Allan Quartermain was “Indiana Jones” before the “Indy” franchise existed. H. Rider Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines was The Librarian before Bob Newhart recruited the current protagonist of the television series. The goddess-like Ayesha was “She Who Must Be Obeyed” before Sir John Mortimer’s Rumpole of the Bailey co-opted the term for his spouse. In terms of fantastic pulp fiction, Haggard’s novels are the Ur-source. Naturally, in this volume entitled She and Allan, the “She” is Ayesha and the “Allan” is Quartermain. Modern readers may not be able to get past the colonial mindset and its racism inherent to these stories, but that would be their loss. One would hope to be thankful most of humanity has grown beyond some of that disgusting prejudice, but mentally mark that it is possible for it to rear its ugly head again.
She and Allan is not only solid pulp adventure, but it is full of Haggard’s philosophical ponderings as well. I very much enjoyed Quartermain’s concern about public confession of sin whaen an old drunken lecher turns around and becomes fanatical about confessing his sins loudly. “I did not in the least wish to hear all about Robertson’s sins which seemed to have been many and peculiar. It is bad enough to have to bear the burden of one’s own transgressions without learning of those of other people, that is, unless one is a priest and must do so professionally.” (p. 145) At one point, Ayesha dangles the idea of a longevity bordering upon immortality in front of Quartermain, but Quartermain suggests that she is imprisoned by the very thing with which she tempts him. She confesses: “Alas! That through the secret that was revealed to me I remain undying on the earth who in death might perchance have found a rest, and being human although half-divine, must still busy myself with the affairs of earth. Look you, Wanderer, after that which was fated had happened and I remained in my agony of solitude and sorrow, after too, I had drunk of the cup of enduring life and like the Prometheus of old fable, found myself bound to this changeless rock, whereon day by day the eagles of remorse tear out my living heart…” (p. 171). The last may not be altogether philosophical, but it is certainly poetic and memorable.
Or consider Ayesha’s summary of the need for faith: “Only those who believe nothing inherit what they believe – nothing.” (p. 174) Sometimes, Ayesha’s words remind one of the Old Testament prophets. For example, “…because you only see the scabbard [Ayesha’s appearance], you have forgotten the sword within [Ayesha’s power] and that it can shine forth and smite.” (p. 187) And then, there is simply the entertaining phrase such as when Ayesha tells Quartermain, “I think, O Allan, your sandals, which should be winged like those of the Roman Mercury, are weighted with the grey lead of fear.” (p. 251)
Quartermain is a strange fantasy protagonist. He neither goes mad like those characters of H.P. Lovecraft nor does he simply go with the flow like his counterpart Indy does. Rather, he is pulled kicking and screaming through his skepticism and denial into situations that he feebly attempts to explain away, though the narrative clearly indicates otherwise. Maybe, on some level, Quartermain is a cautionary version of Hamlet’s Horatio, needing to be reminded that some things in the universe/multiverse just can’t be explained.
In She and Allan, Quartermain seeks knowledge that humans should not have. So, naturally, he ends up dealing with supernatural threats and miraculous escapes. Naturally, he sees a terrific cost in human blood related to his expedition. And, as to be expected, the end of the journey was not what he had hoped it would be. I’m glad I read She and Allan but the end of the journey was not what I had hoped, either.