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A review by meekkee
She: A History of Adventure by H. Rider Haggard
4.0
Pro-tip: it's never a good idea to open mysterious old chests bequeathed to you by your dad--especially if he dies in shifty circumstances. Ever.
If you should so choose to crack this dusty old book open, be prepared for lengthy dialogues on scholarly obscura, historical detritus, and ancient feels, as well as ADVENTURE (according to its subtitle). Because the prose of H. Rider Haggard's She is as densely and elaborately Victorian as it gets. There's stirring descriptions of the African landscape and exciting escapades with crocodiles, but also walls and walls of text about how time is really old and also how it sucks to be immortal.
At the heart of She is the story of Ayesha, a woman who waited thousands and thousands of years for the man she loved to be reincarnated. Of course, there's the whole trifling matter of her murdering him for loving someone else back in the day, but details, am I right?
Rather than venturing forth from her mountain kingdom to rain terror and conquest down on the rest of the world with her ancient earth magic powers and terrible beauty, Ayesha waited for him in her cave. Her hobbies to while away the centuries included hanging out with his perfectly preserved corpse and cursing his long-dead girlfriend every night. That's dedication. I mean, I can barely remember to take all my allergy meds in a day.
All her waiting pays off when Holly shows up with Leo, who is the very spitting image of her murdered beloved. Here is her chance to finally venture forth from her caves with him immortalized at her side (as a living person, rather than the mummified corpse, which is presumably preferable)
This, however, is not a love story.
It's the story of good old Victorian racism and misogyny holding up in the face of dangerous foreign cultures. Our narrator Horace Holly is a product of his time -- and his face. Holly's an intellectual molded by a combination of Western superiority and bitter misogyny for being rejected for his gorilla-like features.
But he's a nice, smart guy so we're supposed to overlook all that.
It's kind of a shame. Despite everything, the story is a fascinating study of female empowerment in the Victorian age. Yes, it's because of the murdered lover that this whole story happens, but Ayesha reaches the pinnacle of her unearthly powers through her own doing. Holly and Leo, two independently-minded British men, are held powerless and spellbound by Ayesha, who wields her feminine authority with majesty and grace.
There's a lot that can be read into Ayesha and the implications of her authority. I'm sure the idea of a woman ruling over men was startlingly progressive for the time period (wonder if Queen Victoria had anything to do with it), but in She, it's portrayed as something alien and terrifying, rather than a possible alternative. Patriarchal good triumphs as Ayesha's arrogant confidence in her power ultimately leads to her downfall.
If you should so choose to crack this dusty old book open, be prepared for lengthy dialogues on scholarly obscura, historical detritus, and ancient feels, as well as ADVENTURE (according to its subtitle). Because the prose of H. Rider Haggard's She is as densely and elaborately Victorian as it gets. There's stirring descriptions of the African landscape and exciting escapades with crocodiles, but also walls and walls of text about how time is really old and also how it sucks to be immortal.
At the heart of She is the story of Ayesha, a woman who waited thousands and thousands of years for the man she loved to be reincarnated. Of course, there's the whole trifling matter of her murdering him for loving someone else back in the day, but details, am I right?
Rather than venturing forth from her mountain kingdom to rain terror and conquest down on the rest of the world with her ancient earth magic powers and terrible beauty, Ayesha waited for him in her cave. Her hobbies to while away the centuries included hanging out with his perfectly preserved corpse and cursing his long-dead girlfriend every night. That's dedication. I mean, I can barely remember to take all my allergy meds in a day.
All her waiting pays off when Holly shows up with Leo, who is the very spitting image of her murdered beloved. Here is her chance to finally venture forth from her caves with him immortalized at her side (as a living person, rather than the mummified corpse, which is presumably preferable)
This, however, is not a love story.
It's the story of good old Victorian racism and misogyny holding up in the face of dangerous foreign cultures. Our narrator Horace Holly is a product of his time -- and his face. Holly's an intellectual molded by a combination of Western superiority and bitter misogyny for being rejected for his gorilla-like features.
But he's a nice, smart guy so we're supposed to overlook all that.
It's kind of a shame. Despite everything, the story is a fascinating study of female empowerment in the Victorian age. Yes, it's because of the murdered lover that this whole story happens, but Ayesha reaches the pinnacle of her unearthly powers through her own doing. Holly and Leo, two independently-minded British men, are held powerless and spellbound by Ayesha, who wields her feminine authority with majesty and grace.
There's a lot that can be read into Ayesha and the implications of her authority. I'm sure the idea of a woman ruling over men was startlingly progressive for the time period (wonder if Queen Victoria had anything to do with it), but in She, it's portrayed as something alien and terrifying, rather than a possible alternative. Patriarchal good triumphs as Ayesha's arrogant confidence in her power ultimately leads to her downfall.