My Short-Lived Conan Campaign

Back in graduate school, I had barely enough time to run a very short-lived Hyborian campaign, using the D20 Conan the Roleplaying Game rules from Mongoose Publishing. Conan is not the kind of setting that an OD&D game would really fit well with, I'd think. Why? Well, simply because OD&D seems more at home with a mega-dungeon. Reading through James' Dwimmermount posts at Grognardia, Justin A.'s reactions to OD&D at The Alexandrian, and reading through the White Box rules myself, I've come to the conclusion that OD&D is more at home in the mega-dungeon than anyplace else.

Yeah, Robert E. Howard is a huge influence on OD&D, and the pulpy stories that he and others (like Fritz Leiber) wrote, with scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells adventuring for quickly-spent fortunes being at the heart of the game's flavor--but that flavor is also very much effected by the mega-dungeon, something that Robert E. Howard and Fritz Leiber do NOT dwell on. Dungeon settings pop up in their stories, but never one huge, oft-revisited, re-delved, evolving labyrinth.

A Hyborian adventure lends itself to two types of games, in my opinion--the city game or the wilderness game--exact opposites of what the mega-dungeon game involves. In the mega-dungeon game, the sandbox approach works incredibly well. The players and DM together, through play, create the world. There are maybe one or two bases of operation, and one big, bad dungeon that is repeatedly delved, deeper and deeper each time. But the city and wilderness games require a more definite approach.

I ran my game in Shadizar, capital of Zamora and City of Wickedness. The city game needs a pretty detailed setting, so I went to mine ideas from the Shadizar--City of Wickedness boxed set by Vincent Darlage. Yeah, I don't recommend it. The original map for the book was a joke, and the setting details were completely culled from pastiche sources, like the cheesy Conan books by Robert Jordan and the comic books. Now, I'm not knocking the pastiche, but it's not Howard, and honestly, if it's not going to be Howard, it may as well be cooked up in Darlage's own head. All of the locations were all taken from the pastiche books, all the gods from the comics, and none of it was Darlage's. There was a single adventure in there, entitled "Dark Dens of Iniquity." At its core, there could be a decent adventure. You have some interesting characters with neat motivations, but the adventure itself is basically the PCs being railroaded from one encounter to the next with really very little coherent plot development--as a railroad adventure "Dark Dens of Iniquity" even failed! But there were some really good feats (like "Eyes of the Magpie") and a few decent prestige classes in the books to make it worthwhile, plus a few tables on slaves, kidnapping, and prostitution that could be useful. And Mongoose had the good graces to produce a better map of the city for download on their website.

So, I decided to bust out my trusty pen and pencil and completely rework the adventure and city from the ground up. I spent money on the boxed set, and thankfully, a second map was released online for me to download and use. I mined some other sources for ideas, namely the Scarred Land's Shelzar--City of Sins (the similarity in names is NOT a coincidence), Planescape's In the Cage--A Guide to Sigil (for general weirdness), Dark Sun's The City-State of Tyr (for the harshness of setting), and the Forgotten Realms' City of Splendors boxed set (the 2nd edition masterpiece, not that 3rd edition abortion of a crunch catalog). I went through some of Robert Jordan's pastiche books for some locations and characters that Darlage didn't include. And I wrote up pages of notes on the pantheon, factions, politics, people, and locations throughout the city--notes that I can still pick up anytime I want to try and run a Shadizar game again (and I fully intend to do so when I return to the States from Korea). I had neighborhoods mapped, a few inns, merchants' homes, noble houses, and caravanserais.

My kind of sandbox is a bit different from many of the grognards' sandboxes--the sand isn't the world, but the actions and deeds of the players. The shovels, molds, and other tools/toys for shaping the sand are the rules-set and the setting design. The more thorough, the more it gives the players to work with.

Despite how short-lived it was, it was pretty successful with the two who played it, Jason and Kyle. It lasted about four sessions and went halfway through a story-arc. Given the characters in Vincent Darlage's "Dark Dens of Iniquity" I managed to create a pretty compelling adventure that would make a decent pulp novella had it run its course.

My GMing philosophy ran like this:

1. Don't prep plots, prep situations. Now, I didn't actually put it like that at the time--I instead said "don't railroad, make it free-form." Justin Alexander said, "Don't prep plots, prep situations" first, and he honestly says it better than I can.

