Like good black coffee, the perfectly good villain is a creature hard to define and even harder to find. Fortunately, in the hands of the good Dr Hannibal Lecter, we're perfectly taken care of.
For the purpose of this discussion, we're going to forget the films and TV show: fans of horror are purists in matters of the heart and Dr Lecter is very, very close to our collective hearts.
When you look at the books sequentially, there is a marked progression of Thomas Harris's interest in Hannibal as a character. In 'Red Dragon' and 'The Silence of the Lambs', he's more of an accessory villain in contrast to the more grotesque monsters which take centre-stage. He serves to put their crimes into context with his deceptively rational discourse with both heroes of the series, first, Will Graham, then, Clarice Starling. In 'Hannibal', Dr Lecter is given free reign to cavort across two continents in the pursuit of his prey and obsession-- Clarice Starling. Mr Harris's writing in this book is as close to perfection as you could possibly hope for, indeed, in its dark heart, the book is the finest example of what a refined horror novel can accomplish-- poetry, passion, pathos and finally, peace. For the good doctor, at least.
So, Dr Lecter, Hannibal the Cannibal, provides context. But who provides context for the good doctor? Hannibal's enduring power lies in the mystery that surrounds his personality and his almost vampiric demeanour. He's a culinary genius, an exemplary physician, a mass murderer with a cultured taste for fine wines, and finally, a lover to Clarice Starling-- a polymath well-suited to the myriad faces our Information Age lives force us to create. But where we stumble in our face-switching, Dr Lecter is smooth, as smooth as an electric eel sliding down his hapless victim's throat. Our lives then, are the most fitting context for Dr Lecter.
Mr Harris's first job as a crime-scene reporter informs much of the narrative of the first and second books. His two villains are revealed to us chapter by chapter, slow insight by tortuous revelation, even then, we are moved more to pity them in spite of the horrors they commit. Evil, in Mr Harris's novels, is more than ghosts in haunted homes, it is birthed in broken people, haunting the only places they have left to them-- the lonely recesses of their broken minds. In the third novel, where the villains are the bureaucratic 'good guys' of the FBI, Mr Harris shows how horror can also be banal, where office politics can hatch murder plots and the dishonourable discharge of honourable officers.
Hannibal, as a character is like a really good bass guitar that's initially humming in the background but later forms the core of the entire song (example? We Are All Astronauts cover of The Mighty Rio Grande by This Will Destroy You). Only, ONLY, a writer of Thomas Harris's narrative and stylistic brilliance could pull that off. Mr Harris's rare power is perhaps best captured by his contemporary Stephen King: “a novelist whose work can be grasped entire not just by English department profs and tenure-bound grad students but by the humble folk who entertain themselves with novels on airplanes and in overcrowded waiting rooms. ”
Mr Harris's prose is surgical in its precision, haunted with poetry that forms from every image he carves. Like no other novelist perhaps, Mr Harris does not judge, only narrates. So even in the face of high horror, we are lulled by his smooth tone, immersed in this vision of mind palaces and past and present folding into themselves, an infinite loop of snakes swallowing their own tails. But trust me on this, after having read Mr Harris's work, you will come away exhilarated. Like good, dark coffee, Mr Harris will not disappoint.