She

In reading She, I kept thinking back to those made-for-teevee-movies I watched as a boy in the late seventies. There seemed to be a whole rash of them, these lost world type flicks. More often than not they took place in Victorian times and invariably featured a homogeneous cast: The eccentric yet brilliant professor. The handsome and rugged working-class hero who must save the day. The sassy and independent woman who wants to prove herself equal to the hero though often needing a saving by him. The rogue or fool within the expedition who jeopardizes it but rarely meets bloody death by dinosaur that’s a non-negotiable requirement in 21st century screenwriting. They explored hidden and mysterious jungles – be it in Africa, South America, or, inexplicably, Antarctica – and encountered giant lizards or spiders, cavemen, diamonds and jewels. They escaped by the skins of their teeth and came back to civilization with not a shred of evidence except their own tall tales. Well, maybe they managed to bring back a brontosaur egg or two.

H. Rider Haggard’s She is one of the creators of this whole “lost world” genre. Along with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Haggard strikes me as the English-speaking Jules Verne. Not so much from the subjects of his stories, but his characters. The Victorian adventure story. A time of unbounded optimism, when men of Science believed in their Creator and set out joyfully with their sons or nephews and menservants to discover strange new worlds. When men of leisure and wealth bent their wills towards conquering the unknown. When such a man often blustered and harrumphed over the fact that a woman could be equal to him, yet secretly admired it, though in polite society he could never admit it. I think my little essay on the movie Journey to the Center of the Earth sums this up pretty darn good with tongue planted firmly in cheek.

Simply stated, the story involves an expedition into the mountains off the coast of East Africa, in search of a Queen of a forgotten race. Enticed by mysterious documents opened on the 25th birthday of his adopted son Leo, scientist L. Horace Holly organizes the expedition and brings along his manservant, Job. A squall off the continent results in the loss of their ship; an excursion into the mainland reveals ominous discoveries and carnivorous dangers. Soon the men of the small party finds themselves captives of a strange tribe – not quite African, not quite Egyptian – who refer to their secretive ruler simply as She-who-must-be-obeyed. She turns out to be ancient and possessed of supernatural powers, including the power to kill with a glance. When She becomes enamored with Leo, thinking him the reincarnation of an old lover, She becomes determined to return with him to England, but not until Leo himself has become immortal …

But what surprised me most about this novel – which, similar to my experience with Kim, I found completely enjoyable and absorbing – was how modern it seemed, without all the trappings and excesses of modernism. For instance, the threat She would pose if she ever did leave her secret kingdom is only hinted at, and not explicitly spelled out, and that only in the horror of Holly’s realization. Also, the endgame struck me as restrained yet completely satisfactory; if the book was remade by Hollywood today we’d be treated to a CGI-battle involving myriads of warriors and flying dragons and demons and who knows what else. I enjoy a cerebral ending, especially when it’s least expected. Victorian writing always seemed very wordy and run-on to me, but I found this thoroughly involving and perfectly-poised at the proper moments.

I found a volume of Haggard’s works for eight bucks at a used book store and I consider it money well-spent. The books also contains King Solomon’s Mines and Allan Quartermain. I’ll keep the volume on my shelf behind my writing desk, and will get to both the other stories at some yet-to-be-determined time in the future.