2. Prepping the situation required characters and motivations. I took the characters Darlage provided me, adjusted names, occupations, and personalities to fit what I wanted better.

3. Take Raymond Chandler's advice: Whenever things start to slow down, have someone kick in the door with a gun. Robert E. Howard wasn't the only pulp writer out there, and he wrote a lot more than just Conan stories. Mine them for ideas and principles. Run your game like its a pulp story. Therefore, if the characters are stumped, stuck, or not sure what to do next, throw them something to make them start moving again. I had a gang of thieves and cutthroats who's leader wanted the PCs dead (they humiliated him almost immediately) and owed the badguys money for just this purpose. He and his gang were just the sort of characters the players loved to hate.

4. Use a MacGuffin. And what better MacGuffin than the Heart of the Elephant! At first, they didn't even know what it was, but when they finally realized what they had stolen, they were terrified. No wonder the King and this crazy evil sorceress are after us! They have no idea how to use such a powerful magical item (which limits their ability to break the game), but there's the possibility that, over time, they could unlock its secrets. But its a dangerous artifact, and a lot of people are going to be after them to get it! MacGuffins can get overused, yeah, but they're a staple of hardboiled stories and pulp ever since The Maltese Falcon.

5. "The only way out is to go deeper." Halfway through session 3, when Kyle's character turned to Jason's and said, "This is too big for us. How do we get out of this mess," Jason's responded with this line. (And he was very happy that he actually had an opportunity to say something like this in a game.) This sums up a lot of hardboiled pulp stories. Granted, they're different from sword-&-sorcery tales, but a lot of themes, pacing, and action are the same, so there's no reason not to mine the likes of Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, and Mickey Spillane for storytelling techniques. Create a conspiracy or two, devise factions, and throw the PCs in the middle of the whole mess.

6. They're writing the story, not you. You just set the pins up. Let them knock them down (or get knocked down by the pins themselves). Let your world react to the PCs. They're the ones the story's about. If they do nothing, the world moves on. If they act, react in a logical manner. Throw them challenges, see if they have the wits to survive. Remember, Conan wasn't stupid, and he lived by his wits just as much as he did by his sword.

The end result was a lot of fun. The game didn't end due to lack of enthusiasm, but because work on my MA thesis was ramping up big-time and Jason and Kyle were writing papers and preparing for exams themselves. After my MA thesis was done, I graduated and came to Korea, so we never did manage to pick the game back up. There are a number of story-arcs I'd wanted to explore--one or two were spawned simply by decisions the PCs made during their game (such as the debt to the mysterious information broker). But when I return from Korea, I definitely want to resurrect the game and see what I can do with the twisted webs, dark conspiracies, weird sorcery, and deadly secrets that await in Shadizar, the City of Wickedness.

10 Desert Island Fantasy Novels

This has been going around (recently at places like Huge Ruined Pile and Monsters & Manuals). The idea is to pick 10 books, no more than one per author, and all must be fantasy. These are the ones you'd want to have with you if you were marooned on a desert island.

Gardens of the Moon. Steven Erikson
The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien (omnibus edition)
A Darkness at Sethanon. Raymond E. Feist
The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian. Robert E. Howard
The Best of H.P. Lovecraft: Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre. H.P. Lovecraft
The Dying Earth. Jack Vance
The Judging Eye. R. Scott Bakker
The Elric Saga, Part One. Michael Moorcock (omnibus edition)
The Great Book of Amber. Roger Zelazny (omnibus edition)
The Iliad. Homer (Lattimore's translation)

Book Review -- THE GUNS OF AVALON by Roger Zelazny

Several months ago, I slammed through this short book and intended to write a review on it, but never did get around to it. Zelazny's first volume, Nine Princes in Amber, I have already reviewed here. It's a pretty short novel, running only about 223 pages in length, so it's pretty typical of a mid-20th century fantasy/science-fiction novel in that regard.

If you've read my comments on Nine Princes of Amber, then you'll know what to expect here. Zelazny mixes a lot of literary styles, but seems to focus primarily on the fantasy aspect of the series in this novel. Corwin, our protagonist, still talks like a hardboiled detective at times, and at others like a knight from an Arthurian romance (occasionally in the same sentence), but as I stated in my other review, this is just a feature of Zelazny's setting, not an anachronism. His prose isn't fantastic, though he occasionally shines in certain places. He writes with the fast-paced rhythm of the pulpy adventure that dominated so much of the 20th century. His descriptions are sparse, almost anti-Tolkienesque in flavor, leaving much to the imagination of the reader. He focuses more on describing fencing technique and combat, or clothing and accessories, than he does location or setting.

As for the story itself, it picks up shortly after Nine Princes of Amber ended. When we last left Corwin, he had vowed to claim his brother's throne and see guns brought to Amber--a place where gunpowder does not ignite. But Corwin has a plan, and the bulk of this book focuses on how he carries this plan to fruition.

If that were all, the book would be hum-drum, but Zelazny set up a wrinkle at the end of Nine Princes when it appeared that a new road to Amber had opened up through Shadow--one related directly to Corwin's curse that Eric's reign would not be easy or peaceful. Throughout the book, Corwin must confront the consequences of his curse, which appear to escalate in intensity to the point of nearly causing him and his brother Benedict to fight to the death. The full impact of his short-sightedness and selfish behavior do not make themselves fully clear until the very ending, when Corwin faces something that could potentially destroy Amber and bring Chaos to the entire multiverse that Amber governs.

Corwin is something of a scoundrel, an ultimately selfish and narcissistic character, but then again, so are all of his siblings. He is very typical of the 1960s-70s fantasy anti-hero, cut from a similar cloth as Moorcock's Elric. However, Zelazny is not about to let him get away with it, and Guns of Avalon is about reaping what one has sown. Throughout the novel, Corwin travels through lands and encounters people where his past threatens to catch up with him, and his current deeds will bring consequences before the novel ends. Despite all of the challenges he face, the greatest threat to Corwin isn't from the darkness that cuts through Shadow, or from his brothers, but from himself and his own indiscretion.

In the end, Corwin triumphs, but his triumph is hollow and meaningless, because he is inheriting the very curse that he bequeathed upon his brother. Corwin conquers every challenge set before him except those he has set before himself.

This novel is very obviously a bridge. It's setting up the next installments, wherein Corwin will undoubtedly confront his own creations and face the consequences of his actions and his decisions.

But none of this should suggest that Corwin is not a sympathetic character. He's an Amberite--he is stronger, faster, and more intelligent than people who live in Shadow. He has lived for centuries, and in those centuries perfected his combat abilities and his knowledge and skill in military affairs. As a strategist, he is second only to Benedict, his elder brother and former warmaster of Amber. There's good reason for his aloofness and narcissism. During his sojourn on our Earth, Corwin had learned that beings from Shadow were not simply toys or mindless dolls to manipulate, but that we had feelings and were fragile in mind, body, and heart. Corwin had learned this by the beginning of Nine Princes but he hadn't quite gotten over his narcissism, and, indeed, by his treatment of his lovers, one can see that he still has a way to go.

As with Nine Princes, the author's inspiration is eclectic. Zelazny takes us through worlds invoking chivalric romance and Arthurian legend, on chases through strange landscapes, and a brief jaunt to 20th century Earth. Great squadrons of mounted knights charge into monstrous hordes of foul beasts, evil creatures cackle in dark towers, and heroes with shining swords do battle against the forces of chaos. Like most of the pulpy fantasy writers of the 50s, 60s, and 70s, the great enemy isn't simply evil, but is chaotic (this would come to heavily influence Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson in their creation of fantasy role-playing games, such as Dungeons & Dragons). The final chapter features modern riflemen engaging in a decisive battle that could remind readers of Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel. The book is, like its predecessor, an exciting journey through imagination--something that pulp writers do best. It's not a work of amazing literary merit, but it is surreal enough to be thoroughly magical.The Guns of Avalon by Roger Zelazny
Style B
Substance B
Overall B

Book Review -- NINE PRINCES IN AMBER by Roger Zelazny

A man wakes in a hospital bed with no memory, except the knowledge that he's been kept drugged up for quite some time. He doesn't know why, but he's determined to escape and find out. Thus begins a fast-paced, imaginative adventure that is, in many ways, emblematic of the new wave in science fiction and fantasy. It starts off almost like a hardboiled detective novel, and indeed, there are certain character elements (including first-person narration) that seem lifted directly from a Raymond Chandler story. But it is dynamic and imaginative fantasy nevertheless.

If you haven't heard of Amber, nor read any of Zelazny's Chronicles, then I'm loath to give away any of the story. So I'll try to cut out as many of the spoilers as humanly possible while still discussing the strengths of the book.

