"So if you meet me,
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your soul to waste.
Pleased to meet you,
Hope you guessed my name
But what's puzzling you
is the nature of my game..." - The Rolling Stones, "Sympathy For The Devil"
Robert Louis Stevenson called "The Master Of Ballantrae" as containing everything he knew of the Devil. And that is a completely justified way to describe this novel, even as Stevenson already was no stranger to the constant and, on occasion, even omnipresent presence of the Devil or the Enemy within the soul of a man. It is the Devil who cohabits Dr. Jeykill's soul and who then rallies and rebels against not only his own more innocent and considerate alter-ego but also against law and order to devastating results. But while that brilliant novella, hitherto, in my opinion, the finest and most sustained of Stevenson's accomplishments as an incredibly gifted storyteller, will endure on its own, it is in "The Master Of Ballantrae" that we see Stevenson at his most operatic and epic, working at the very peak of his powers, blending the same metaphysical portrait of good and evil trying to reconcile to each other despite being impossible bedfellows with a tale of the same stirring adventure and intrigue that made his "Treasure Island" and "Kidnapped" so unforgettable in their swashbuckling style. And with the consequence, that in blending both moral suspense and high-stakes peril and excitement, he even surpasses his own level of brilliance by a wide margin; "The Master Of Ballantrae" is undeniably a brilliant, bleak, barnstorming masterpiece.
Even as "Ballantrae" is neither a straightforward thriller or even a straightforward adventure, it is incredible to realise, as one starts reading it, just how masterfully the writer straddles both these genres while also serving us a rich novel of weighty drama and a very compellingly complex relationship at its very core. This inexorable relationship - of mutual hatred and bitter resentment - is between two promising but ultimately flawed or vulnerable Scottish noblemen back in the tumultuous days of the Jacobite Rebellion and other turbulent events - Henry Durie, the younger, more dignified and well-intentioned heir apparent to the Lord of Durrisdeer and James, his reckless, cunning and even openly Machiavellian elder brother, and the titular "Master" and the battle of wits, personalities and evil designs that lasts and intensifies for almost decades and across seas and countries, thus forming the main meat of the story.
It is a rivalry less in the fashion of those usual swashbuckling potboilers and more of an insidious, seething and simmering conflict of two men who would never compromise or agree to reconcile with each other. What inspires each man's stubborn pride is, however, his sense of failure and loss. If Henry has lost the blind love of his father and even the whole-hearted affections of his wife to the absent Master and is thus filled with resentment at being denied the same, the Master, on the other hand, has lost all his reckless and even ambitious chances to earn glory for his brethren in his exploits across the map of an ever-changing world. Stevenson portrays the defeat of both these men with a subtly sardonic resonance and an elegantly dry sense irony, not least because of the fact that a major part of this story is narrated by Mackellar, the aging stewart of the family whose own perspective, prejudices and opinions also shape the story in strange ways; torn as he is between his loyalty to Henry and his sinful admiration for the Master in equal measure, he swings like a moral pendulum, thus making us think and rethink our own attitudes and opinions at the same time.
And yet, if all this skillfully wrought intricacy of narrative and perception means that "Ballantrae" is a mouthful to read, rest assured that it is far from a heavy, cumbersome book. My edition was of only 192 pages, just shy of the 200 page mark and yet in those 192 pages, there is a robust, fulfilling story of betrayal, malice, unrequited love and unshakable devotion, envy, greed, war, piracy, naval adventure, colonialism, political intrigue and more and Stevenson keeps on thickening the stew with every subsequent chapter and every new development in the plot, especially in the latter chapters wherein the darkness and the brooding dilemma of morality and reason only intensifies splendidly. Yet, so light and quick-paced is his prose, so enlivened it is with an eye for both precise observation and visual idiom and so thrilling is his orchestration of suspense even in the spare, superbly judged battle of words that he lends his characters that you will never feel like keeping it aside even for once. There is literally not a word wasted here, not a trope that is overused and even as many would guess just where it leads to, the writer keeps on surprising, startling and even shocking us audaciously, as evidenced in that sobering climax in the wilds of Albany where poetic justice, fitting of a frontier, is served on a blood-splattered scale.
And finally, I come to the novel's portrait of dualism as an inherent vice of human nature, of the coexistence of Good and Evil, of God and Devil, in the very depths of the human soul. Even as we instinctively root for Henry's nobility and are repulsed by the Master's ignoble deeds, in the end, we are never quite sure as to where our sympathies and concerns lie. Brilliantly, subversively, Stevenson keeps on pulling off the rug beneath our feet, twisting and teasing out our innermost fears and prejudices and then further digging deep to reveal our own sinful admiration for evil of a most charismatic manner. And at the same time, he gives us a rattling, almost breathless tale of this take-no-prisoners battle between Good and Evil, from Scotland to seas red with blood shed by carousing pirates, from the wild, uncharted frontiers of America to a soon-to-be usurped princely state of Hindustan. Buckle up for this is an enthralling and extraordinary ride into the very heart of darkness long before Conrad wrote about it.