Skip to main content

Edwardian Platypus: The Platypus Reads Part XLII



Trying to fill in some literary corners has led me to pick up Athony Hope's "Prisoner of Zenda" and Baroness Orczy's "The Scarlet Pimpernel." Both novels are from the turn of the last century and serve as a nice compliment to other early twentieth century reading from this summer such as "The Ball and the Cross," and "The Worm Ouruboros."

Hope and Orczy's books are both firmly in the adventure fiction genre. Like Edgar Rice-Burrows' "A Princess of Mars," they are first and foremost ripping good yarns intednded to dazzle and entertain. This is not to say that each novel doesn't make a moral point, however. The moral of each can be summed up rather quickly. For Hope it is: "duty before desire." For Orczy, it is "balance passion and reason." Both are good morals, but may seem more than a little quaint or threadbare to the modern reader -and that is precisely why we need to hear them.

C.S. Lewis sums up our need for reading old books best by reminding us that prior ages usually get right some virtue that we neglect while having vices that we, because of our culture and temperment, are unlikely to fall into. In our time, the imperial and aristocratic impulses are flatly out of favor in their traditional forms, but a sense of duty of balance is severly lacking. If you doubt the need for a sense of duty and a sense of balance, just look at the shinanigans that caused all the trouble on Wallstreet. As Hanson (and Lewis) points out, we mock things like duty and moderation at our univerisities and then are shocked when we find the best and brightest in our financial world putting personal gain above national safety.

"The Prisoner of Zenda" and "The Scarlet Pimpernel" are not Milton, nor were they ever meant to be. Their priamry purpose is to provide light entertainemnt. Hope's work has been all but forgotten by the general reader, and Orczy's rellegated to "high school reading." While these may, arguably, be their appropriate places, that doesn't mean that they have nothing to offer the contemporary reader. In our current age of "chronological snobbery" it is good to have the morals of a prior age presented to us plainly and winsomely from time to time.

Comments

Jessica Snell said…
I haven't read Zenda, but I just looked through the Scarlet Pimpernel again a few weeks ago. I meant to just scan it as background for my WIP (which, like S.P., has scenes in Calais), but I ended up reading passage after passage in full, just because I got caught up in the story and the writing. (One of my favorite passages is the description of Percy driving his wife home from the ball - that quiet, starlit drive from London to Richmond; so beautiful.)

I especially enjoyed this entry of yours, Jim, because "entertaining read" is what I'm going for as I write. It's good to be reminded that the entertaining read has a noble (if lesser) tradition, and isn't necessarily devoid of moral good.

"El Dorado" by Orczy is next on my reading list, after I finish "To Trade the Stars." :)
Joi said…
Zenda is such a fun book! I grew up reading a comic-book version of it, then read the original in high school. I absolutely adored it--there's not much to it apart from fun and excitement, but sometimes that's enough.
James said…
Jess,
it also seems like the "entertaining read" is often where the big ideas of culture get broken down into a form that's easy to understand. So a pulp novelist actually plays a key role in disseminating important ideas to the masses. That's a lot of what Sayers, Lewis, and Williams were doing. Or, on the other side of things, Heinlein, Herbert, and Asmov.
James said…
Joi,
I think there's been at least two film adaptations of "Zenda;" I wonder why no one's tried again recently. Then again, maybe that's a good thing. They'd probably butcher the ending.

Popular posts from this blog

The Platypus Reads Part XXVII

Thoughts after reading the "Iliad" to prepare a Greece unit for my students: -Hector is a jerk until he's dead. He even advocates the exposure of Achaean corpses and then has the cheek to turn around and ask Achilles to spare his. He rudely ignores Polydamas' prophecies and fights outside the gate to save his pride knowing full well what it will cost his family and city. After he's dead, he becomes a martyr for the cause. -Agamemnon has several moments of true leadership to balance out his pettiness. In this way, he's a haunting foil to Achilles: the two men are more alike than they want to acknowledge. -We see that Achilles is the better man at the funeral games of Patroclos. His lordliness, tact, and generosity there give us a window into Achilles before his fight with Agamemnon and the death of Patroclos consumed him. -Nestor is a boring, rambling, old man who's better days are far behind him, and yet every Achaean treats him with the upmo...

California's Gods: Strange Platypus(es)

We've noticed lately a strange Californian dialectical twist: there, freeways take the definite article.  In other parts of the country one speaks of I 91 or 45 North.  In California, there's The 5, The 405, The 10.  Each of these freeways has its own quirks, a personality of sorts.  They aren't just stretches of pavement but presences, creatures that necessitate the definite article by their very individuality and uniqueness.  They are the angry gods to be worked, placated, feared, for without them life in California as we know it would cease.  Perhaps that's fitting for a land whose cities are named for saints and angels.  Mary may preside over the new pueblo of our lady of the angels, but the freeways slither like gigantic serpents through the waste places, malevolent spirits not yet trampled under foot.

Seeing Beowulf Through Tolkien: The Platypus Reads Part CXCIX

After spending a few weeks wrestling with Tolkien's interpretation of Beowulf , I found myself sitting down and reading Seamus Heaney's translation of the text during a spare moment.  I came to the place where Beowulf presents Hrothgar with the hilt of the ancient sword that slew Grendel's mother.  Hrothgar looks down at the hilt with its ancient runes and carvings depicting the war between the giants and God and meditates on the fortunes of men.  In a flash of insight, I thought: this is the whole poem! Let me explain.  Tolkien believed that the genuine contribution of the Northern peoples to European culture was the theory of courage.  The Northern heroes, at their best, were men who fought for order against chaos -a battle they knew they were doomed to lose.  If they were true heroes, their souls would join the gods and aid them in the final battle against darkness and its monsters and again go down fighting, spitting in the face of the meaninglessness...