Tuesday, December 12, 2023

BOOK: Evelyn Waugh, "Robbery Under Law"

The Complete Works of Evelyn Waugh. Volume 24: Robbery Under Law. Ed. by Michael G. Brennan. Oxford University Press, 2023. 9780198836391. civ + 212 pp.

Another interesting book by Waugh on a subject that I knew almost nothing about and which I probably wouldn't have read if not for the fact that it appeared in the series of Waugh's collected works that I'm slowly in the process of reading. As an example of my complete ignorance on the subject: I had no idea that Mexico even had an oil industry! It turns out that “[b]y 1914 Mexico was the world's third producer of oil” and by 1920 the second largest after the U.S. (editor's introduction, p. xxx); it was a particularly important supplier of oil to Britain (p. xxviii; which didn't have any oil on its own territory, unlike e.g. the USA and Russia).* Much of Mexico's oil industry had been developed by British capital, especially by an engineer and industrialist named Weetman Pearson. In fact President Díaz, in the late 19th century, had specifically encouraged British investment as a way to counterbalance U.S. influence in the country.

[*Mexican oil was still important for Britain on the eve of the WW2, due to concerns that developments in the Mediterranean might make it impossible for Britain to get oil from the Middle East; p. lxii.]

The Díaz administration was followed by a long period of instability known as the Mexican Revolution — again something of which I had been only very vaguely aware. Eventually, in 1938, President Cárdenas nationalized the oil industry, including Pearson's “Mexican Eagle Company”. This had been in the the hands of the late founder's son, Clive Pearson; and this is where Waugh comes into the picture: he signed a contract with Pearson to write and publish a book about Mexico. Pearson paid him £1500 plus travel expenses for Waugh and his wife, in return for which Waugh had to let him see the manuscript before publication and to keep the whole arrangement a secret. The whole contract is published in this book in the editor's introduction (pp. xxxii–iii). It is not known whether Pearson actually requested any changes to Waugh's manuscript before publication (p. xlviii).

So, some people have a sugar daddy, but Waugh had an oil uncle :D I don't know whether to laugh or cry; I was mostly just shaking my head in disbelief. It's one thing when Waugh contrived to get himself appointed as a foreign correspondent so he could travel to Abyssinia; it's easy to smile indulgently when he wangles free passage on a cruise ship in exchange for mentioning the company favourably in his book about Africa; but a secret contract with an oil baron? Really?...

At least one has to admit that Waugh regarded his prostitution with good humour. He jokingly refers to Pearson as “Uncle Clive” in his letters to his agent (pp. xxxviii–ix, xli, xliv–v), and describes his book self-deprecatingly as “[l]ike an interminable Times leader of 1880. People will say well Waugh is done for, it is marriage and living in the country has done it” (p. xliv). And he may have been a whore, but at least he wasn't a cheap whore; we see him trying to use Uncle Clive's travel insurance to pay for the cost of his wife's appendicitis operation several months after their return from Mexico :] (p. xxxix; admittedly her problems had already begun while in Mexico).

And one also has to admit that Waugh probably didn't have to betray any of his principles for the sake of this book and of Uncle Clive's oil money. His existing beliefs and commitments — zealously Catholic by religion, politically conservative with a deep dislike of meddling governments and complete distrust in their schemes to improve people's lives — were quite enough to ensure that he disliked the Cárdenas government (and its predecessors) and nearly all of its policies, and that any book that he might have written about contemporary Mexico would have been be no less favourable to British oil interests than Pearson would have wished. Probably the main effect of Pearson's oil money was not on the content of Waugh's book but on the fact that it got written at all — otherwise Waugh wouldn't have travelled to Mexico and wouldn't have written a book about it.

Waugh also tried to get some material from this book published in American magazines, but with very little success (“too much from the British angle”; see p. xliii for a list of magazines that rejected him).

The editor's introduction in the present volume has a long section about reviews of Robbery Under Law in the press. It was widely reviewed but for the most part not very favourably; Waugh was said to have “failed to communicate much beyond his own anger [. . .] the book was veiled ‘in sad clouds of disgust’ ” (p. lxxi); Waugh “glories in his misconceptions” (p. lxxxiii); he has a “Waughped view” (p. lxxiv). He “expresses very well the contemporary attitude of the angry minority of Mexican conservatives [. . .] whose land had been taken away and had suffered persecution because of their religious beliefs. [. . .] the only Mexicans he met were disgruntled members of the upper class, who hated Cárdenas not only for economic but also for religious reasons.” (P. lxiv.) One reviewer wondered “why, when the persecution of the church reached its height in the last years of the nineteen-twenties, two devout catholic converts like Messrs. Graham Greene and Evelyn Waugh should wait until the year after the expropriation of the Mexican oilfields to expose those horrors.” (P. lxxxii.) :))) (Greene's book about Mexico was The Lawless Roads, published in 1939, same as Waugh's Robbery Under Law.)

*

Although Waugh took a trip to Mexico in order to write this book, it isn't really a travel book, and he says as much at the outset (“This is a political book; [. . .] The succeeding pages are notes on anarchy”, p. 2). He likewise openly admits to his conservative biases, which he says were only strengthened by his visit to Mexico (p. 9). Indeed there is a fine concise summary of his political views on p. 10: “I believe in government; that men cannot live together without rules but that thes should be kept at the bare minimum of safety; [. . .] that the anarchic elements in society are so strong that it is a whole-time task to keep the peace. I believe that inequalities of wealth and position are inevitable and that it is therefore meaningless to discuss the advantages of their elimination; that men naturally arrange themselves in a system of classes; that such a system is necessary for any form of co-operative work, more particularly the work of keeping a nation together.” Yuck :( but at least he is honest.

Nevertheless he does have a chapter about “Tourist Mexico” (pp. 11–28). Overall you get the impression that the country was in a fairly shabby condition, especially once he got out of the areas most commonly frequented by tourists. Waugh comes across as a patient and sympathetic tourist, and I couldn't help wishing that the whole book had been about travel rather than politics.

Waugh continues with a chapter about Mexican history, which I found interesting as it was mostly new to me. He clearly thinks very highly of the Spanish colonial period in Mexico, and says that the country was then more advanced in many ways than the British colonies in North America (pp. 71–2; “the predominance of the U.S. in the New World is quite a recent development”). After independence it began to fall behind, and its history in the 19th and early 20th century was characterized by instability, civil wars, rebellions, revolutions and the like. Apparently much of the 19th-century instability was due to Masonic secret societies :)) (p. 74; though one wonders if Waugh as a Catholic may have been a bit biased about this). Moreover, the United States did their fair share of meddling, the effect of which was mostly to strengthen the “disorderly side” of Mexican politics (p. 96).

Mexican political leaders took turns plundering the country before ending their terms in exile or death (“Now and then a politician gets across the border in time”, p. 40). The only notable exception to this pattern was the administration of Porfirio Díaz (president in 1884–1911), which Waugh describes as a period of stability and prosperity, thanks in no small part to foreign investment (much of it British), which Díaz encouraged. Judging by the wikipedia, Díaz' administration was a near-dictatorship in which economic technocrats ran the country for the benefit of big landowners and rich foreign investors. In fact, Waugh doesn't particularly deny that Díaz was autocratic,* but seems to think it a good tradeoff in exchange for security; he sort of shrugs resignedly, and cynically, as he describes how the Mexicans who “knew the boredom and inevitable abuses that grow in an autocracy, [. . .] wished to see their country conforming still more closely to the contemporary fashion”, and so “party politics were reintroduced [. . .] The result has been twenty-five years of graft, bloodshed and bankruptcy. [. . .] The only difference between the Mexican system and the Fascist is that the nation has sacrificed its political liberties without getting internal security or foreign prestige in exchange.” (P. 40.) “A whole generation [. . .] has known nothing but pillage, graft and degeneration.” (P. 44.) It is unsurprising, of course, that Waugh as a rich and conservative person would prefer the stability of an autocratic system, even a fascist one, over the turbulence of a revolutionary period. But in my opinion the solution to this is not to reintroduce autocracy, but to continue the revolutions until the political system improves :]

[*He remarks elsewhere, in what is simultaneously an admission and a defense of Díaz' autocracy: “It is characteristic of Mexican history that at almost any period one looks at there are abundant reasons for deploring the existing regime; one turns the pages and one realizes that one was wrong; the cure was always worse than the ill.” (P. 80.)]

The party that seized power during the Mexican Revolution was called, reasonably enough, the Revolutionary Party of Mexico; in Waugh's time, it was led by General Cárdenas (president in 1934–40). The party had Marxist leanings and did not shy from policies of nationalization and confiscation. Waugh, as befitting a man of his politics, spends much time ranting about the supposedly immoderate demands of Mexican workers, the frequency of strikes, and you can practically see him holding his breath as he tells you — hoping you will be as shocked as he is — that the right to strike extends even to schoolchildren, who are able to get unpopular teachers replaced that way (pp. 35, 117)! The poor, poor employers are afraid to hire people, knowing they won't be able to fire them (p. 35)! The nasty, nasty unions have such immoderate power that janitors end up working as museum curators (p. 36)! Won't you shed a tear for the unfortunate, beleaguered upper classes of Mexico?

