(Not long ago, A.V. Club editor Keith Phipps purchased a large box containing over 75 vintage science fiction, crime, and adventure paperbacks. He is reading all of them. This is book number 51.)
Egypt is, of course, a real place, part of the continent of Africa, (if you're Sarah Palin and need such things explained to you.) But in fiction it practically belongs to another world. For Western writers, Ancient Egypt lends itself to the double exoticism of time and place. It's a culture linked, but not that closely linked, to the Greek and Roman worlds, one ruled by strange customs, strange gods, and centuries-old mysteries. And yet it's close enough to visit and familiar enough from movies and postcards (and, before that, museum exhibitions, paintings, and travelogues) that it has the feel of the familiar. It's perfect, in other words, for projecting Western notions of otherness, allowing fantasists to spin yarns filled with mysterious forces and morally dubious behavior (all those state-sanctioned incestuous marriages for starters), whatever relationship they might have with the real Egypt. H. Rider Haggard, the creator of Allan Quatermain and author of She, built his writing career around African fantasies. Rider was prolific, widely read (still is), and influential, inspiring virtually every square-jawed adventure tale and lost civilization story to follow, from pulp writers, to movie serials, to the Indiana Jones movies. He's been on my long writers-to-read list, but given the choice I almost certainly wouldn't have started with Cleopatra. But it's the one that wound up in the box so I started there. It's a peculiar book, with one foot in historical fiction, the other in an adventure tale. And while I'd be reluctant to call it a good book, it's a breeze of a read. The title's a bit misleading, though. Cleopatra figures prominently in Cleopatra but she's not the protagonist. That honor goes to Harmachis, born the son of a High Priest of Osiris prophesied to become King Of Egypt, reclaiming it from the pernicious influence of Cleopatra's Macedonian line, rising up to rival Rome and essentially performing all the good deeds Egyptians feel need doing. Haggard divides the novel into three sections, beginning with "The Preparation Of Harmachis," in which our hero grows up, shows all the signs of becoming an Egyptian messiah (Haggard's pretty liberal with the Christ parallels) and leaves on his mission. Guess what happens? Or, put another way, guess who happens? Harmachis meets Cleopatra and find she beggars all description. No, wait, that was Shakespeare's Enobarbus. Harmachis describes her thusly:
I looked upon the flawless Grecian features, the rounded chin, the full, rich lips, the chiselled nostrils, and the ears fashioned like delicate shells. I saw the forehead, low, broad, and lovely, the crisped, dark hair falling in heavy waves that sparkled in the sun, the arched eyebrows, and the long, bent lashes.
This goes on for a while until: