HEROES AND VILLAINS - Book review

Angela Carter’s novel Heroes and Villains was published in 1969; my paperback copy was published in 1981.

We’re in post-apocalypse territory, where remnants of rational civilisation reside in steel and concrete enclaves, administered by Professors. Beyond are tribes of marauding Barbarians; while in the surrounding jungles, forests and derelict cityscapes roam the mutilated Out People.

Marianne is a Professor’s daughter, somewhat pampered and spoiled. During a raid by Barbarians, she witnesses the murder of her brother and later, perhaps bored with her predictable existence in her white tower, she is content to escape the strict confines of her ‘home’ and join a handsome Barbarian, Jewel. Perhaps she is partly drawn by the mystery of ‘outside’ – ‘Around the edges of the horizon spread the unguessable forest’ (p4).

Gradually she is accepted by Jewel’s people, especially when their leader, the enigmatic ex-Professor Dr Donally takes her under his wing. They’re nomadic but presently staying in some ruins: ‘This house was a gigantic memory of rotten stone, a compilation of innumerable forgotten styles now given some green unity by the devouring web of creeper, fur of moss and fungoid growth of rot’ (p31).

There are several reasons to read a book by Angela Carter; one of them is her lush prose. ‘She looked out of her window and, in autumn, she saw a blazing hill of corn and orchards where the trees creaked with crimson apples; in spring, the fields unfurled like various flags, first brown, then green’ (p1).

Now exposed to the filthy, coarse and brutal reality of the Barbarian tribe, Marianne realises her romantic attraction to the unknown ‘outside’ has evaporated. ‘When I was a little girl, we played at heroes and villains but now I don’t know which is which anymore’ (p125).

Some (mostly literary) writers destroy suspense and tension by telling the reader in a bald sentence or two what is going to happen and then go into detail to show it happening. Carter does this when Marianne attempts to escape the tribe: ‘but Jewel found her, raped her and brought her back with him’ (p52) Then for a number of pages we work up to witnessing that traumatic event...

It is a well realised hell on earth, with very little room for compassion, and there is no happy ending – how could there be?

Doubtless the book would benefit from re-reading. But I felt the ending was rushed.

Even so, I came away feeling that Marianne had persevered through hardship and was made stronger and life of a sort would go on.

THE GREEN ODYSSEY - Book review

Philip José Farmer’s 1957 debut novel The Green Odyssey is a classic space opera of the period. Astronaut Alan Green (‘Greed conquered more frontiers than curiosity’ (p74) is stranded on a primitive unknown planet and after some minor adventures ends up becoming a gigolo of a duchess and when he’s not busy with her he’s married to a beautiful slave woman, Amra. At court he learns about two other stranded astronauts at a distant city; his hope was that he could get them to take him off-planet. Guiltily he fretted about leaving his wife and two children (one of them being his).

He escapes, hiding on a ship. These vessels are on wheels and driven by sail-power across a vast plain of Xurdimur. His family have stowed away onboard too!

Getting to the city that holds the two astronauts prisoner isn’t easy; Green has to contend with mysterious floating islands, cannibals (‘these painted people were cannibals and made no bones about it’ (p84)) and pirates, the latter involving a battle on the plain reminiscent of two galleons at sea exchanging broadsides. It’s quite an odyssey.

Maybe the start is slow, but it soon livens up, and there’s humour along the way too; stick with it. It is possible that Farmer was attempting a pastiche of science fiction adventure of the period. Certainly he uses too many unpronounceable names (it’s as if he hit the typewriter keys at random):  Jugkaxtr and Zaxropatr (p9), Grizquetr (p20), Inzax and Anddonanarga (p21), iquogr and Zaceffucanquanr (p24), Booxotr (p69).

Farmer is quite inventive, however. This earthman ‘carried in his body a surgically implanted protoplasmic entity (Green dubbed it his Vigilante) which automatically analysed any invading microscopic organisms and/or viruses and manufactured antibodies to combat them. It lived in the space created by the removal of his appendix’ (p32) – an updated variant of the human white blood cells. Like cancerous white cells, however, ‘deprived of food, it would survive by living upon Green’s tissue. A Vigilante wasn’t all advantage; it had its dangers’ (p150).

‘Everywhere that space travelling Earthmen had gone, they had found that about every fourth inhabitable planet was populated by men of their species’ (p34) suggesting that mankind had seeded planets but in many instances had reverted to less technological cultures.

Green is sometimes overconfident and not beyond false modesty, but you can’t help but root for him.

The so-called ‘roaming islands’ (p73) are believed to be mythical – but Green and Amra soon find out that they are real – and to my mind reminded me of Philip Reeve’s Mortal Engines books (2001-2006) which feature mobile steampunk cities – and in a neat twist prove their salvation.

FANTOMAS - Book review

The character Fantômas by Marcel Allain and Pierre Souvestre is a twentieth century literary phenomenon. Published in 1911 it spawned thirty-one sequels. Fantômas, a masked man in impeccable evening clothes is amoral and deadly, a scourge of France and elsewhere.