He has an interesting theory — and is honest enough to admit that it is no more than a conjecture — that relations between labour and employers follow a cyclical pattern: labourers get exploited for some time; start standing up for themselves; but gradually their demands grow excessive, class war ruins the country and paves the way for the rise of fascism or something like it; war and ruin follow, and the cycle is ready to start anew (pp. 43–4). The ‘rise of fascism’ part, he suggests, is where Mexico might go next. In fact he seems to have, much like many right-wingers today, a stubborn but nonsensical idea that far left and far right systems have much more in common than they really do (since WW1 “two forms of proletarian rule have appeared, Nazism and Communism”, p. 162), and that the sort-of-Marxist sort-of-dictatorship of Cárdenas could easily turn, at any moment (perhaps through a coup), into something like fascism or nazism.* In fact, Waugh says, Cárdenas is already cooperating just fine with the Axis powers: after he nationalized foreign oil companies, Britain and America refused to buy Mexican oil, so he started selling it to the Axis powers through barter agreements (p. 69). Evidently Waugh thought that these commercial links could easily develop into closer political alignment as well, and in fact late in the book he has some impressive fearmongering about the supposed spread of German influence all over Latin America (p. 162). This was, of course, a common enough concern at that time, one that many authors liked to write worried articles and book chapters about, but as far as I can tell this supposed influence in Latin America did not do Nazi Germany even an iota of good. I suspect most of this influence existed only in the minds of the fearmongers.

[*In an outline of his book for an American publisher, Waugh wrote similarly that the present Mexican “regime is an odd mixture of Nazism & Communism representing most of the worst features of both systems. In the next few years, perhaps months, it is likely to throw in its lot definitely with one or another of the two extremes.” (P. xlvi. Another of his many failed prognostications.)]

*

Considering that this book owes its very existence to Uncle Clive's oil money, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it actually dedicates no more than one chapter (pp. 45–69) to the Mexican oil industry and its nationalization. I liked his summary of the different political attitudes to the issue: on the one hand you have English extremists “who believe that the world was created to supply the English with physical comforts”; on the other hand you have Mexican extremists “who believe that the soil of the country and anything on or below it, was ordained for the exclusive use of the heterogeneous peoples who have been born there; that this possession is inalienable and that any use made of it by a foreigner is an act of theft.” (P. 50.) I for one am happy to side with the Mexicans here, but Waugh argues for a middle course where the case should be judged on its merits, and spends most of this chapter defending the foreign oil companies from various accusations.

He points out that oil companies had been established in Mexico with the full encouragement of President Díaz; that large investments are needed before you find sufficient oil deposits and develop them into a profitable venture; hence having big oil companies do this is the best option. He denies that they meddled in Mexican politics, except for yielding to various demands for bribes without which they wouldn't have been able to operate at all during the turbulent times of the Mexican Revolution. If oil has an outsized role in the Mexican economy, it is (Waugh says) because the unwise policies of Cárdenas and his predecessors have already ruined all the other branches of the economy (p. 57). Waugh insists that the oil companies “paid high wages and high taxes; the workmen misspent the wages and the politicians misspent the taxes, with the result that the country did not benefit as richly as it might have done had it been differently inhabited” (p. 59). In fact wages and working conditions in the oil industry were better than in other branches of the economy (pp. lviii–ix, 63).

Officially, nationalization was the government's response to the failure of the oil industry to negotiate with the trade unions; but Waugh says that this was only a pretext, the unions' demands (pp. 64–66) were deliberately impossible, and at any rate the lot of the oil workers did not in any way improve with nationalization. The deeper reason, according to Waugh, is simply that to the Mexican politician “wealth is, in fact and in theory, the product of theft” (p. 60).* In the nineteenth century they had looted the Church; then more recently the big landowners, with an agrarian reform dedicated to expropriating their estates rather than at opening up more land (of which Mexico had plenty) to farming; and now the oil industry was the last thing left to loot.

[*He wrote similarly in a synopsis of proposed newspaper articles about Mexico: “For century [sic] Mexican economy based on theft.”]

Even if all this is true (and it may well be; I simply have no idea), I still think it's better if each people develops its own resources, at its own pace, with its own abilities and capital, even if foreign companies would do it better and sooner. Every form of trade is unequal; one party or the other always gets screwed over. Here the foreigners got their oil, “paid high wages and high taxes”, the Mexicans pissed away the money, and in the end had nothing to show for it; so it would have been better if the oil had stayed in the ground instead. The Mexicans would still have had nothing, but at least the foreigners wouldn't have profited from their oil. I do agree, however, that it would have been more decent if the Mexican government had been forthright about its goals, rather than pretending that this is all because of some sort of labour dispute.

*

Cárdenas's government also announced a “Six Year Plan”, with much fanfare and clumsy, heavy-handed propaganda; but it was hardly a plan at all, certainly nothing like the detailed four- or five-year plans of the Nazis or Soviets (p. 98), and not much of it was likely to get implemented (p. 119).

Apart from the nationalization of oil, Cárdenas's most notable efforts seem to have been in land reform. Most of the land, according to Waugh, had always been in the hands of big landowners — under the Aztecs, under the Spaniards, and after independence. Now the government was dispossessing them, on the basis of (often fake) petitions by local peasants (p. 106). The better your estate, the sooner it would be expropriated, which discouraged owners from trying to improve anything. With the land now split into small holdings, farming was mostly less efficient and production fell (p. 109). Waugh presents some pretty reasonable ideas of his own as to what a more moderate land reform might look like (p. 111).

This seems to be another good example that land reforms should be done carefully and gradually; before you kick the old owners out, you should make sure that you have other people ready with the necessary skills to run their farms. Zimbabwe is a more recent example of the same problem (and I guess revolution-era Haiti was another).

*

Unsurprisingly, there is also a long chapter about the plight of the Catholic Church in Mexico — a subject that Waugh didn't need any oil money to be interested in. Apparently many accusations were being circulated about the Church being rich and greedy, the priests being immoral, etc., but Waugh insists this was mostly exaggerations of isolated cases — slander spread by the Mexican government who just wanted an excuse to rob the Church (p. 125). The persecution of the Church had already started under the Reptilians “Liberal-Mason-Agnostics” (p. 139) of the 19th century, and had lately been intensified by the communist-leaning governments in the wake of the Mexican Revolution.* The 1917 Constitution of Queretaro contained very harsh anti-Church provisions (p. 140); at the time of Waugh's writing, he says that the Church was in practice tolerated to a somewhat greater extent than before, though this varied from region to region (p. 141). Cárdenas himself was not particularly fanatical (“He is more interested in pleasing the people than in following any logical policy”, p. 144), but some of his supporters were.

[*Waugh puts the roots of this conflict still farther back: it is a “conflict with merciless, fanatical atheism—an atheism that at the moment adopts Marxist language, just as in earlier generations it used Liberal language, but which antedates either; the atheism of the impenitent thief at the crucifixion.” (P. 122.)]

Meanwhile, the bulk of the Mexican people were deeply attached to the Church. Waugh even says he met an organization of laypeople working in secret to “train and maintain teachers [. . .] counteract the official atheism [. . .] facilitate the movement and concealment of the priesthood; [. . .] organize study groups” etc. (p. 149), but he is vague about the details (understandably so, I guess).

There's also an interesting section about the Virgin of Guadalupe, of which I was only vaguely aware until now. Mary appeared to a recently converted Indian in 1531, and an image of her, with Indian features, miraculously appeared on his cloak. Waugh, of course, defends the authenticity of the miracle, and emphasizes its social consequences: the Spanish colonialists at the time had been having some doubts about the policy of baptising the Indians; but now here was “a Virgin with an Indian face; a thing no painter would have dared to do without incurring the charge of blasphemy. And the Spaniards accepted the miracle. The important feature is not the repugnance it aroused but the fact that the repugnance was overcome. The nobility of the country, from the Viceroy down, solemnly prostrated themselves in the new shrine”. It proved to everyone “that the religion of the Spaniard was equally the religion of the Indian” (p. 133). (Incidentally, there has been a new development since the time Waugh wrote about this: Juan Diego, the man to whom the Virgin had appeared, was canonized in 2002.)

Another interesting passage in this chapter was about a small community of nuns that managed to exist in hiding for some seventy years, from the time religious orders were banned in the mid-19th century until 1935 when they were discovered (pp. 145–7). I never quite understood why so many regimes were opposed to monasteries (e.g. Henry VIII shut them down as soon as he turned protetant). If you tolerate regular priests, why not monks and nuns as well? If anything, they have less of an impact on the outside world since they are mostly shut in their monasteries, so there's no harm in allowing them to continue.

*

Waugh concludes the book with some speculation about Mexico's future. He suggests that if the Mexicans grow disappointed with Cárdenas's socialism, they may well end up trying something along the lines of Nazism or even National Bolshevism (pp. 153, 163). Moreover, Mexico might get destabilized by all the anarchists, communists etc. who sought asylum there from their defeat in the Spanish Civil War (p. 156). There could be a civil war; an anti-Cárdenas coup; Mexico might join the Anti-Comintern Pact (p. 162). He warns against growing German influence in Latin America, and suggests that the nationalized Mexican oil fields may soon be in Nazi hands (p. 157). He even suggests that, since the example of the U.S. fighting in Europe in WW1 proves that waging a campaign across the Atlantic is now possible, Germany may soon do the same: “South America has become accessible as a battle-ground while at every point the German-Japanese alliance threatens vital American interests.” (P. 162.) Or perhaps now that Franco has won, Spain might rise again as an imperial power (p. 157–9). Or perhaps a pagan cult might re-emerge amongst the Indians (p. 159). Or perhaps pigs will soon fly over Mexico City... no, wait, he doesn't mention that one, but it's scarcely less probable than some of his other ideas.

As you can see, no scenario is too ridiculous or too far-fetched for Waugh to entertain, and I think we can pretty safely conclude that he has proven to be a complete and utter failure as a prognosticator of the future. As far as I can tell, what actually happened in Mexico was: absolutely nothing dramatic; or at least nothing dramatic enough that someone like me, living some 80 years later and one ocean away, would have much reason to care about it.

Another prediction: “I believe, in fact, that within a hundred years Mexico will form part of the U.S.A.” (P. 38.) There's some 15 years left before we can judge that one, but I don't think it's likely to happen :) But I guess he was just extrapolating from past experience; he says later that in the time of Díaz, some “statesmen were openly claiming that the natural boundary of the United States was the isthmus of Panama” (p. 40).

More interesting than his wild speculations is the last paragraph of the book (p. 164), where he suggests that the ongoing collapse of Mexico can be a warning to all: “Civilization has no force of its own beyond what is given it from within. It is under constant assault and it takes most of the energies of civilized man to keep going at all. [. . .] Barbarism is never finally defeated; given propitious circumstances, men and women who seem quite orderly, will commit every conceivable atrocity. [. . .] we are all potential recruits for anarchy. Unremitting effort is needed to keep men living together at peace; there is only a margin of energy left over for experiment however beneficent. [. . .] The more elaborate the society, the more vulnerable it is to attack, and the more complete its collapse in case of defeat. At a time like the present it is notably precarious. [. . .] There is nothing, except ourselves, to stop our own countries becoming like Mexico.” (P. 164.)

I found that paragraph very interesting as another fine summary of Waugh's conservative views, where civilization is just barely hanging on and we're always just one step away from barbarism and anarchy. But it seems to me that civilization is a good deal more robust than these people give it credit for. World wars, great depressions, momentous social transformations and the like have been tearing at the fabric of society for more than a century, and the damn thing just won't collapse! Any kind of chart you care to look at just goes up, up, up all the time. Any collapse you might get is very localized, such as when a country gets a particularly bad government, and is sooner or later followed by the inevitable recovery when its regime changes. Even outbursts of barbarism are short-lived and surprisingly half-hearted: people are at each other's throats for a war or two, do a bit of genociding, but then ten years later they are friends and neighbours and trading partners again, and listen to each other's popular music and visit each other for vacations. The conservatives always feel as if we were in 5th-century Rome, facing a flood of barbarians about to plunge our world into the dark ages for the next thousand years — heck, often enough I feel that way myself — and yet it's hard to see just how you can justify such views with objective facts. Actually these feelings are probably mostly borne of internal factors; it would be more honest to say: eh, you're just mildly dyspeptic, the world is mostly OKish and will keep hobbling along much the same as hitherto; very far from perfect to be sure, but hardly in any real danger of imminent collapse either.

In any case, I don't want to sound too critical of the book. It was an enoyable enough book to read, written in the same pleasant style as all of Waugh's works, with plenty of sarcastic and humorous passages, and as long as you take his opinions with a grain of salt, keep his political biases in mind, and pay no attention to his efforts to speculate about the future, you can still learn something little about 1930s Mexico and have a good time while doing so.

Miscellaneous

Waugh in a letter about his voyage from the U.S. to Mexico: “New York was 93° and felt like 193°. The Siboney packed with jewesses.” :)))

Waugh in a letter some ten years after his visit to Mexico: “The food is very nasty—an awful kind of tough pancake with a sauce that takes the skin off the tongue is the main dish—called I think ‘tamales’.” (P. lxx.)

Before settling on Robbery Under Law, Waugh intended the book to be titled Pickpocket Government (p. xlv). Even with the new title, his American publisher was “somewhat afraid of this title” and changed it to Mexico: An Object Lesson for the American edition (p. xlix).* Waugh didn't seem to mind: “They can call the book the Giant Panda for all I care.” (P. l.) :)) Another change was that some passages critical of Henry Lane Wilson, U.S. Ambassador to Mexico in 1909–13, were toned down in the U.S. edition (p. liv). There were also many minor changes in spelling and capitalization (p. 181; notably, the U.S. ed. prints acute accents on Spanish names while the U.K. ed. doesn't).

[*Editor's note 133 on p. xcii suggests that this was because Britain had by then broken off diplomatic relations with Mexico (due to the nationalization of the British oil companies) but the U.S. hadn't.]

Robbery Under Law was reprinted in 1940 by the Catholic Book Club, despite the fact that Waugh pokes fun at book clubs in his preface: readers, he says, have lately “banded themselves into book clubs so that they may be perfectly confident that whatever they read will be written with the intention of confirming their existing opinions” (p. lxxxv). :)

Waugh has some doubts whether tourism promotes international friendship: “There are very few English villagers who have seen an Egyptian; very few Egyptian villagers who have not seen an Englishman; the result is that the English generally are well disposed towards Egypt, while the Egyptians detest us.” :)) (Pp. 3–4.)

About the loss of old architecture: the Mexicans “have been rather frivolous in their vandalism; they have stolen and neglected and put things to unsuitable uses, but there has been none of the systematic extermination of good architecture the Londoners have enjoyed” (p. 16).

He mentions some people who “drink cokokola” (p. 23) — a sign, I guess, that this brand was not yet known in Britain at that time. In the U.S. edition it is spelt correctly, “Coca Cola” (p. 184).

Waugh is skeptical about the Aztecs: “When I read accounts of the splendour of lost civilizations, I always remember the descriptions with which the world's press was lately full of the Imperial court at Addis Ababa.” :] (P. 29.)

He has several sour comments to the effect that Mexican nationalization of British oil provoked comparatively little protest amongst the British public because it was done by a left-wing and not a right-wing regime. “If the Japanese, or Nationalist-Spaniards, or Germans or Italians had taken our oil, then there would have been a series of meetings in the Albert Hall; but the Mexicans had a Left Book Club vocabulary.” Cárdenas's regime may have been autocratic, but “when the Mexicans saluted their bosses they raised the arm with clenched first, not with extended fingers. So they were all right; they were democrats, like ourselves and the French.” :))) (P. 46.) Waugh, like I suppose most right-wingers, refuses to recognize that left-wing totalitarianism is fundamentally good, even if horrible in practice, while right-wing totalitaranism is fundamentally evil, and that this difference is important.

“The General [Cárdenas], too, is, like all revolutionary leaders, in a somewhat ambiguous position with regard to revolutions. The crown of Spain might logically claim that all rebellion was of its nature, wrong; no subsequent government of Mexico has that right.” :)) (P. 57.)

A pleasantly cynical view of elections: “There are, in various parts of the world, various means of securing election; the candidate may buy votes in the old English way of ready money down, in the new English way of promises to pay from the public funds when elected; [. . .] the Mexicans, for the most part, prefer to leave the voting papers uncounted and draw from the lists made up at the party headquarters.” (P. 79.)

“Just as the United States earned the gratitude of the world by ‘trying out’ prohibition, so the Mexicans may be said to be trying out Marxism.” :)) (P. 80.)

When visiting the Exhibition of the Six-Year Plan [Plan Sexenal]: “Some no doubt were misled by the name Sexenal and having heard lurid stories of sexual education in the schools, were there in the hope of being shocked.” :)) (P. 98.)

Waugh remarks that “[t]his is true nearly everywhere; a great proportion of militant communists are or have been teachers [. . .] partly because there is something about the work itself which sensibly inclines the mind to bigotry” (pp. 113–14). He had worked as a teacher early in his career (1925–27); I wonder if he speaks from experience?

“There are only a few thousand native whites in Mexico” (p. 159). I guess that his ideas of what counts as white were narrower than today, but that still strikes me as an unusually small number.

The editor of the present volume provided a “Glossary of Names” with short biographies of nearly everyone mentioned in the book. I was interested to see that Cárdenas (p. 190), in spite of Waugh's gloomy, near-apocalyptic predictions, retired from office without any fuss when his term as President of Mexico expired, and had a fairly un-dramatic life for another thirty years before dying in 1970.

Two tidbits from p. 198, illustrating the instability of 19th-century Mexican politics. The biography of José de Salas (President of Mexico in 1846 and 1859) consists of a single sentence: “He did not die violently.” :)) On the same page we learn that Santa Anna was “President of Mexico on twenty-two non-consecutive occasions from 1833”.

Errors

Here are a few I've noticed:

“10s 6d” (p. xxxiv) — it makes no sense to typeset “d” as a superscript here.

“upt us” (p. xxxvii) should be “put us”.

The “Vichy malice agent” (p. li) was probably just a police agent. Perhaps a Freudian slip? :)

“that of outstanding interest” (p. lxvii) is missing an “are”.

“lamps, contain” (p. lxviii) shouldn't have the comma.

“ ‘padded ’ ” (p. 32) shouldn't have the space before the closing quotation mark.

“Chihuaha” (p. 82).

“Spanish legionnaires who had crossed into France during this period were interred.” (P. 178.) Let us hope for their sake that this is a misprint for “interned” :))

“Mactezuma” (p. 196) should probably be “Moctezuma”.

“The Russian imperial family from 1613 until 1917” (p. 198) shouldn't be in bold italics, as it isn't really a part of the name.

Not exactly an error but a deplorable editorial decision: the first edition of this novel “italicizes Spanish words and following punctuation (e.g. ‘hacienda;’); in these cases the punctuation has been silently revised to roman” (p. 182). Why??? Setting a punctuation mark in italic type after an italic word is exactly the way it should be done in good-quality typesetting; unsurprisingly this practice is less common nowadays since typesetting, like most other things, has gone down in quality. But here they had a good example from a better age that they could have followed, and instead they've gone out of their way to make things worse :(

ToRead:

• The editor's introduction lists a number of books about the Mexican oil industry and its nationalization (pp. lvii, lxiii), but it is not known whether Waugh consulted them in writing his own book. At any rate most of them seem to have been published after 1938, so they would have appeared too late for him to use.

• One book he did use was Ernest Gruening's Mexico and Its Heritage (1928), but it seems to have been a lot more favourable to Mexican revolutionary governments than Waugh was (p. lvi).

• He also used F. C. Kelley's Blood-Drenched Altars (1935), about the persecution of the catholic church in Mexico (pp. lxv–vii).

• D. H. Lawrence: The Plumed Serpent (1926). A novel depicting “the revival of a pre-Christian religion with Aztec overtones” by Mexican revolutionaries (p. 166). Mentioned by Waugh on p. 6. I had some bad experiences with Lawrence's travel writing many years ago (see my post from back then), but perhaps I should give his fiction another chance.

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Thursday, August 24, 2023

BOOK: "The Book of John Mandeville"

The Book of John Mandeville, with related texts. Edited and translated, with an introduction, by Iain Macleod Higgins. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2011. 9780872209350. xxviii + 292 pp.

I have no idea where and when I first heard of Mandeville and his travel book, except that I have been vaguely aware of him for a long time as a late medieval traveller, something along the lines of Marco Polo, only with more exaggerated and fictional elements. E-text editions of his book have been floating on the web since fairly early on (e.g. the Project Gutenberg version appeared in 1997), in more or less heavily antiquated English, which I therefore assumed to be the original thing.

So I was quite interested to learn, after reading the present volume, how mistaken I was about much of that. It turns out that Mandeville originally wrote in French, which I guess shouldn't surprise me since he lived in the 14th century, when England still controlled a considerable chunk of French territory and when its upper class was still at least partly French-speaking. It was a very popular work in its day, and as is common for books which circulated in manuscript form, several different versions of it exist. The French text itself appears in an “Insular” (i.e. British) and a “Continental” (i.e. French) version, and then there is a third version where someone took the Continental text and changed it so as to attribute Mandeville's experiences to Ogier the Dane, one of the fictional paladins of Charlemagne from medieval romances :)) (p. 192). There are some five English translations from 1400 or shortly afterwards (p. 199), i.e. in fairly late Middle English, which becomes reasonably intelligible as long as you modernize the spelling a little, and that's what most later reprints or e-text versions were based on. There were also two translations into German (pp. 203, 205) and five into Latin (four from the Insular version and one from the Continental one; p. 206). The present volume is a new translation from the French, with a very interesting appendix with some additional material from other versions where they differ from the two main French ones. I was surprised and somewhat saddened to learn how much work remains to be done in investigating these things; for example, no critical edition exists of the Continental French version (extant in some 30 manuscripts; p. 187), or of Otto von Diemeringen's German translation (extant in some 45 manuscripts; p. 205), or of the most common Latin version (p. 206).

Moreover, what was also new to me is that Mandeville's book hardly seems to be based on a real journey at all. It's not at all like Marco Polo, who was a real person that had really been to China, even if he exaggerates a little here and there in his book. Mandeville claims to be an Anglo-French knight who spent some thirty years travelling abroad, partly on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, partly in the service of such potentates as the Sultan of Egypt and the Great Khan of Mongolia; but later researchers found that nearly everything in his book was borrowed and reworked from one or two dozen earlier works (p. 219), the most important of which are the writings of two 14th-century travellers, William of Boldensele (a German knight and pilgrim who travelled in the Near East) and Odoric of Pordenone (a Franciscan friar who travelled in India and China). Thus there is no obvious reason why Sir John Mandeville should even be a real person rather than the invention of an otherwise anonymous writer. Efforts to either find the real John Mandeville in archival sources, or to discover the identity of the author if Mandeville is a fiction, don't seem to have been particularly successful so far (p. xviii). Thus the present edition prefers to refer to him as “the Mandeville author” rather than simply as “Mandeville”. There are many interesting footnotes pointing out parallels between Mandeville's text and his sources, as well as an appendix with selected passages from some of those sources so that it is easy for any reader to see how closely Mandeville followed them.

So I certainly have to commend the translator of the present edition for the wealth of interesting information in his introduction, appendices and notes; but as for Mandeville's account itself, I found it more boring than I had expected, though it was tolerable enough in small doses. For one thing, travel books of the last few centuries usually focus on what the traveller himself has seen, done and experienced; but Mandeville (and TBH Marco Polo is no different) mostly just describes the countries he has (supposedly) travelled through and the peoples that inhabit them, while saying relatively little about his own actions and experiences. Nevertheless, since the countries he travelled through were very exotic from the perspective of Mandeville and his western European readership, many things there are strange and bizarre, which means that the book contains plenty of curious factoids that are interesting to read, even if the work as a whole is a bit dry.

The book may be divided approximately into two parts. The first half is about travels in the Near East, to locations that would have been of interest to pilgrims and that would have been familiar to christian readers from the bible. This part is therefore a bit more realistic and was not as interesting to me; there's only so many times you can read about this or that location in Egypt or Palestine etc. that happens to be the site of this or that biblical story before it gets boring. The second half or so of the book is about the Far East (approximately India and everything east of it), about which much less was known and where Mandeville is much more free to mix fact and fantasy. Some of his information may be coming from the handful of Franciscans who travelled to Mongolia or China in the 13th and 14th century, but he is happy to combine it with pure fantasy from medieval romances about Alexander the Great, rumours of Prester John and his kingdom, vaguely recorded scraps of information from ancient times when the Greeks were briefly in contact with India in the wake of Alexander's conquests; there's countless islands populated by various kinds of more or less monstrous-looking humanoids, and at one point he even comes close to Earthly Paradise (the one that Adam and Eve had been expelled from). If nothing else, then, this second half of the book is more varied and contains more bizarre details, and on the whole made for more interesting reading.

Miscellaneous

Constantinople boasts a curious set of relics from the crucifixion of Jesus: not only the cross itself, but a robe worn by Jesus, the sponge with which he was given vinegar to drink, and one of the nails with which he was nailed to the cross (p. 8) :)) Mandeville mentions that Jesus was “fixed to the cross lying on the ground and then was raised with the cross, and thus in its raising He suffered more pain” (p. 10); the translator's note 12 refers oddly to “[t]his sadistic mode of crucifixion”, as if any form of crucifixion could be non-sadistic :S

Speaking of bizarre relics: “Charlemagne was in this Temple [in Jerusalem] when the angel brought him Our Lord Jesus Christ's foreskin from the Circumcision, and he took it to Aix-la-Chapelle” (p. 50). Needless to say, Charlemagne never even went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

A dubious contribution to physics from the translator's note 24, p. 13: “High-mountain air is thin because of diminished gravity; it therefore holds less water”. But surely, if the Earth has a radius of approx. 6378 km, and if gravity falls with the square of the distance, then going e.g. 10 km above the ground means that gravity there is (6378/6388)2 = approx. 99.7% of the gravity on the ground. This tiny decrease of gravity can't account for the fact that the air is so much thinner there. Surely the air at higher altitudes is thinner because the higher you go, the less air there is above that altitude and the pressure is therefore lower; and this is because the total amount of air is so limited, not because the gravity would get so much lower so soon.

The pyramids of Egypt are “Joseph's Granaries, which he had made to store the wheat for hard times. [. . .] Some say that they are tombs of the great lords of antiquity, but that is not true, for the common word through the whole country near and far is that they are Joseph's Granaries, and they have it written thus in their chronicles.” (P. 32.) [Incidentally, William of Boldensele, Mandeville's principal source here, is more skeptical: “this cannot be true at all, for no place for putting in the wheat can be found there, and there is inside these columns no empty space where anything can be placed” (p. 231).]

In Bethlehem there is a church “where Our Lady rested after having given birth; and because she had too much milk in her breasts and because they were sore, she squirted some [milk] there on the red marble stones such that the white spots are still there on the stones.” (P. 43.) I guess we can consider ourselves lucky that they didn't attribute the white spots to something else :P

At one point Mandeville mentions Caesar's reform of the calendar: “Caius Caesar, who was emperor of Rome, had two months added” etc. (p. 47). The translator adds this very odd remark (n. 140): “The Roman calendar was reformed by Julius Caesar, not Gaius, as some copyists, including E, correctly note.” But Julius Caesar's first name *was* Gaius, so what is he complaining about?...

When Titus suppressed the Jewish revolt, he took many prisoners and “said that they had sold Jesus Christ for thirty pennies and he would make a better bargain of them: he would offer them at thirty a penny.” :))) (P. 51.) I can't help but be reminded of that old poem about the butcher from Glasgow who sold his wife as mincemeat: “[. . .] For what kind of man is it slaughters his wife/ And sells her a shilling a pun/ [. . .] You widnae object but you widnae expect/ He wid sell the poor woman so cheap” :]

Extreme claims about the Dead Sea: “No living man or animal could die in this sea [. . .] people are thrown in who have deserved death and they have remained three or four days, but they could not die [. . .] Whoever puts iron in it, it swims on top, and whoever puts a feather in, it goes to the bottom” (p. 61).

For the ‘honi soit qui mal y pense’ collection: “Our Lord sent Saint Peter and Saint James to fetch the she-ass on Palm Sunday, and He mounted the she-ass there.” (P. 58.)

“Our Lady gave birth in her fifteenth year” (p. 70). The pedophilia hebephilia jokes practically make themselves :]

“In this country of Libya the sea is indeed higher than the land, and it seems that it should cover the land, and nevertheless it does not pass it bounds. [. . .] In this sea of Libya there are no fish, [. . .] for the water is always boiling because of the great heat.” (Pp. 90–1.)

In the land of Chaldea: “The women are very ugly and badly dressed, [. . .] quite dark, ugly, and hideous, and they are certainly not at all beautiful, but they lack graciousness.” (P. 96.) I can only assume that some Chaldean woman rejected his advances :P

“There is a people [in Ethiopia] that have only one foot [. . .] so large that it shades the whole body from the sun when they are lying down.” (P. 98.)