First, the tone shifts back and forth between dense, chivalric language and modern slang, almost to the point where it can be quite jarring:

"I did not know this," I said. "My memory is so screwed up. Please bear with me. I shall miss Benedict, an' he is dead. He was my Master of Arms and taught me of all weapons. But he was gentle."

"Screwed up" right beside "an' he is dead," this mixture of wording and idiom can be somewhat shocking, but it actually makes sense, given who the protagonist is, and shows that Zelazny is actually a much more versatile writer than we think.

I walked among Shadows, and found a race of furry creatures, dark and clawed and fanged, reasonably manlike, and about as intelligent as a freshman in high school of your choice--sorry, kids, but what I mean is they were loyal, devoted, honest, and too easily screwed by bastards like me and my brother. I felt like the dee-jay of your choice.

It makes perfect sense that the protagonist's long sojourn on our Earth (and in the United States, for a time) has had a profound effect on his thinking. As the novel develops, we can see that the main character's fondness for our world has changed him on a number of quite fundamental levels. Yes, given his ultimate background, he has every reason to be haughty, superior, and to see the average person as little more than servants and/or cannon-fodder. However, his experience has given him compassion and empathy, and as he regains his memories, we learn what horrible tragedies he has seen, the wars he fought in, and the agonies he has suffered. These experiences set him apart from the others like him, and give him a deeper understanding of the "little guy."

This mixture of language styles and idioms supports the idea that the hero is caught between two lives--the one he ultimately lived in, and the one he recently experienced on our Earth (right before he awakes in the hospital bed). His character could be simply flat and static, and in many ways, he might seem so. But Zelazny's use of idiom and his subtle reminders of the protagonist's past experiences (through brief flashes of memory), as well as his compassion for underlings, creates a stark contrast between him and his peers.

Due to the brevity of the work, the other characters don't get much time to develop, but Zelazny does a good job with the barest of spaces that he uses. For example, Random lives up to his name--he's impulsive and unpredictable; Moira comes off as cool, in control, confident, and serene; Eric as hard, determined, and ruthless. Other characters, however, don't come off so well. Deirdre could be played by Random Blonde #5, and Caine and Gérard are poorly defined and very interchangeable, but they could all be much better depicted in later books. The characters are all pretty archetypal at this point in the tale, but the book is only 175 pages long so I guess it can be excused.

Zelazny is also quite light on the description, so your mental pictures are a bit smoky and ill-defined. The magnificent city of Amber only gets a brief sentence of description when seen from a distance, which will be quite surprising and perhaps disappointing to readers weaned on Tolkien or Robert Jordan.

The mountain that faces the dawn, Kolvir, which has held Amber like a mother her child for all time, stood perhaps twenty miles to our left, the north, and the sun covered her with gold and made rainbow the veil above the city.

You really don't get much more than that. Zelazny doesn't want to slow down his story for the sake of description, but that means that your mental picture is little more than a pencil-sketch without a lot of color. You have to fill in most of the image.

What Zelazny does describe are events--especially fights. The reader would be advised to brush up on some of his fencing terminology, because Zelazny uses it, frequently during sword-fights. His action is fast, bloody, and brief, but you can easily visualize the swashbuckling style that made guys like Errol Flynn famous. There is one sword-fight that takes place in a library that is only a few pages long, but is far, far more exciting than reading a Robert Jordan duel, which ends up being a list of inscrutable blade techniques with names like Lakota chieftains.

The use of amnesia and the regaining of memories serves as a great vehicle for introducing the world and the setting to the readers, rendering info-dumps as an integral part of the storyline and making them far more interesting to the reader and more emotionally meaningful to the protagonist.

Many refer to The Chronicles of Amber as Zelazny's magnum opus, and I can certainly see this being a solid foundation for such a work. The book is populated with allusions to history and literature, which make the story both familiar and new at the same time. For example, the Forest of Arden is lifted from Shakespeare's As You Like It, and there are elements of the War of the Roses infused in the rivalry for the throne of Amber. The Trumps themselves make for a great setting/story element. Each turn of the pages reveals more and more of Zelazny's mysterious universe.

Good fantasy, like good science-fiction, is often about the imagination, and the creation of believable systems that enable the writer to do whatever he/she wants. Zelazny's book is a pretty good flight of fantasy. Unfortunately, character depth isn't all that impressive for the most part, and Zelazny's lack of description is somewhat disappointing, because when he does decide to describe something, he seems to do so effectively enough:

The archway loomed ahead, perhaps two hundred feet distant. Big, shining like alabaster, and carved with Tritons, sea nymphs, mermaids, and dolphins, it was. And there seemed to be people on the other side of it.