The book’s co-writers produced twenty sequels in four years; then Souvestre died suddenly of Spanish influenza in 1914. Shortly after the war erupted and Allain fought in the trenches, but survived to produce eleven more Fantômas novels (indeed some six hundred novels and many stories and articles) and married his co-writer’s widow. Besides being a successful pulp writer, he was a compulsive driver of the cars he collected; he died in 1969.

This translation (of 1986) is a modernized version of one published in 1915.

At the beginning of the book Fantômas comes to us fully formed, already notorious and feared by rich and poor alike. ‘... very extraordinary that such mysterious characters as Fantômas can exist nowadays. Is it really possible that one man can commit so many crimes, and that any human being could escape discovery...’ (p19)

It would seem so. The Marquise de Langrune is viciously stabbed in her own home while a number of guests were staying there... and the blame seems to rest on him.

Inspector Juve is pressed to drop all his other cases and investigate the murder of the Marquise. He is a master of disguise, which enables him to go places where a detective would be suspicious. Yet, to compound matters, Fantômas is also proficient at concealing his identity and taking upon himself more than one as it suits his purpose. And so the manhunt begins!

In common with most potboilers, the pace quickens and there’s an urge to keep turning the pages.

There are a number of twists – in identity and revelations and the intelligent and persistent Juve nearly gets his man more than once. Yet ultimately, he must fail – as have so many other senior detectives on the trail of fictional villains. The difference here is that there is no Poirot, Holmes or Templar to bring the miscreant to justice.

The final pages of the book are intense and grim, which is to be expected, since the introduction tells us, ‘Fantômas has no redeeming traits; greed and vengeance are his chief motivations...' (p5). Whatever the reason, his appeal still seems strong after so many years.

THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY - Book review

G K Chesterton’s novel The Man Who Was Thursday, subtitled ‘A Nightmare’ was published in 1908. It’s a strange beast, part thriller and part ‘melodramatic moonshine’ as Chesterton called it shortly before he died in 1936. It’s amusing and frustrating and is known to have influenced a number of authors.

Poets Gabriel Syme and Lucian Gregory squabble about the relevance of poetry and the prevailing scourge of anarchism – perhaps influenced by Conrad’s The Secret Agent published a year earlier.

Gregory takes Syme to a secret underground meeting place of anarchists. Here they meet five members of the London branch of the Central Council of New Anarchists – each member is given a codename of a day of the week. There is a vacancy for Thursday: ‘he died through his faith in a hygienic mixture of chalk and water as a substitute for milk, which beverage he regarded as barbaric, and as involving cruelty to the cow’ (p31). Gregory is hoping to be elected as Thursday; however, Syme is appointed instead. The President of the Council is not present; he is called Sunday. Each individual is distinctive with often amusing descriptions.

The attendees are unaware that Syme has been recruited to the New Detective Corps ‘for the frustration of the great conspiracy [anarchy]’ and given a small blue card on which was written ‘The Last Crusade’ (p49).

For much of the book there lingers an air of sinister mystery. ‘The moon was so strong and full, that (by a paradox often to be noticed) it seemed like a weaker sun. It gave, not the sense of bright moonshine, but rather of a dead daylight’ (p49). Sometime later Syme – now Thursday – is to meet the President. ‘Utterly devoid of fear in physical dangers, he was a great deal too sensitive to the smell of spiritual evil. Twice already that night little unmeaning things had peeped out at him almost pruriently, and given him a sense of drawing nearer and nearer to the headquarters of hell’ (p56).

Friday – a very old man, Professor de Worms, was decrepit – ‘in the last dissolution of senile decay (p59). ‘Another hateful fancy crossed Syme’s quivering mind. He could not help thinking that whenever the man moved a leg or arm might fall off’ (p60).

Chesterton has a good descriptive style, and employs telling phrases from time to time. ‘His soul swayed in a vertigo of moral indecision’ (p63). ‘Most of the snow was melted or trampled to mud, but here and there a clot of it still showed grey rather than white in the gloom. The small streets were sloppy and full of pools, which reflected the flaming lamps irregularly, and by accident, like fragments of some other and fallen world’ (p87).

‘The sun on the grass was dry and hot. So in plunging into the wood they had a cool shock of shadow, as of divers who plunge into a dim pool. The inside of the wood was full of shattered sunlight and shaken shadows. They made a sort of shuddering veil, almost recalling the dizziness of a cinematograph... this mere chaos of chiaroscuro (after the daylight outside) seemed to Syme a perfect symbol of the world in which he had been moving for three days...’ (p116/117) Indeed, a Kafkaesque world.

Syme is determined to prevent an anarchist outrage on the Continent and thus is pitted against other members of the Council of Seven Days. This is the best part, the thrill of the chase. There are several twists (which become somewhat laboured and silly) and then there is the ending – an ending signposted by the subtitle, an ending all tyro writers are warned to avoid.

This arguably surreal book has been widely praised – Kingsley Amis said he read it every year – and is categorised as fantasy in more than one respected fantasy encyclopaedia.