Of an island somewhere beyond India: “it is so hot on this island that, because of the heat's great force, men's hangers, videlicet testiculi, come out of their bodies halfway down the leg, because of the body's great dissipation.” (P. 101.) On another island: “the rats of this island are as big as dogs here, and they are caught with large mastiffs, for the cats cannot catch them.” (P. 104.) Later he mentions two islands inhabited by giants, one also by “sheep as big as oxen [. . .], and they have very thick wool to match” (p. 169). On a slightly more realistic note, another island has “hedgehogs as big as wild pigs are here; we call them porcupines” (p. 172). Another island has “large mountains of gold that the ants guard carefully [. . .] and the ants are as big as dogs, such that the people dare not approach these mountains” (p. 178).

Dubious customs in India: “the women drink wine and the men do not, and also the women shave their beards and the men do not” (p. 107). But some of the Indian customs he mentions are real: the burning of widows (p. 107), or religious fanatics throwing themselves under the juggernaut (p. 109). Other real customs he mentions later are sky burial in Tibet (i.e. exposing a corpse to be eaten by carrion-birds; “whoever has the greatest number of birds is the most honored”, p. 182) and foot-binding in China (p. 183).

He also mentions an island of what I can only describe as communist cannibals: “all the women of the country are thus common and refuse no man; [. . .] And when the women have children, they give them to those they like who have had sexual relations with them. The land is also common [. . .] and also all the goods of the country are common [. . .] But they have an evil custom, for they more willingly eat human flesh than any other flesh. [. . .] The merchants go there and take children with them for sale to the inhabitants [. . .] if they are lean, they fatten them, and they say that this is the best and sweetest meat in the world.” (P. 111.) :))

Some of the trees on Java “bear poison against which there is only one medicine: that is, to take some of one's own feces and stir with water* and then drink this” (p. 117) :))))) Also on Java, there are “large snails that are so large that several people could dwell inside the shell” (p. 119).

[*The Latin version of Mandeville's book apparently says “to drink one's own dung dissolved in pure water” (p. 216) — because obviously to dissolve your shit in *dirty* water would be just disgusting... :)]

More merry tales of cannibals. Of the island of Dondia, “possibly one of the Andaman Isles” (n. 123): “On this island are people of diverse natures, such that the father eats the son, and the son the father, and the husband the wife, and the wife her husband.” (P. 123.)

Interesting: Mandeville (and other authors of that period) makes a distinction between Manzi, or southern China, and Cathay, or northern China, describing them as two separate countries (pp. 125, 129). The Franciscans actually made some converts in China in the 14th century: “In 1313 John of Monte Corvino was invested as Archbishop of Khanbaliq (Beijing) and set up six Cathayan bishoprics (none outlasted the mid-fourteenth century).” (Translator's note 434, p. 127.)

We would refer to a Mongol emperor as a Khan, but Mandeville spells it Chan and says it is related to the Biblical Cham (i.e. Ham), one of Noah's sons (p. 134). He also claims that Möngke Khan and his better-known brother Kublai Khan were christians (pp. 138–9; they weren't).

At one of the great festivals of the Mongol khans, the Mongols “perform a kind of circumcision” (p. 140). Translator's note 470 adds: “Perhaps an error for ‘coronation’: the Mongols did not practice circumcision.” What an unfortunate error :] By the time you explain the difference to a Mongol, your foreskin is already gone :)))

Hot incest action amongst the Mongols: “they take their kin as wives except their mothers, their daughters, and their sisters on their mother's side, but they can take their sisters on their father's side by another wife, and their brothers' wives after their [brothers'] death, and their stepmoters as well.” (P. 146.) And on an Indian island: “In this country they take their daughters and sisters as wives, and their other relatives, and if there are ten or twelve or more men in a house, the wife of each will be common to all those of the household” (p. 171).

More on Mongol customs: “the greatest sin is to piss in their houses where they dwell [i.e. yurts — he described them on the previous page], and whoever should piss will certainly be killed.” :)) (P. 148.) “They eat dogs, lions, foxes, mares, foals, asses, rats, and mice, and all other animals, large and small, except pigs and animals that were prohibited in the Old Testament” (pp. 148–9).

About cotton: “In this land there are trees that bear wool just like sheep from which one makes clothes to wear.” (P. 159.) This reminded me of the fact that several languages actually call cotton ‘tree wool’ (German Baumwolle, Swedish bomull). But I'm still surprised that anyone would look at cotton plants and think ‘hey, trees’...

Mandeville has a couple of chapters about the legendary kingdom of Prester John, “the great emperor of India, and his kingdom is called the island of Pentoxoire” (p. 160). It is a large and rich country, but not as much as that of the Great Chan. “The Emperor Prester John always takes the Great Chan's daughter as his wife, and the Great Chan [takes] Prester John's daughter as well.” (P. 161. As we can see from this last quote, “Prester John” is actually meant to be a title and not the name of an individual ruler.) “The frame of his bed is of fine sapphires trimmed with gold to make him sleep better and to restrain his lust, for he will sleep with his wives only four times a year” (p. 163).

On another Indian island, men hire someone to take their wife's virginity on their wedding night, because “a long time ago some men had died taking the virginity of their wives, who had snakes in their body; therefore they keep this custom and they always have someone else try out the passage before they endanger themselves.” (P. 170.) For some reason, I absolutely love the phrasing of ‘try out the passage’ :)))

Michel Velser, the late-15th-century German translator of Mandeville, reports that “I have seen in the city of Pavia a dog that was born from an egg, [. . .] it was as large as a greyhound.” (P. 203.) The “bird from which the dog came [. . .] is a little larger than a goose [. . .] It is called frakkales [francolin]. [. . .] It lays three eggs: two become birds and the one, a dog, as I told you before. And this is certainly true” (p. 204). How could you doubt it when he puts it that way? :) Or maybe you could, since we know from the Archpoet's confession that Pavia was a rumbustious party town for college students, so you should probably disregard any wild stories coming from there :))

William of Boldensele (one of Mandeville's sources) writes: “I saw in Cairo three entirely live elephants.” (P. 229.) I can't help but be intrigued by the idea of a *partially* live elephant...

According to Odoric of Pordenone (Mandeville's other major source), the people in the province of Minibar (= Malabar) in India “worship an ox for god. [. . .] His master collects his urine in a silver basin and his dung in a gold one as well, and they present them to the country's ruler. From these the ruler washes his face and hands with the urine, and then his brow and his chest with the dung, most reverently.” (P. 246. Mandeville elaborates on this story a bit on pp. 106–7.) Yule says that this “is little, if at all, exaggerated” :S

A peculiar detail: after giving an account of some country and its people, Mandeville likes to give its “alphabet” (e.g.: Greek, p. 15; Egyptian, p. 33, with pictures; Hebrew, p. 67, with pictures). This is invariably just a list of names of letters, more or less fictional but obviously inspired by the Greek alphabet. Unfortunately the pictures of the letters are not always included in this book, though they seem to have been present in the manuscripts.

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BOOK: Freya Stark, "The Valleys of the Assassins"

Freya Stark: The Valleys of the Assassins and Other Persian Travels. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1952. (First published in 1934.) 287 pp. [A scan of the first edition (London: John Murray, 1934) is available on archive.org, and the page numbers below will refer to that edition. The Penguin edition includes the maps, but none of the photographs, from the 1934 edition.]

Freya Stark was a noted travel writer from the first half of the 20th century; she mostly travelled in the Middle East and wrote a number of books about her experiences, and in fact The Valleys of the Assassins seems to have been her first book. First published in 1934, it is about her travels in 1930–32 in remote mountainous regions in western and northern Persia, where few (or, in some cases, none) Europeans had travelled before. I bought my copy of this book, an unassuming Penguin reprint from the 1950s, very cheaply some twenty years ago and only got around to reading it now. Hence I have no idea why exactly I originally decided to buy it, but probably I must have figured that those regions must have been sufficiently exotic in the 1930s that travels there were bound to make for relatively interesting reading; and moreover that this book would presumably be a good introduction to the work of Stark, whom I was vaguely aware of as a very well-regarded travel writer.

I didn't really enjoy this book all that much, though I mostly found it tolerable in small doses. But it would be unfair to criticize the author for it; she does what she can with the material at her disposal. The problem is simply that I'm not *really* all that interested in travel writing. Of course one could in principle be impressed by an account of great discoveries, but it would be unreasonable to expect that here. Obviously, 1930s Persia was not 1860s Africa, where you could step off the boat, march into the nearest jungle, and immediately begin making monumental geographical discoveries. In Stark's case, the regions she travelled through were poorly mapped and we often see her taking observations and measurements which would, in a small way, make a contribution to geographical knowledge; but hardly the sort of contribution that would make for exciting reading. Similarly, she was clearly interested in ancient tombs, ruins of medieval castles, and the like, and often describes these things; but it is all rather perfunctory, she was no archeologist and her travels were not archeological expeditions.

So if you approach Stark's travels from the perspective of her nominal goals, you're bound to be disappointed again and again. She goes in search of a supposed treasure hoard, but fails to find the cave where it is said to be located; she goes to visit Assassin castles, but they prove to be badly dilapidated ruins; she wants to climb Mt. Takht-i-Suleiman, but has to give up long before reaching the summit. The only way to be fair to Stark is to conclude that these goals were not the real point of her travels, or of her book. When you see her moving from one village to another, from one valley to another, from one dusty nomad camp to another, talking to yet another local landowner, yet another mule-driver, yet another random passer-by, yet another desperate peasant applying to her for medical help — it may seem boring and repetitive to me, who would be inclined to tolerate reading about such things only if I was to be rewarded with the account of some impressive achievement at the end; but you have to be fair and conclude that to Stark, these supposedly boring and repetitive things are the real point of her journey. Clearly she just really liked to spend time in remote corners of Persia, admiring the landscape and getting to know the local inhabitants and their way of life. She often makes interesting observations, and sometimes also funny remarks. No doubt this is a very fine travel book for people who like that sort of thing; it often found its way into anthologies and lists of ‘top X travel books’; but for me it was not really any better than tolerable, and I'm not particularly keen to read any more of Stark's work.

