Errol Flynn died shortly after the completion of his only two books -- an autobiography, MY WICKED, WICKED WAYS and this novel, SHOWDOWN, a semi-autobiographical tale set in the South Seas circa the 1930s. Both works showed incredible promise: not merely intelligence and talent, but actual ability to smith words in pleasing ways, especially when dealing with subjects he knew and understood well. Had he lived another ten or even five years, he might have become a writer of some repute.
SHOWDOWN is the story of Shamus O'Thames, a sexually naive, rigidly principled, highly resourceful English sea captain who washes ashore on a South Seas island following a disastrous encounter with "natives." Rescued by a German missionary named Kirschner who effectively adopts him as a son, O'Thames falls in love with a beautiful young nun named Ganice, and largely to escape the impossibility of the situation, agrees to take a camera crew and some Hollywood actors up the Sepik, the most dangerous river in the most dangerous place in the world, New Guinea. The voyage is fraught with trouble, not the least of which comes in the form of Cleo, an alluring and morally enigmatic actress who tempts the stern young skipper away from his chaste love for the nun with the possibility of more fleshly pleasures. At the same time, stormy seas, a hostile local tribe, and the secret agenda of those chartering the voyage come to a head on shore.
SHOWDOWN is admittedly a strange novel and obviously the work of an amateur, albeit one with great life experience and talent. Flynn knew the South Seas very well indeed, having been born in Tasmania and spent much time in New Guinea running plantations and panning for gold. He was also an expert sailor and his love -- and respect -- for the sea, and his knowledge of seacraft are remarkable. Like George Orwell, who reconstructed Burma so vividly in BURMESE DAYS the reader feels as if he is physically present, Flynn brings the landscape and the water to life. The sequences where Shamus is fighting the storm from the wheel of the "Maski" are beautifully crafted. Likewise, he can explain the incredibly complex racial, ethnic, and tribal dynamics of the colonial era in a way no modern writer would dare. And the book reflects the wry, somewhat cynical wit for which Flynn was well known in his personal life: "Father Kirschner's life was consecrated to the idea of peace on earth and goodwill to mankind, but the principle did not include letting the oil dry out on his gun barrel." This is gold. So too is Flynn's construction of the character of Shamus, a man of stern morals and unyielding principles founded on a sexually scarring experience that occurred in his youth. Shamus seems to reflect the man Flynn might have become, and that Flynn wished he had become, rather than a sexually degenerate, alcoholic actor whose personal life was so notorious it's still commented upon today, generations after his demise. But Shamus is not idealized, not Sir Galahad on a boat. He feels real because Flynn contained elements of the man within him even into the last phases of his life, when he discovered what might have been his true calling -- sailing, shooting documentaries, writing...in other words, real rather than cinematic adventure. (Kind of Ernest Hemingway, but somewhat less inclined to lie.) I find it amusing that Hemingway seems to have disliked Flynn (notwithstanding Flynn's performance in "The Sun Also Rises," which everyone liked), perhaps sensing that Flynn had within him the elements of real greatness that he displayed here.
The main issue come with the book's pacing. We are 156 pages into a 250 page novel before Flynn stops his stage-setting and character introductions and finally gets the plot going. And despite being only 250 pages, the book feels heavily overwritten: it could have come in at 200 without any loss and with considerable gain. Flynn writes often beautiful prose, but he has a love of lanuage that a better editor would have restrained more vigorously, and he introduces important characters very late in the game and shifts points of view with little regard for structure.
That having been said, I enjoyed SHOWDOWN. Hemingway once declared that "A man shouldn't write what he doesn't know," and in this novel Flynn stands firmly on ground, and water, he knew extremely well. I just wish Errol had stuck around to come to literary maturity. I think he was capable of producing a minor classic.