How much does Zelazny really need to say about an archway? He sums it up with two sentences. But something like the city of Amber itself deserves a bit more. The strength of this pulpy language is to keep the story moving and keep the reader interested. But I feel as if there were areas where more description was warranted, even if it did slow down the narrative a bit. Zelazny wisely chooses to explain why Amber is so magnificent and wonderful through the actions, words, and thoughts of the character and keep the story flowing. However, we could certainly benefit from a more extensive physical description of its magnificence. I honestly must say that I have no idea what Amber is supposed to look like, except that it's on a mountain and beautiful. Maybe gold. I could tell you all about what it represents, but I really can't say a single thing about what it looks like. For something so central to the story, I feel that it deserves a bit more.

All together, this is a fairly solid, pulpy book and a decent contribution to the swashbuckling angle of the sword & sorcery genre. It's certainly a fine example of "big concept" writing (with Amber itself being the concept), and it's full of action, suspense, and atmosphere galore. Zelazny writes events and situations remarkably well, and he certainly is a master at creating atmosphere and tone, but he makes an Iphigenia of physical set descriptions in order to propel the plot forward on winds of action and suspense. Nevertheless, it is definitely recommended.

Nine Princes in Amber by Roger Zelazny
Style B+
Substance B
Overall B

Book Review -- THE INSIDIOUS DR. FU-MANCHU

It's taken me some months to get through this book, but that's mostly been because I've been reading too many things simultaneously. The story behind the book is almost as interesting as the book itself. Sax Rohmer (born Arthur Henry Sarsfield Ward) penned a number of short-stories serialized 1912-1913 revolving around the infamous Yellow Peril. Much of the interest in the Yellow Peril was sparked by the Boxer Uprising (1898-1901) and Japan's subsequent expansion campaign, culminating with its defeat of Russia in 1905. Sax Rohmer's writing is very much a product of his time, and is fascinating as a historical artifact describing European fascination with the cultural trappings of East Asia, coupled with Westerner's paradoxical fear and misunderstanding. The British short stories were originally collected in a single volume entitled The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu, but when published in America, the stories were removed from their serialization and converted into chapters of a single novel, called The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu. The reason for this decision by the publishers is curious, and I honestly wish I had known about this before I bought the American version (otherwise I'd have ordered the British version online).

William Maynard over at the (now closed and archived) Cimmerian has written a number of articles analyzing seven of the short stories. The series is called Blogging the Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu.
Part One--"The Zayat Kiss"
Part Two--"The Zayat Kiss," continued
Part Three--"The Clue of the Pigtail"
Part Four--"Redmoat"
Part Five--"The Green Mist"
Part Six--"The Call of Shiva"
Part Seven--"Karamaneh"Part Eight--"Andaman--Second!"

A lot of what Maynard has to say is totally accurate and worth mentioning so I'll probably be referencing him at least once of twice.

The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu (U.S. title) by Sax Rohmer

Inspector Nayland Smith (whom I picture as played by a young Cary Elwes--Westley from A Princess Bride) interrupts Dr. Petrie (whom I picture as played by Jude Law in a similar vein to his Dr. Watson from 2009's Sherlock Holmes), whisking him from his dull, ordinary life on the verge of starting a family practice, and recruits him as an assistant in his pursuit of the mysterious criminal mastermind, Dr. Fu-Manchu.

Nayland Smith's description of the cunning doctor is poignant:

"Imagine a person, tall, lean, and feline, high-shouldered, with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull, and long, magnetic eyes of the true-cat green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect, with all the resources of science past and present, with all the resources, if you will, of a wealthy government – which, however, already has denied all knowledge of his existence. Imagine that awful being, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the yellow peril incarnate in one man.”

Smith embodies the British "stiff upper-lip" severity--he is singular of purpose, incapable of distraction, and obsessively driven to capture and see convicted the nefarious doctor. Petrie, who narrates the story, is drawn willingly into the case, although all logic would suggest that, in reality, Petrie would have no business running around with a cadre of Scotland Yard detectives and a former British operative late of Burma after his first recruitment as a consultant in the initial case. Petrie never laments his involvement in what is undoubtedly something far above his own head, but almost seems to see it as his duty to his friend, Smith, to be a stalwart and trustworthy companion. He also seems driven by his curiosity and desire to see the criminal mastermind imprisoned, but not with the myopic obsession that engulfs Smith. Petrie's interest in the matter is compounded by his fascination with a beautiful young Arabic woman who is enthralled by Fu-Manchu. Petrie, in typical heroic fashion, seeks to liberate her from the dreaded doctor's clutches.