A Fortnight in N.W. Luristan

Luristan is a remote mountainous region in western Persia, and at the time of Stark's travels there in 1931 it seems to have still been a fairly wild place. Its inhabitants, the Lurs, were divided into nomadic clans or tribes and preferred to live in tents rather than in houses. The Persian government's presence in the area was rather limited; brigandage and stealing were still the “national art” of its people (p. 50), and there was such a thing as “a district which always shoots its policemen” (p. 53).

However, we see many signs of the government taking the first steps to drag the unwilling inhabitants into modernity: it had recently disarmed them (pp. 50, 59) and was now building a road through the area (p. 20) and trying to force the nomads to settle down, live in houses (p. 45), abandon their traditional costume and hairstyles (pp. 21–2, 33), and send some of their children to schools (p. 40). I couldn't help but be sad upon reading about these instances of progress being rammed down people's throats; it was clearly making the world a drabber and less colourful place. Modernity is a horrible thing.

Stark's chief interest in the area seem to have been Bronze Age artefacts for which Luristan had recently become known (p. 44). Apparently there were numerous prehistoric graveyards there, which were being looted at a prodigious scale; she managed to get the locals to dig up a few graves for her, but the finds weren't particularly impressive (pp. 38–9). Moreover, they were afraid that she might be a government spy trying to catch them in the act of violating the Persian law of antiquities (p. 41) — apparently some of them didn't even believe that she was really a woman! (Pp. 53, 56.)

At any rate, it must have taken a good bit of courage for her to travel through such a wild area, mostly accompanied by only one or two local guides or occasionally a policeman. Along the way we also get some interesting and sometimes surprising portraits of people she encountered, such as that of a local chief who, contrary to what you might expect in such a patriarchal society, was totally under the thumb of his overbearing mother-in-law, who had even “relegated his own mother among the servants” :))) (pp. 27–8), or her last guide, who was full of colourful stories of the people he had shot back in the good old days before the government had disarmed them (pp. 54, 58–9).

The Hidden Treasure

This section of the book didn't turn out to be quite as exciting as it promised to be at the start. While staying in Baghdad, Stark was told by a young man named Hasan, from the region of Pusht-i-kuh (the westernmost part of Luristan; still in Persia, but close to the border with Iraq), about a treasure he knew of, in a cave in that remote region; he wanted her help in getting the treasure out of there without anyone else finding out about it (his main rival was an influential ex-vizier who also knew about the treasure; pp. 63–4). He gave her an approximate map and she made arrangements to travel to that area, with Hasan to follow her a few days later.

Stark, together with an old man named Shah Riza who acted as her guide, crossed the border into Persia; they (wisely, as it later turned out) took the precautions of buying passports, although it would have been easy to sneak across the border without one (pp. 71–2). They also had to get trousers and a hat for Shah Riza so he was able to comply with the new Persian costume regulations (which we already encountered in the previous chapter) :)

Much like the northern parts of Luristan that Stark visited in the previous chapter, Pusht-i-kuh was a very remote area with a sparse population of impoverished nomads living in tents; they had been only recently disarmed by the Persian government, whose presence in the area was limited to the occasional police patrol. The police “have stopped all the traffic that used to travel over the mountain passes”, which caused a “general stagnation” (p. 96).

Despite their poverty, the people invariably treated her with great hospitality. On one or two occasions she was able to return the favour by providing them with medical treatment, the most notable case of which was a boy who got bitten by a snake, with very grisly consequences: “The poison had spread upwards, and first his hand, and then his forearm, had dropped off, the latter leaving the bone still sticking out.” (P. 97; amazingly, he got better, pp. 153–4.)

Interestingly, the area doesn't seem to have always been quite as primitive as in Stark's day; there are a number of ruins of solid buildings and towns from centuries earlier. On a few occasions Stark was able to have some old graves dug up (the locals made no objections as long as they were sure that the grave was not a muslim one; pp. 123–4), though without finding anything more important than a well-preserved skull (p. 129; she later gave it to a museum in Baghdad, p. 192).

“The country is so solitary that everyone in it is known who is anyone at all, and it is the most absurd fallacy to imagine that a lonely region is the one for inconspicuous secrecy.” (P. 128.) Inevitably, news of Stark's little expedition reached the authorities in the capital of the region, Husainabad (pp. 90–1), and soon three policemen showed up to investigate what she was up to (pp. 133–4). They didn't explicitly forbid her from travelling, but kept on following her expedition closely, and tried to pressure the locals into not letting her hire their horses.

Eventually Stark did reach the area where the treasure cave was supposed to be found, and she contrived to shake off her attendants and the police for an hour or two, but failed to find the cave in that time (pp. 148–50). Nevertheless she also heard from one of the locals that there is “a big cave, but with nothing inside it” there (p. 151).

They proceeded to Husainabad, the capital of the region, a very small town built recently by the Persian goverment to solidify their control of the area (p. 168; “[t]he town is an alien thing in this country”, p. 176). Stark had extensive interviews with the chief of police and with the governor there; their suspicions revolved around the possibility that she might be a spy sent from Iraq, or that she wants to loot buried treasures, or that she might get herself killed and cause complications to the government (p. 170). She wrote to Teheran hoping to get a permit for further travel and excavations, but eventually instructions came that she was to be “treated with the greatest consideration” but “accompanied the shortest way to the Iraq frontier” (p. 177).

Nothing particularly eventful happened in the remainder of the journey. Upon her return to Baghdad she learnt that Hasan, who was supposed to have joined her during the journey, had actually been imprisoned by order of his rival the ex-vizier, who had furthermore set up ambushes to intercept Stark on her way back to Iraq and quite possibly kill her, or at least steal any treasure that she might have been carrying; so in a way it was very lucky for her that the Persians had forced her to return under police escort (p. 190). Meanwhile, wild rumours had been circulating of the treasures that she had supposedly found (p. 191). The cave, she concludes, remains unexplored and the existence of the treasure uncertain (p. 192).

So in the end, this chapter feels a little anticlimactic; not much treasure-hunting was actually done, and nothing was found. Most of the text is an account of thoroughly uneventful travels from one dusty nomad camp to another, with a little desultory digging from time to time. This gets monotonous and boring pretty quickly.

I was surprised by how good an opinion she had of the Persian police, although they had hindered her so much in her expedition; “I have personally found them obliging, pleasant and honest, and ready to stretch authority as far in my favour as they could.” (P. 189.) Earlier she remarks about how unpopular the police was with the inhabitants of the area: “Although I never saw any act of actual oppression, I found this unpopularity [of the police] so general over the Pusht-i-Kuh that it is impossible not to suspect some justification for it when there is no foreigner looking on.” (P. 165.) But I guess her standards for oppression are different than mine, as she describes several instances of policemen treating people roughly (p. 164).

A Journey to the Valley of the Assassins

I was aware of the Assassins from before, of course; they inspired one of my favourite historical novels (Vladimir Bartol's Alamut) and one of my favourite video game series (Assassin's Creed). But I never really paid much attention to where their famous mountain stronghold was located and what that area might be like now. So in principle, this chapter should have been an interesting one, as it describes Stark's visit to that area, the valley of Alamut in northern Persia, in 1930.

She starts with a brief historical introduction, which I found informative. I had thought of the Assassins as something more akin to a modern-day terrorist organization, with their dastardly leader, Hasan-i-Sabbah, sending his fanatical adherents to possibly suicidal missions to assassinate his enemies for political reasons (he “treated murder as the suffragette the hunger strike, turning it into an avowed political weapon” :)), p. 198). But as we see here, the whole thing started as more of a religious sect, “a branch of the Isma'ili, who were a branch of the Shi'a” (p. 197), though it soon became very heterodox (p. 218) and came to revolve mostly around Hasan's political ambitions. Apparently, and to my surprise, after the sect ceased to be politically relevant, it nevertheless continued to exist, and still does (or at least did as of the 1930s when Stark wrote this book): “H.H. the Agha Khan receives, as head of the sect, the tithe instituted by Hasan-i-Sabbah [. . .] confirmed during a law-suit before the High Court in Bombay in 1866” (pp. 200–1).

Another interesting detail was that apparently Alamut is just the name of a valley and of the river that flows through it, but not e.g. of a village or of the Assassins' castle itself (pp. 201, 212, 219). Stark mostly refers to that castle as “the Rock”, possibly with an attribute such as “of Alamut” (p. 202) or “of the Assassins” (p. 216). It stands above a village named Qasir Khan (p. 219).

She travelled on muleback, guided by a local mule-driver; they started in the city of Qazvin and travelled for several days, first through a plain and then gradually reaching the hilly country where the valley of Alamut was located. Along the way she made some efforts to collect geographical names, as the area was poorly mapped (p. 212). Eventually she visited the ruins of the castle itself, but they seemed to be in very bad shape: “nearly everything is ruined beyond the power of imagination to reconstruct, and the lower part of the castle [. . .] were inaccessible without climbing-shoes” (p. 221). She also met the local landlord and a suitably suspicious police official, who, however, fortunately didn't give her too much trouble.

