Take a photo of a barcode or cover
brannigan 's review for:
The 39 Steps
by John Buchan
We’re firmly into 2021 but don’t tell me it’s too late to make a New Year’s Resolution, January ain’t over yet. With that in mind I’ve decided to read and review one book a month from the Guardian 100 Greatest Novels of All Time list, in no particular order. I’m no mathematician, but by my calculations this should take me roughly 100 months.
Because I’ve started this late in January I chose a slim one to kick it off with - weighing in at 149 pages, John Buchan’s archetypal spy novel The Thirty Nine Steps. This follows manly Edwardian era protagonist Richard Hannay, who ends up on the run from both the police and a sinister cabal of German spies after coming home to find his neighbour’s knifed corpse and a coded book of secrets.
I can imagine there’s a certain generation of men who get a kick out of Hannay’s stiff-upper-lip resourcefulness. It’s not hard to trace a line from Richard Hannay to James Bond. That said, I hold the unpopular opinion that these espionage jaunts are a little childish. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of macho-fantasy, it’s just not for me, and it’s often because the plot points in these stories are so contrived that it can seem kind of insulting to the reader.
Take Hannay, the luckiest man in the world, with the uncanny ability to inspire utmost confidence in strangers and in turn suss out the trustworthiness of others just from the look on their face:
This proves incredibly helpful to him during his travails. In need of a quick disguise? There’s a friendly milkman or road worker to unquestioningly swap clothes with him! Imprisoned in a cellar by a nemesis? Just a quick look around will reveal that that very same cellar is well stocked with explosive materials, and of course our protagonist knows exactly how to use them to make his escape, what with his background as a mining engineer. Reading The Thirty Nine Steps gave me the feeling that I wasn’t so much travelling along with Hannay on his adventures, but something more like watching somebody else play a video game. Every single character is eerily two dimensional.
Also worth a mention is the strangely inserted anti-Semitism. The first instance is put into the mouth of the character Scudders:
Yikes. Now, Scudders does seem like a crank conspiracy theorist when you first meet him so you’re willing to let this pass as a character foible. . But by the end of the book it’s revealed that Scudders was right about everything - the plot unravelled just as he said it would, the implication being that Buchan himself might have been sipping from the Elders of Zion cup.
So why is this book on the list of greatest 100 novels? I’m not sure. It’s hailed as birthing a whole genre, but is it even all that original? There were lots of stories of its like around at the same time, just serialised in magazines. I think it probably owes its enduring popularity to the Hitchcock film adaptation (which I haven’t seen).
On a positive note, the book has a decent dry wit, good snappy pacing for its era, and all in all is alright for a couple of evening’s entertainment but not much more. Taken with a tablespoon of salt, I’d give it a couple of stars.
Because I’ve started this late in January I chose a slim one to kick it off with - weighing in at 149 pages, John Buchan’s archetypal spy novel The Thirty Nine Steps. This follows manly Edwardian era protagonist Richard Hannay, who ends up on the run from both the police and a sinister cabal of German spies after coming home to find his neighbour’s knifed corpse and a coded book of secrets.
I can imagine there’s a certain generation of men who get a kick out of Hannay’s stiff-upper-lip resourcefulness. It’s not hard to trace a line from Richard Hannay to James Bond. That said, I hold the unpopular opinion that these espionage jaunts are a little childish. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of macho-fantasy, it’s just not for me, and it’s often because the plot points in these stories are so contrived that it can seem kind of insulting to the reader.
Take Hannay, the luckiest man in the world, with the uncanny ability to inspire utmost confidence in strangers and in turn suss out the trustworthiness of others just from the look on their face:
He watched me with a smile. “I don’t want proofs... I can size up a man. You’re no murderer and you’re no fool, and I believe you are speaking the truth. I’m going to back you up. Now, what can I do?”
This proves incredibly helpful to him during his travails. In need of a quick disguise? There’s a friendly milkman or road worker to unquestioningly swap clothes with him! Imprisoned in a cellar by a nemesis? Just a quick look around will reveal that that very same cellar is well stocked with explosive materials, and of course our protagonist knows exactly how to use them to make his escape, what with his background as a mining engineer. Reading The Thirty Nine Steps gave me the feeling that I wasn’t so much travelling along with Hannay on his adventures, but something more like watching somebody else play a video game. Every single character is eerily two dimensional.
Also worth a mention is the strangely inserted anti-Semitism. The first instance is put into the mouth of the character Scudders:
“The Jew is everywhere... Take any big Teutonic business concern... If you’re on the biggest kind of job and are bound to get to the real boss, ten to one you are brought up against a little white-faced Jew in a bath-chair with an eye like a rattlesnake. Yes, sir, he is the man who is ruling the world just now...”
Yikes. Now, Scudders does seem like a crank conspiracy theorist when you first meet him so you’re willing to let this pass as a character foible. . But by the end of the book it’s revealed that Scudders was right about everything - the plot unravelled just as he said it would, the implication being that Buchan himself might have been sipping from the Elders of Zion cup.
So why is this book on the list of greatest 100 novels? I’m not sure. It’s hailed as birthing a whole genre, but is it even all that original? There were lots of stories of its like around at the same time, just serialised in magazines. I think it probably owes its enduring popularity to the Hitchcock film adaptation (which I haven’t seen).
On a positive note, the book has a decent dry wit, good snappy pacing for its era, and all in all is alright for a couple of evening’s entertainment but not much more. Taken with a tablespoon of salt, I’d give it a couple of stars.