? Splat!”

Excusable: “The Adventure of the Speckled Band” in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes, Helen Stoner and Watson.

Illustration by Sidney Paget (1892).

Are all crimes that bad? I can but think otherwise. For instance, when you kill the bad guy without even meaning it, I do not think you should feel bad about it. Yeah, yeah... I know: “Thou shalt not kill” and all, but still. He was the bad guy, and he was really bad!

For instance, when our dear friend Sherlock Holmes involuntarily kills Dr. Roylott by leading the snake back to him with his wonderful swing, it is excusable. Well, he has solved the mystery and saved the damsel in distress. Burke would have been pleased: the age of chivalry is not gone! So what is a little crime? Definitely not something to worry about. The great and chivalrous Sherlock Holmes himself admits that he will not feel that bad about it: “I cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience.” I rest my case.

What is not excusable, though, is that Conan Doyle tries to fool the reader. Who has ever heard of a snake called a “swamp adder”? Even more shocking, there are no adders in India! We really are gullible when it comes to detective stories... But that is beside the point, don’t you think?


Justifiable: “The Red-Headed League” in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Watson reading the newspaper to Holmes and Wilson.

Illustration by Sidney Paget (1891).

What is a little bank robbery? Well, it might be nothing when you consider heroes such as Robin Hood. The audience can but love Ocean’s Eleven to Thirteen (the actual thieves, not the films – at least, not necessarily). It is no big deal to steal millions when it is not your money, when rich men are presented as immoral and cruel… or when they are French!

Is it not normal for the average Englishman to try and sap France’s finances? After all, France and England had been at war almost constantly for two centuries. So, boyish John Clay could appear as a hero to many of his fellow countrymen. By trying to steal France’s gold, he was a real patriot. Do not forget the real value of this treasure: “30,000 napoleons”. And we all know Napoleon was not the average Englishman’s best friend.

If I were Clay’s lawyer, I think I would centre my argument on that very point. How could you not find a justification for pillaging France’s resources? But that would be quite hollow in the end. “England has borrowed that money, so they would have to pay anyway,” the prosecutor says at that point. “True,” I add, “but it was all France’s fault to begin with. Mr. Merryweather is in league with the French to try and control England economically. The proof is that Mr. Holmes has been hired by a patriotic redheaded man who wanted France to fall! He even chose not to copy the ‘France’ entry from the Encyclopaedia Britannica! He wanted the robbery to happen!” &c. &c.

Now, is it not a good justification for a little robbery?


Praiseworthy: “The Adventure of the Final Problem” in The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes and Moriarty at Reichenbach Falls.

Illustration by Sidney Paget (1894).

Legend has it that when Conan Doyle killed his famed detective, it was even discussed in Parliament because of the astounding rumpus it had caused in Britain. Be that as it may, one has to remember that the killing of Professor Moriarty was indeed the peak of the career of England’s favourite drug-addict. Holmes himself realised that: “if I could free society of him, I should feel that my own career had reached its summit.”

The late writing of The Valley of Fear proved him right. The “Napoleon of Crime” – that’s Moriarty, for those who did not quite follow my argument – was indeed Holmes’s nemesis. Society had to get rid of him by all means necessary, as Malcolm X would have put it. To quote an even greater philosopher, Mace Windu: “He’s too dangerous to be left alive!” I think there might be another proof of the praiseworthiness of this very homicide.

For those of you who have seen this awful film entitled The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, everything should be clear by now. Moriarty almost destroys Venice and creates a factory to mass-produce villains. Never mind the hordes of evil superheroes… What would lovers do without Venice? It would be the end of the world as we know it! All in all, throwing Moriarty off a cliff really was a good thing to do. And it was self-defence too!

Please wait in line for the collection of your Nobel Peace Prize, Mr. Holmes.

From the February 16th, 2009 issue of Disharmonies.