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dreammapsLast year I read Anthony Hope's 1894 adventure novel, The Prisoner of Zenda. I have not read much in the way of classic adventure fiction - I once started reading The Count of Monte Cristo, only to discover I was reading an abridged version and the original was 1300 pages long, so nope.
Happily, Zenda is much shorter, and as I am currently working on a writing project set in a fictionalized Central Europe (which may or may not see the light of day), I wanted to take a gander at the original Ruritanian romance.
Reviewers often use the phrase "cinematic" to describe high-concept stories with with choreographed action sequences, stock characters, and a loosey-goosey approach to plot. This 1894 classic is a reminder that such storytelling elements predated, and presumably shaped, cinema.
Zenda is an absolutely stupid novel, but in a good way. Hope leans the heck into his premise of an English flâneur* with royal blood who blunders into a Central European dynastic squabble and ends up impersonating the young King for Reasons (they are definitely identical, no one can tell them apart at all, after all the King just shaved his beard and who even knew what he looked like under there). Many implausible hijinks ensue, but we roll with it, because this book is undeniably a compelling read.
It is is a little less high-octane than I expected, perhaps because of its publication date. Our hero is passive at key moments. The ostensible villain is mostly off-screen, so he hardly ever gets to twirl his mustache at us. Still, the author excels at getting into the psychology of his (cartoonish) heroes and their internal struggles—DUTY versus DESIRE, as exemplified by the choice between serving the imprisoned King and following their own hearts. The romance arc is mostly hollow but there are some beautifully maudlin moments near the end. None of it has any nuance, but it is done well and with a lighter touch than might be expected.
Anthony Hope does not seem to believe that women are people. If I had the book in front of me I would quote some a few of the choicer passages, but instead I will leave the reader the pleasure of discovering them. The author is particularly fond of making off the cuff generalizations about women that he delivers with an avuncular air. Generally I am skeptical about claims that media portrayals cause sexism—more often I think they reinforce the sexism that's already there—but I 100% believe that some dumbass teenager in 1900 was shitty to his girlfriend because Anthony Hope wrote a book.
The politics of Zenda are equally unpleasant. Only an Englishman in 1894 could have written this novel. The project of the book is fascinatingly ambivalent, equally a send-up of pre-modern, divine-right Habsburg politics and a portrait of a duty-bound Brit who is nevertheless willing to sacrifice his life to restore the Rightful King to his throne, mostly out of a sense of schoolboy decency.
When read in light of the events of 1914 and afterward, it is an appalling book. Anthony Hope portrays the contradictions inherent in turn-of-the-century European politics, but he does not reckon with them. The novel's resolution is a return to the political status quo. Even by the standards of light adventure fiction, Hope is profoundly uninterested in his setting or in the concerns of ordinary people. The battle for the crown is a battle without stakes. If the "Ruritanian romance" has a legacy, maybe it is one of inventing unreal landscapes for solipsistic heroes to play at war.
That said, if anyone has written a Ruritania novel set during the First or Second World Wars I would read the hell out of it.
Now that I've ripped this poor book to shreds - should you read it? Absolutely, if you like old-fashioned adventure yarns or are interested in it as a social document. I may even read the other books Hope wrote in this setting, because it's a fun little novel and I want badly to believe that the worldbuilding gets more interesting.
*It's in my contract - when the word "flâneur" can be used, it must be used.
Happily, Zenda is much shorter, and as I am currently working on a writing project set in a fictionalized Central Europe (which may or may not see the light of day), I wanted to take a gander at the original Ruritanian romance.
Reviewers often use the phrase "cinematic" to describe high-concept stories with with choreographed action sequences, stock characters, and a loosey-goosey approach to plot. This 1894 classic is a reminder that such storytelling elements predated, and presumably shaped, cinema.
Zenda is an absolutely stupid novel, but in a good way. Hope leans the heck into his premise of an English flâneur* with royal blood who blunders into a Central European dynastic squabble and ends up impersonating the young King for Reasons (they are definitely identical, no one can tell them apart at all, after all the King just shaved his beard and who even knew what he looked like under there). Many implausible hijinks ensue, but we roll with it, because this book is undeniably a compelling read.
It is is a little less high-octane than I expected, perhaps because of its publication date. Our hero is passive at key moments. The ostensible villain is mostly off-screen, so he hardly ever gets to twirl his mustache at us. Still, the author excels at getting into the psychology of his (cartoonish) heroes and their internal struggles—DUTY versus DESIRE, as exemplified by the choice between serving the imprisoned King and following their own hearts. The romance arc is mostly hollow but there are some beautifully maudlin moments near the end. None of it has any nuance, but it is done well and with a lighter touch than might be expected.
Anthony Hope does not seem to believe that women are people. If I had the book in front of me I would quote some a few of the choicer passages, but instead I will leave the reader the pleasure of discovering them. The author is particularly fond of making off the cuff generalizations about women that he delivers with an avuncular air. Generally I am skeptical about claims that media portrayals cause sexism—more often I think they reinforce the sexism that's already there—but I 100% believe that some dumbass teenager in 1900 was shitty to his girlfriend because Anthony Hope wrote a book.
The politics of Zenda are equally unpleasant. Only an Englishman in 1894 could have written this novel. The project of the book is fascinatingly ambivalent, equally a send-up of pre-modern, divine-right Habsburg politics and a portrait of a duty-bound Brit who is nevertheless willing to sacrifice his life to restore the Rightful King to his throne, mostly out of a sense of schoolboy decency.
When read in light of the events of 1914 and afterward, it is an appalling book. Anthony Hope portrays the contradictions inherent in turn-of-the-century European politics, but he does not reckon with them. The novel's resolution is a return to the political status quo. Even by the standards of light adventure fiction, Hope is profoundly uninterested in his setting or in the concerns of ordinary people. The battle for the crown is a battle without stakes. If the "Ruritanian romance" has a legacy, maybe it is one of inventing unreal landscapes for solipsistic heroes to play at war.
That said, if anyone has written a Ruritania novel set during the First or Second World Wars I would read the hell out of it.
Now that I've ripped this poor book to shreds - should you read it? Absolutely, if you like old-fashioned adventure yarns or are interested in it as a social document. I may even read the other books Hope wrote in this setting, because it's a fun little novel and I want badly to believe that the worldbuilding gets more interesting.
*It's in my contract - when the word "flâneur" can be used, it must be used.