She continued to the town of Garmrud on the other side of the valley, where she visited another ruin, the castle of Nevisar Shah (pp. 231), named after a (perhaps legendary?) “unbeliever” king of that name (p. 225). This is where this chapter ends; Stark adds a brief bibliography for “[a]nyone who wishes for scientific information about these matters” but emphasizes that “[w]hat I write here is for pleasure [. . .] I mention the things I like to remember as they come into my head” (p. 228). Unfortunately I find — and this seems to be a recurring feature with this book — that I don't have as much pleasure reading her account as she probably had writing it. This chapter was something of a disappointment to me; the castles she visited turned out to be miserable ruins where nothing impressive or interesting could be seen, and the whole story is just an account of more or less everyday experiences and encounters during a journey through a very remote and mountainous part of rural Persia. Clearly Stark enjoyed her journey and liked to interact with the local people whom she met along the way, but I can't say that it made for a very interesting read.

The Assassins' Castle of Lamiasar

I was interested to learn that the Assassins had numerous fortresses; the Mongols destroyed “fifty or more” of them in the 13th century (p. 234). Lamiasar was notable for having held out longer than most of the others. Stark heard about it from a Persian friend who apparently did not know its actual location, so she set out to find it. Departing from Qazvin with one attendant and two mules, it took them a little less than a day to encounter someone who was able to give them more precise directions to Lamiasar (p. 240). They reached the castle after another day of travel; she explored the ruin thoroughly (pp. 245–8), but it doesn't seem to have been any better preserved than the ones in the previous chapter. The area was mosquito-infested and malarial, and the chapter ends with Stark herself starting to feel ill, and her attendant conspiring with their guide “to mention no more castles, even if he knew of them, in the district of the Shah Rud and its mosquitoes” (p. 251). :))

A funny remark from a Kurdish village that had been visited by British surveyors years before: “They were under the impression that Arabic is the British language, and surprised when I told them that we have a language of our own.” :)) (P. 241.)

The Throne of Solomon

The “Throne of Solomon” (Takht-i-Suleiman) is the third highest mountain in Persia, and there is a bizarre legend behind its name: supposedly King Solomon, finding that his wife was unwilling to sleep with him, set up his tent there one time so that the cold would compel her to join him in bed after all :))) (p. 252; but see p. 288 for another version of the legend).

Stark tried to reach the mountain in 1931, and this chapter begins where the previous one left off, with Stark falling ill in the mosquito-infested valley of the Shah Rud. Her illness proved to be a fairly serious case of malaria and dysentery, and she had to pause her journey for a whole week (p. 255). Then, returning to Alamut valley, she managed to get medical help from a Persian doctor who happened to be vacationing nearby (pp. 261–2) and had plenty of experience with her diseases, as they were very common on the Caspian shores (p. 266).

“Ismail had to unload the baggage and coax the mules one at a time round the corner, telling them the most distressing things about their parentage, punctuated with a stick from behind.” (Pp. 254–5.)

When her doctor offered morphine to help her sleep: “His ideas on quinine ran to three times the maximum marked in my medical guide, and I thought that a similar experiment with morphia might have too permanent an effect altogether.” (P. 262.)

Finally she got well enough to resume her journey. On reaching the village of Garmrud (which we already saw in an earlier chapter), she met the two wives of Aziz, her mule-driver (he “looked rather glum when I remarked that, in my opinion, a man's days of peace are over when he has married two times simultaneously”, p. 273 :))). She was also present when three weddings were being held in that village on the same day, and describes some of the local wedding-customs (pp. 275–8).

In the next valley she visited the “Queen of Sheba's bath”, which she often calls a “watering resort”, but it was actually just a hot spring with some improvised stone shelters for visitors (pp. 289–91). She met the Greek wife of a Hungarian engineer who worked as a surveyor for the Persian government (p. 292) — a very rare case of Europeans living in that remote part of Persia.

Eventually they got close to the mountain and spent a couple of days going uphill, mostly walking as the terrain was very hard for the mules. Stark realized she was not well enough yet to try reaching the top, though “there appeared no difficulty for an able-bodied mountaineer” (p. 297). Later it turned out that the Hungarian engineer, not wanting her to reach the mountain that he himself had not climbed yet, had conspired with her guide and got him to lead Stark to the mountain by a route from which the summit would appear too arduous to reach, instead of by a different route where it would have been possible to reach it! (P. 302. As she says in a footnote, the peak was climbed in 1933 by another British visitor.)

Crossing a ridge, they continued north, where the ground slowly begins to descend towards the Caspian Sea; this area was poorly mapped, and Stark hoped to make some contribution with her measurements (p. 307). She took an interest in the location of the medieval city of Kalar (p. 317; she concluded that it must have coincided with the present-day village of Bashm, p. 324), and bought some ancient pots and a bronze spear-head from a local magnate (p. 321).

In the village of Bijeno she was invited to take a hot bath in a swimming-pool used by the wife of the local landlord and her friends; but it proved to be “a subterranean catacomb littered with débris and egg-shells, where five or six elderly Maenads with nothing on to hide the repulsiveness of their bodies welcomed me with exclamations of joy. I felt as if I were to be initiated among witches into worlds of darkness. [. . .] I gathered up my dressing-gown and fled.” :))) (P. 337.)

Towards the end of the journey she visited yet another ruin, “the Maiden's Castle” (p. 349), but even she describes it as “rather disappointing”. Eventually she reached the new road to Teheran which was then under construction, and returned to the capital by car.

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BOOK: Peter Fleming, "Brazilian Adventure"

Peter Fleming: Brazilian Adventure. Penguin Books, 1957. (First published in 1933.) 320 pp. [A scan of a different edition (London: Jonathan Cape, 1964) is available on archive.org, and the page numbers below will refer to that edition.]

I bought and read this book more than twenty years ago (and have now recently read it for the second time), so I have quite forgotten how I came to hear about it in the first place. I can imagine a couple of reasons. One is that the author, Peter Fleming, has a familiar last name: his more famous brother Ian wrote the James Bond novels. Peter Fleming, on the other hand, seems to have mostly written non-fiction, such as travel books and also a well-known account of German plans to invade Britain in 1940 (Operation Sea Lion).

The other reason for my interest in Brazilian Adventure is its connection to the disappearance of Percy Fawcett, the British explorer who vanished in the Brazilian jungle in 1925 while trying to find a ‘lost city’ which he was sure must have existed somewhere in the area. I'm not sure when and where I first heard of Fawcett, but I strongly suspect it was in Gian Quasar's book, Into the Bermuda Triangle, which I read because of my interest in the Bermuda Triangle. Later I also read Fawcett's memoir, Exploration Fawcett (edited after his disappearance by his son Brian Fawcett), and what is (or at least was circa 2010) probably the most definite recent book on the subject, The Lost City of Z by David Grann. [But see this 2017 article, which suggests that Grann's book greatly exaggerates Fawcett's accomplishments as an explorer.] One of the purposes of the journey described by Fleming in Brazilian Adventure was to find out more (if possible) about Fawcett's fate, so that would naturally have been another reason for me to want to read this book.

Anyway, this turns out to be a very readable and enjoyable book, though as a contribution to the Fawcett mystery it leaves a good deal to be desired. Its chief feature is the author's sense of humour and his staunch refusal to take himself or his expedition seriously. He was, it seems, fed up with the genre of “travel and adventure” books (p. 122) in which the countless adventurers — self-styled explorers, colonels on long-term leave from the army, great white hunters, and the like — dished up exaggerated accounts of their bushwhacking exploits in the jungles of various remote parts of the world. By 1932/33, when this book was written (the expedition took place in July–October 1932), the times when such adventurers could make any really substantial contributions to geographical science were long gone (pp. 31–32), but I guess that the genre of books they had spawned took some time to die.

In reaction to this genre, much of what Fleming says, and the way he says it, is in deliberate opposition to and mockery of its conventions. ‘Travel and adventure’ writers might seriously refer to ‘the precious fluid’ when writing about their shortage of drinking water; Fleming prints “the Precious Fluid” with capital initials to poke fun at the cliche (p. 122; indeed the book positively bristles with sarcastic capital initials of this type). They might have hostile Indians with their poisoned arrows and blow-darts lurking behind every corner; Fleming tells you bluntly that he never encountered anyone hostile and was at no point in any serious danger. They might make a big deal of the discomforts they had to endure due to heat, insects and the like; Fleming makes light of “[t]he minor — the very minor — discomforts of camping in the jungle” (p. 171; though you can't help feeling, from his descriptions, that a good deal of it was actually pretty darn uncomfortable after all). They might make great claims of geographical discovery and blank spots on the map; Fleming admits plainly that at best they navigated a tiny bit of “a tributary to a tributary to a tributary of the Amazon” (p. 9), and that if any reduction of the blank spots was thereby accomplished it must have been negligible indeed (p. 240).

This attitude of his was in a way refreshing and made for entertaining reading; but I also couldn't help feeling that it must have been more refreshing in the 1930s than it is today — the idea of not being able to take things seriously, and of maintaining a sort of ironic detachment from everything, is no longer new and refreshing nowaways, but is itself an old and worn-out cliche. So I couldn't help feeling, from time to time, how nice it would be if he could have felt honestly enthusiastic and dedicated to something now and then.

The only other complaint I have, and it isn't so much about the book as about the expedition on which it is based, is this: I wish that the whole thing had been a little less amateurish and bungled, and that it had made a somewhat more earnest effort to clear up the Fawcett mystery. Now, Fleming will be the first to admit that their expedition was indeed amateurish and bungled, and he delights in poking fun at himself and his companions in the most disarming fashion — and yet at some point you can't help wishing that you were reading a book by someone who did a good and competent job than by someone who bungled it but is able to joke charmingly about his own incompetence.