Maynard, in his first and second commentaries, compares the characters to Doyles' Holmes and Watson, and clearly marks the differences between them. Firstly, Smith, while obsessively driven to capture the doctor, is fully aware that he is no match for the cunning genius that is Fu-Manchu's. Indeed, Smith and Petrie are almost always one or two steps behind the doctor, who always seems to have them outwitted. Luck, quick-thinking, and the support of comrades are the few things that they seem to have on their side, and often only barely allow them to foil a few of the dreaded doctor's schemes.

The second difference is Petrie, who is Watson to Smith's Holmes. They do not start out as bachelors looking for living quarters together (as did Holmes and Watson), but already know of one-another. Indeed, Smith comes to Petrie because his old friend is one of the few people that Smith can trust. Petrie is not much of a hero, but is instead the British version of an "Average Joe" (albeit with a medical degree). He is remarkably undistinguished, and reacts much as we can imagine the average educated Englishman would given the variety of circumstances in which he finds himself. He doesn't once resent Smith for dragging him out of his ordinary life (he was on the verge of starting a family practice) and into a lethal and convoluted mire of intrigue. Instead, he never questions Smith, but signs on without thought or hesitation, and is accepted by everyone, from Scotland Yard to the dreaded doctor himself, as Smith's accomplice and confidant.

Petrie's love-interest is fascinating for it showcases a number of European (and particularly British) attitudes towards the East (both Near and Far). Karamaneh, the Arabic slave-girl, is a complex mystery. Her dusky skin and dark eyes mark her as physically exotic. She is the only woman in the entire series of stories that is ever described in any manner. All of the other women are mentioned only briefly, with the exception of Reverend Eltham's daughter, Greba. Greba is an almost typical young British gentlewoman, reserved, naïve and innocent, but remarkably curious. On the whole, however, when compared to Karamaneh her typicality makes her boring and dull, almost mediocre. Karamaneh is enthralled against her will and begs Petrie to rescue her from the doctor's enslavement--but the rescue she wants is outright kidnapping. Petrie, a civilized Englishman, is loathe to sink to barbarism to rescue this girl, whom is compelled to return to Fu-Manchu's service, even though she constantly seeks to aid Petrie in his fight against the doctor. She is defined by her contradictions. Her remarkable difference from the more passive yet free British females may be a subconscious commentary of Rohmer on the women of his time. Although she is enslaved, she is driven by something internal, and takes as much action as she believes herself capable. Though Rohmer never describes it, Karamaneh is a very erotic character, symbolizing the mysterious sexuality of the Near East, a sexuality that is nine-tenths myth, and grossly misunderstood by the European. Rohmer seems to realize that the West drastically misunderstands the East, and plays off of this.

Petrie's reaction to Karamaneh comes off as typically British. The civilized doctor sees it as his duty to liberate the woman and rescue her from her situation. Ironically, throughout the book, it is Karamaneh who does most of the rescuing (reinforcing her sexuality and the stark disparity between her and her British counterparts). If viewed in a certain light, one can comment that Petrie is a parody of himself--he and Smith are constantly falling into cunning traps devised by Fu-Manchu, and it is only the quick thinking of Karamaneh that manages to save them. Petrie regards her as a double-edged sword of Fu-Manchu's--she is his agent and does his dirty work, but she is treacherous. This treachery seems to be a trait, not just of females in general, but of Eastern femininity as a whole. Again, this must be contrasted with the much more mundane predictability of Englishwomen. They faint on cue (Karamaneh as well, though it usually takes much more stress for her to swoon than the typical Englishwoman), they go into hysterics, and they are generally unreliable in a fight due to their gentility and innate belief in their own weakness. However, they are reliable in the way a domesticated animal is reliable--they do what is expected of them, rarely think for themselves, and aren't worth mentioning a great deal 90% of the time. Karamaneh's treachery is innate to her nature as an Arab and an Easterner, but it also enhances her eroticism even further.

