King Solomon’s Mines by H. Rider Haggard

Allan Quatermain, an adventurer of some notoriety, is approached by Sir Henry Curtis, who proposes a mission to rescue the latter’s brother, lost on an expedition to find King Solomon’s diamond mines. Together with a third man, Captain Good, they begin their journey across Africa. Along the way they pick up a brave Zulu called Umbopa, who accompanies them on the final stage of the quest - across a perilous desert from which no one has ever returned. On on the other side they encounter the land of the Kukuanas, led by evil king Twala. The people of this hidden land regard the strange visitors as “white men from the stars.” Twala’s actions soon put the adventurers right in the middle of a bloody war.

I found this novel difficult to read. The content of the adventure wasn’t very exciting by today’s standards, and some of the sections were long and drawn out - in particular the Kukuanaland war and a pointless early chapter about an elephant hunt. (I couldn’t help questioning the morality of the hero of the story, as he gunned down a herd of elephants without conscience, for no other reason than to profit from their ivory tusks. Different times, I guess.) Still, it’s hard to argue with a novel that’s been turned into a couple of films, and which is probably the chief inspiration behind the Indiana Jones films.

There is one brief moment of humour about halfway through the book that made me laugh as hard as I’ve ever laughed at written words (a rare thing!), where Good tries a few tricks to prove that he’s “from the stars”; I won’t spoil them for you. I had hoped that this comical trend would continue for the remainer of the story, but sadly it was the exception rather than the rule.

I always hate to speak ill of a classic, but I can only tell it like I see it. The story was too simple and it failed to hold my attention. Hence, it took me about half a year to read it through. There are better adventures out there to invest time in.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

Having reviewed almost forty books so far, it has recently struck me how much time I’ve been investing (or wasting) in mediocre literature. Life’s too short, as they say, so I’ve decided (for now) to delve into some novels that have stood the test of time. And first off the shelf is Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

This is my second read of this book. I tackled it about seven years ago and I’m pleased to report that it’s every bit as fresh and enjoyable this time round. At eighty-eight pages, it’s barely more than a novella, and the content of the story complements its length perfectly.

I probably don’t need to mention the storyline at all, because everyone has likely seen the old black-and-white B-movies. Actually, from what I can remember, the films do the original tale a great disservice. What has universally been regarded as a “horror” story is actually much more at home on the “murder mystery” shelf.

The protagonist of the story is not Jekyll himself, but a lawyer friend by the name of Utterson, who becomes very concerned and curious about strange events surrounding the doctor. The immensity of this strangeness is hidden until the closing chapter of the novel. Prior to that, there isn’t the barest hint of anything remotely supernatural afoot. The novel was first published it 1886, and I envy the original Victorian readers, who were able to enjoy the mystery without knowing the punchline.

Stevenson’s command of the English language is excellent. The complex sentence structure and vocabulary of classic literature can sometimes turn reading into hard work, but I found Stevenson’s style reasonably easy to master.

People who like their fiction to stay firmly in the real world might view Jekyll and Hyde as a load of old fluff. But if you read between the lines, what you have here is a very intelligent dissection of temptation and evil. I found Stevenson’s observations on the coarser side human nature to be very true to life, and it’s a rare experience to find this sort of bare-faced frankness in fiction.

If there’s one point that grates on me, it’s Stevenson’s too-casual association of deformity with evil character. Those two things are completely unrelated and promote an unnecessary stigma on people who genuinely do suffer with deformity. However, the novel was fully entertaining and at the same time very insightful about human nature - a rare combination.