*

The whole affair is presented as faintly ridiculous from practically the very first page: Fleming joined the expedition by replying to their ad in the ‘Agony Column’ of The Times (16 April 1932, p. 1, col. 3). It was advertised as partly a shooting and fishing trip, and partly a search for Fawcett, and indeed here is where the problems began: Fleming and his friend Roger, whom he recruited to join the expedition (pp. 43–44), were actually interested in searching for clues as to Fawcett's fate, but the other members, the ones who had started organising the expedition (and put out the newspaper ad looking for two more members, which Fleming then replied to) were really only in it for a slightly more adventurous hunting trip, and weren't really interested in going out of their way to reach the area where Fawcett had disappeared.

Fleming is mostly a bit vague about who exactly the other members of the expedition were, what their qualifications were, who exactly was organizing it (he refers only to “our Organizer”, p. 36) etc.; this annoyed me a little, and there was hardly any reason for hiding their names from the public since they had already been named in several articles in The Times (26 April 1932, pp. 1718; 17 June 1932, pp. 1516, 18; 29 November 1932, pp. 1516, 18; 30 November 1932, pp. 1314). The expedition was funded by the members themselves, each of them contributing £400 (p. 40). It was led by a Major Pingle (p. 37; a pseudonym — see this interesting discussion about his actual identity), an American living in Brazil who was supposed to have “wide experience” at this sort of thing.

The organisation of the expedition seems to have been somewhat amateurish from the start, as if the people involved had more self-confidence than competence (an attitude that worked well for the British upper classes for a long time, until it didn't); and then their plans were thrown still further off course when they arrived to Brazil and found that a revolution (pp. 78–80) had broken out meanwhile. Of course for Fleming's purposes this suited admirably; you pretty much expect some sort of revolution to be going on in the background of any self-respecting trip to South America, and it added wonderfully to the general atmosphere of chaos and unreality that pervades the whole book. Cables are constantly getting lost, much of their luggage never makes it out of Sao Paulo, the railway system is even more out of order than it would otherwise have been, the constant delays that plague the expedition at every step get even worse, etc. And for all that, the revolution seems to be a remarkably low-key affair, the Brazilians certainly talk a great deal about it but relatively little in the way of fighting or other sorts of revolutionary violence happens at any point; life just goes on in the same indolent, lackadaisical fashion as always.

Slowly the expedition made its way north — by train, then car, then boat — with the aim of eventually reaching a minor river, the Tapirapé, and then crossing about 150 miles of jungle towards the Kuluene river; this was the area where, according to reports by nearby Indians, the smoke of Fawcett's expedition had last been seen, some seven years before (pp. 27–29, 65–69, 109).

Along the way we get a good many descriptions of nature — the birds, the plants, and so on — perhaps more than one might have expected given Fleming's general commitment to ironic detachment, and also rather more than I was really keen on. (But, true to his spirit, Fleming anticipates this objection: “I could write interminably of the birds, but [. . .] You have had already more than you can stand”, p. 131.) Anyway, although I'm not really interested in descriptions of nature, one or two things here were interesting anyway; for example, some of the animals that we might consider familiar now were quite exotic from his point of view, their names given only in italics and in Brazilian Portuguese (e.g. the “capivara, which is a rodent as big as a sheep, a kind of water guinea pig”, p. 126). Incidentally, on the subject of local words in italics, naturally these are also a cliched aspect of the ‘Travel and Adventure’ school of writing, so that Fleming feels compelled to apologize at some length for using them anyway (p. 133). —

Eventually, however, it became clear that Major Pingle had been engaged by the expedition organizers on the (mis)understanding that it was going to be just a “casual shooting trip”, and, despite all his earlier protestations to the contrary, he had no interest in seriously attempting the voyage up the Tapirapé river, let alone the cross-country journey from there into the area where Fawcett had disappeared (pp. 164–7). By contrast, Fleming and his friend Roger were determined to at least make the attempt; not that they expected to succeed, but they aimed at “honourable failure” (p. 196) rather than the ignominy of not even attempting to achieve the stated goal of the expedition.

So the rest of the expedition continued up the river while Pingle waited, confident that they would turn back soon and return to him in a couple of weeks at most (pp. 172–3). Indeed without him they had a hard enough time communicating with their Brazilian attendants, let alone with the local Indians. Eventually the expedition split: Fleming and two others, with a few Indians as guides, decided to attempt the cross-country leg of the journey (pp. 196–201), while the rest returned downstream.

This overland journey, unsurprisingly, proved difficult; they could only take as much food, equipment etc. as they could carry, which was not much (pp. 217–18). They had little in the way of weapons and ammunition; nor was it easy to find water — the area was drier than a naive reader like me expects when he hears about bushwhacking in the Amazon. There was jungle along the rivers, elsewhere it was open grassland or “campo” (Fleming uses this word so casually that he doesn't even put it in italics :)). Their Indian ‘guides’ were soon at an end both of their geographical knowledge and of their patience, and turned back (p. 213); Fleming and others persisted for a few more days, mostly staying close to a small unnamed river and for some time actually wading up it (p. 227). The area must have been inhabited by Indians, as they often saw deliberately cut or broken branches, evidently to mark trails or something like that (p. 220), but at no point did they actually see these Indians themselves.

Eventually they turned back, for several perfectly good reasons. It was clear that the rainly season was approaching, and that would bring with it incessant storms and the risk of fever. They were running uncomfortably low on food. It was unwise to assume that the local Indians would prove friendly, or even if they did, that they would have much food to sell. “If one of us had gone lame, or if anything had happened to the .22 [gun], it is improbable that we should have got out at all.” (P. 251.) Nevertheless a better organized expedition would probably have been able to accomplish the cross-country journey to the Kuluene (p. 252).

Based on his experiences on this last leg of the journey, Fleming concluded that Fawcett's expedition may have perished due to some accident, or become weakened to the point where they represented an easy target for some hostile group of Indians, and were either killed or died in captivity (pp. 256–8).

The return journey was either ugly or ludicrous, depending on how you look at it. They returned to Major Pingle, but he refused to release their share of the expedition funds (which he was in control of), being apparently sour about the fact that Fleming and a few others had resigned from the expedition and continued on their own, and being paranoid that Fleming had intended to libel him in dispatches to the press. Fleming and his friend Roger, refusing to return under Pingle's command, now had to make their way (with a few Brazilian attendants) down the river with a paltry sum of some £10, which was all they could get out of Pingle (p. 275).

Their destination was the town of Pará on the north coast of Brazil, and they were very keen to reach it before Pingle; partly as a matter of pride, partly to prevent him from causing trouble there, and partly to catch the first ship to England, otherwise they'd have to wait another month for the next one. So something like a race now emerged between Fleming's party and Pingle's, with all manner of intrigues and reversals and desperate attempts to get Brazilians to hurry (a nearly impossible task), all of which is described in Fleming's steady comical style that pervades the whole book. They had to raise additional funds by selling their equipment bit by bit (pp. 286–7, 297), and at one point they appealed to the revolutionary sympathies of a local bigwig to dissuade him from selling petrol to the boat that Pingle's party was travelling on :)) (pp. 349–51).

In the end, they did reach Pará before Major Pingle, and they did catch the boat for England, just barely. The book ends rather abruptly there, with only a short and suitably absurd epilogue showing Fleming's encounter with overzealous customs officials upon his return to England (pp. 368–9). I was hoping we would learn more about how they eventually resolved affairs with Major Pingle; did Fleming and others get their money back? Did Pingle suffer any sort of consequences whatsoever for his deplorable behaviour? I suspect not, but in any case, Fleming says nothing about this. Perhaps there was nothing to say, or he thought it would be libellous, or that it would be too serious and not in accord with the rest of the book. It seems clear that his feelings regarding Pingle were characterized more by pity than by anger (p. 371).

*

So, as I already said earlier, this was an entertaining book to read, but in some ways an unsatisfactory one. But I guess we mustn't blame Fleming for it; he knew that his expedition hadn't accomplished anything significant enough and that if he had attempted to write a serious book in the ‘Travel and Adventure’ genre, it would have been silly and insincere: “ours was not that sort of expedition, and mine is not that sort of book” (p. 9). Instead, he managed to produce something fresh that probably stood out from the mass of other bushwhacking books on the market, and still makes for a good read today.

Miscellaneous

“Women wearing funny little black hats, coloured handkerchiefs, and cavalry moustaches carry huge fish in baskets on their heads. I wonder whether it affects the character always having a dead fish so near one's brain?” (P. 51.)

“We went to night clubs and watched the maxixe, a dance the nature of which can perhaps best be indicated by saying that its purpose appears to be to get St. Vitus decanonized.” (P. 63.)

“Tall secretary birds pranced anxiously down the road before our cars with the stupidity of poultry and the gait of haute école.” (P. 95.) :)))

“But there were no Indians, no jaguars. We saw nothing more formidable than a toad, detected in the act of climbing into my trouser pocket as I slept. If I knew my job, I should say it was a man-eating toad; but I cannot slander so trustful a creature.” (P. 225.) I would *love* to see a man-eating toad :]

There's an interesting passage on p. 140, summarizing what kind of book this is: he records his subjective experiences rather than objective facts. “This book is all truth and no facts. It is probably the most veracious travel book ever written; and it is certainly the least instructive.”

Not from the book but from Fleming's report on the plans of the expedition in The Times (17 June 1932, p. 16): “since some of the tribes have a cannibalistic reputation the Indian who thinks he has the entrée to a neighbouring village may find that the word has, for him, an unpleasantly double meaning.” :))

ToRead:

Several other books by Fleming also look interesting:

  • One's Company (1934) and News from Tartary (1936), about his travels in China in the 1930s.
  • Invasion 1940 (1957), about German plans to invade Britain during WW2.
  • The Siege at Peking (1959), about the Boxer Uprising .
  • Bayonets to Lhasa (1961), about the British invasion of Tibet in 1905.

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