Showing posts with label historic fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label historic fiction. Show all posts

Friday, May 6, 2016

Adventure classics – The softer side of the Neandertals?

Dance of the Tiger
by Björn Kurtén
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I could almost call them the father and mother of Neandertal fiction – Finnish scientist Björn Kurtén's 1978 Dance of the Tiger mating with Jean Auel’s 1980 Clan of the Cave Bear to produce a progeny of stories set in deep prehistory.

Both Kurtén and Auel tell the story of a human child adopted during the great ice ages into a clan of Neandertals, those distant cousins of the rest of us modern humans. Unfortunately, there’s no indication that Kurten and Auel ever met. His book, originally published in Swedish, was only translated into English in the same year Auel’s appeared. You might call it a case of the convergent evolution of literature, except that each writer turns the other’s version on its head.

Auel’s heroine, Ayla, is the light-skinned, blonde and blue-eyed modern human both rescued and in a sense enslaved by darker-skinned Neandertals with a rigidly-defined separation of gender roles. In Kurten’s version, the Neandertals are the Whites, who have evolved elaborate nonviolent rituals to defuse aggression in their society and modern humans, the Blacks, who show the signs of their more recent migration out of the African heartland in their dark skin and black hair. And it’s these modern humans whose sexes follow culturally-determined gender roles.

It’s a bit scary to think that the popularity of Auel’s version of prehistory may hinge on a more conventionally photogenic protagonist.

And although writing before the decoding of either human or Neandertal genomes could confirm its truth, both authors agree on one aspect of the meeting between modern humans and Neandertals: they definitely practiced interspecies sex. (Which is, come to think of it, one of our modern criteria for determining whether somebody else is, well, human.)

In Dance of the Tiger's version, the meeting between the two versions of humanity takes place in his native Scandinavia during an interglacial warm period between 40,000 and 25,000 years ago. As evolutionary biologist Stephen Jay Gould wrote in his introduction to the English edition of Dance of the Tiger, this epoch included “one of the most momentous and mysterious events of human prehistory. . . the rapid replacement of Neandertal man in Western Europe by humans of modern aspect.”

During a mammoth hunt, young Tiger becomes separated from his band of hunters as invading warriors ambush them. In the melee, Tiger’s father is killed and the boy himself is left for dead, only to be discovered and nursed back to life by a passing band of Neandertals, the beings his people call Trolls.

“Short and white and beardless,” as Tiger’s father describes them, “in broad daylight the Trolls seemed to be inferior beings, comical sometimes, or faintly sinister, making odd gestures with their hands about their faces and jabbering in a weird tongue utterly unlike human speech. Yet at night, the sight of these stumpy figures with their large pale faces and hooded eyes seemed . . . to bear a menace of secret witchcraft, of deep cunning, perhaps even wisdom, of a kind denied to Men.”

These creatures, these Trolls, become the beings among whom Tiger grows to manhood, learning their language and at last falling in love with Veyde, the daughter of their matriarchal leader.
Still, he longs to avenge his father, killed by bandits headed by a powerful shaman called Shelk. When Veyde’s tribe is attacked and captured by Shelk’s fighters while Tiger is away on a seal hunt, he tracks the bandits to their camp, determined to free the people he now considers his own and kill the bandits’ murderous leader.

(Next Friday, Adventure classics continues a May of historical fiction with Björn Kurtén’s prehistoric clash of civilizations, Dance of the Tiger. And by the way, which is the correct name, Neandertal or Neanderthal?)

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Adventure classics -- The world’s last lovely afternoon


The Man from St. Petersburg

by Ken Follett


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The afternoon of the first of May, 1914, is a lovely time at the Norfolk country house of Earl Walden and his beautiful Russian wife, Lydia. Until a motor car, still fairly rare on Walden’s estate “turned into the gravel forecourt and came to a noisy, shuddering halt. . . A short man in a black coat and black felt hat stepped down from the car.

“‘It’s Winston Churchill,’” he said.

“Lydia said: ‘How embarrassing.’”

Against this background, Ken Follett sets his 1982 bestselling thriller, The Man From St. Petersburg.

On that lovely May afternoon, Walden and his wife can’t begin to imagine how much embarrassment Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty, will cause them. Churchill’s cause will tear Walden’s and Lydia’s marriage apart and nearly cost them the life and love of their only child, Charlotte. They can’t know any of that, any more than they know that within a few months Europe will be engulfed in the most horrific war their world had ever known.

They can’t know any of that, any more than they can know that a middle-aged itinerant revolutionary named Feliks Kschessensky is on his way to destroy them. (Or that Follett can know neither his book’s characters nor readers will be able to pronounce “Kschessensky,” derived from the family name of the ballerina who had been the mistress of the last czar of Russia.)

Churchill’s request is for Walden to negotiate a secret military alliance between the British government and Russia. The agent from Russia is a nephew both of Lady Walden and the czar, young Prince Aleksey Andreyevich Orlov. “He is one of the few people other than Rasputin whom the Czar likes and trusts,” Churchill assures Walden. And “you were the Czar’s choice. It seems you are the only Englishman in whom he as any faith.”

The alliance, Churchill, Walden and Orlov hope, will protect Britain in the event the war-mongering German Kaiser decides to attack. Feliks (to use the name everybody else in the book calls him) hopes to prevent the alliance, which he fears will draw his Russian countrymen into a devastating war.

Follett had broken into the bestseller ranks a few years before The Man From St. Petersburg with two World War II-era thrillers, The Eye of the Needle and The Key to Rebecca. His thoughts, he writes, then naturally turned to a novel set in World War I. So he decided to write a pre-World War I Edwardian-type thriller with plenty of romantic interest. I’ll admit a twinge of disappointment that young Prince Aleks and the Waldens’ daughter Charlotte didn’t fall for each other. But it was only a twinge, with Feliks emerging as the bad guy with a heart of gold, smoldering over what he believes was betrayal by the love of his life, Lydia. And as the plot twists toward its dramatic and bittersweet ending.

Some readers may wonder why anyone would think a secret alliance would protect either Great Britain or Russia. After all, weren’t all the major European nations of the early twentieth century already entangled in well-known alliances whose only real effect was to draw even more participants into the horrific struggle? For the rest of us, the stardust of the requited and unrequited love the Feliks and the entire Walden family leaves us reading happily if tearfully, to the end.

Follett writes in more detail about his works and life at
http://ken-follett.com/.

And for a view of how a bestselling thriller actually gets written, see Writing the Blockbuster Novel, by Follett’s agent and friend, Al Zuckerman, in which Follett is brave enough to reveal some of his early drafts of the book.

(Next Wednesday, Adventure classics continues a March of thrillers and suspense with Ruth Rendell’s The Tree of Hands.)