Dr. Fu-Manchu is rarely seen, and mostly felt, throughout the book. He is a master of lores and alchemies that are virtually unknown to Western science. His lethal tools include poisonous insects and fungi, disease, drugs and toxins delivered in a cunning variety of ways. He is served by Karamaneh and a number of dacoits, South Asian murderers and thugs who serve as Fu-Manchu's enforcers, spies, and assassins. Smith and Petrie are always astounded by the mysterious manners in which he steals plans, kidnaps dignitaries, and murders ambassadors. When Smith describes his methods, it is always clear that the East Asians consider them to be supernatural. Although Smith and Petrie together determine the true and mundane nature of Fu-Manchu's techniques, there is no doubt that these methods are exotic, making use of drugs, poisons, and animals not native to the Western world (and often wholly imagined by Rohmer).

Fu-Manchu's drive is simply to restore China to its dominant place as an imperial world power--in effect he wants a Chinese empire to replace the British Empire. It is ironic how the British characters interpret this as a threat to the entire white race and an overall Bad Thing. In one respect, Fu-Manchu can be seen as a patriot and not necessarily an overly evil villain. He is the head of a criminal organization, true, and he engages in murder and intrigue to achieve his ends. However, in comparison to the CIA and the British Empire, Fu-Manchu is actually far more benevolent. He heals those he injures if it does not effect his plans, and if he can achieve his goals without murder, he does so. While he takes pleasure in seeing his plans come to fruition, laughing as British police officers die in traps that he sets, he is perfectly willing to let others live if they resign themselves to no longer interfere with his work.

This is, again, an example of Rohmer creating an Eastern and Asiatic character who is a set of contradictions. Fu-Manchu is a threat to the entire white race, but he is not a barbarian. Indeed, his command of other languages (including English) is masterful. He is constantly praised by Smith and Petrie for having one of the most brilliant medical minds on Earth, and cursed for not using it to advance Western medicine. He avoids killing when unnecessary, but does not hesitate to murder if it to his advantage. The doctor does not act out of his own interest, but is an idealist--his goal is something that goes far beyond himself. He does not hold personal grudges and never grows angry. He is ruthless, but he is not cruel.

These contradictions display a deep confusion and fascination in the early 20th-century Western world regarding East Asia. These countries were some of the most difficult to understand and penetrate throughout the preceding century. At times The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu reads as if the author was in love with Asia, and at times as if he hated it. It is clear that Rohmer had learned a great deal about the East during his research of the stories, but that knowledge was tainted by typical early-20th-century assumptions and misunderstandings of the realities of the Eastern world. While some might be quick to label Rohmer's work as "racist," I'd avoid using that word. Rohmer doesn't hate East Asians, and doesn't judge them as lower than whites. Although he is clear that he believes the races are separate, he is keenly aware (so aware it goes unsaid) that the British Empire was subjugating half of the world at that time, and it also goes unsaid that he considered this a Good Thing (Kipling thought so, too). Thus, when he describes an emerging China as a threat to the entire white race, it is, perhaps, more the threat to Europe's prosperity borne on the backs of neo-colonialism that is threatened.

As a set of stories, Rohmer's writing is, at times, unremarkable. A century after his work was published, his superstitious fears of a Yellow Peril seem quite trite when compared to the realities of the Second World War and Asian industrialization. At the time, the stories were no doubt thrilling, but today we are far more aware of East Asian culture than we were a hundred years ago. Rohmer's strengths, however, are with characterization. Smith's singlemindedness and its contrast with Petrie's divided passions make for a believable and enjoyable camaraderie between the two characters. Fu-Manchu himself is a captivating villain, and his sparse appearances throughout the stories make each one unique and memorable. He is human and believable, and indeed, to an early 21st-century reader, quite sympathetic (although this was likely not Rohmer's intention). Indeed, the stories grow more interesting as the reader progresses through the book and the characters encounter Fu-Manchu more often.

The primary value of this book is in its status as a historical document. While the short stories themselves are pretty good, they're not spectacular, and I found other writers (like Robert E. Howard, who scrawled yarns for numerous magazines during the 1930s, 20 years after Rohmer wrote his original Fu-Manchu stories) to do much better with the mysterious Orient than Rohmer. Nevertheless, Rohmer catapulted the idea of the Yellow Peril into mainstream fiction of the early 20th-century, and had a tremendous impact on numerous other genres, from war stories to spy fiction to action-adventure.

The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu (U.S. title) by Sax Rohmer B