A Salute to Harry Flashman

"Unspeakable and vile I may be, but at least I'm no hypocrite.... the last thing you want is for God to help me." - Harry Paget Flashman

Two years ago today, I was a junior at the University of Pittsburgh. It was probably the best period of my life so far: fun classes, lots of free time, little actual responsibility. I had just finished going through Peter Hopkirk's Great Game trilogy, a non-fiction chronicle of British and Russian skullduggery in the Middle East, and did some research online. Wikipedia, of all places, directed me to a book called Flashman (1969) by George Macdonald Fraser. A novel on the Anglo-Afghan War, thinks I? With the added hook that its protagonist is a coward who always comes out on top? Interesting.

I picked the book up at the library. After work, I trudged through the snow to the Chipotle on Forbes (not Qdoba, says you? One of life's mysteries) for dinner. As I choked down the vile burrito, I was already becoming engrossed in my novel. It only took a few pages of Flashman whipping a servant girl, staging a duel and getting dragooned into military service to hook me. Six hours later, ensconced in my closet-sized dorm, I closed the book, enchanted by a new hero and not caring about my homework.

What makes Flashman so appealing? At base it's a simple male fantasy: a warped James Bond meets Forrest Gump, starring a craven coward who always gets the girl (many girls in fact) and glory because of his failings. The plethora of action and raunchiness, including many bizarre sexual encounters, has an obvious appeal. But routine potboilers don't get admirers as diverse as P.G. Wodehouse, Christopher Hitchens and Keith Richards. Not long ago, Flashman was name-dropped in a debate over Parliamentary propriety.

So what sets George Macdonald Fraser apart from, say, Ian Fleming or Robert Ludlum?

History buffs will love Flashman. I came to Fraser fresh off Peter Hopkirk, and Flashman's depiction of the Anglo-Afghan War impressed me with its versimilitude. Patrick Macrory, author of the Afghan War history Signal Catastrophe, initially planned to sue Fraser over Flashman's similarity to his own work - until he saw his book cited in the footnotes!

Fraser's descriptions of famous battles like Balaclava and Cawnpore have an unusual ring of authenticity from tactics down to telling details. He also has a perfect ear for period vernacular and dialect, his depiction of Victorian attitudes and speech ringing absolutely true. If his depictions of foreign lands veer towards the sensational, he generally respects and even admires their people. Certainly they're balanced by Fraser's cynical, often jaundiced view of the Empire. Then there's the copious footnotes; not many novelists invite you to check their work.

Fraser draws vivid portraits of many historical figures. Well-known individuals populate the books: the vulgar, bumptious Lord Cardigan (Flashman at the Charge), a boorish Otto Von Bismarck (Royal Flash), a young Abraham Lincoln (Flash for Freedom!), the crazy John Brown (...the Angel of the Lord). My favorite is the Rani Lakshmibai, whose sensitive portrayal in Flashman and the Great Game should shield Fraser from accusations of misogyny. These personages aren't always accurate but they're certainly credible - not to mention entertaining. His fictional creates, the suave Rudi Von Starnberg and Latin-spouting slaver John Charity Spring aside, are rarely as interesting.

Then there's Flashy himself. Formerly the villain of Tom Brown's Schooldays, Flashman becomes the quintessential anti-hero. He drinks, whores, gambles, bullies and is an inveterate coward. And yet he reaps rich rewards for his poltroonery, always mistaken for a hero. Flashman is all too aware of his improbable luck and good fortune: "The ideal time to be a hero is when the battle is over and the other fellows are dead, God rest ’em, and you take the credit."

Being Flashman's friend or lover is a bad bargain. "Anyone who's ass enough to sacrifice himself for Flashy deserves everything he gets," he muses in Royal Flash as he leaves his drinking buddy in the lurch. "Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down someone else's life for his own," quoth Flashy in Flashman on the March, having kicked his African lover over a waterfall. Others he's killed (directly or indirectly), left for a posse of slave hunters, sold to Apaches or pushed out of a moving sled while pregnant. Only rarely is he forced to account for these assorted treacheries.

This, I think, is Flashman's strongest appeal. Historical accuracy and well-drawn characters are good, and what's wrong with bloody battles and kinky sex? But I've long been fascinated by the idea of accidental (or unearned) heroism, even groping towards the idea in a few stories. Anti-heros are a dime a dozen these days, but usually they do something to justify rooting for them. Harry Flashman is a scoundrel to the end, brutally honest in telling his story, unafraid to deflate sacred cows or glory in amorality.

It's blasphemy to some Flashman fans, but I prefer Gino D'Achille's cover art to Arthur Barbosa's originals. Flashman's Lady (1977) is the best of the lot.
A discourse on quality. There are twelve books in the series, not counting Flashman's cameo in Mr. American. The first six are all gems, and it's very difficult to pick a favorite. The original Flashman is the most exciting, Royal Flash the funniest, Flashman at the Charge the most crazily plotted, ...Great Game the most serious and emotional, Flashman's Lady the most outrageous.

For my money, Flash for Freedom! takes the prize. This installment sees Flashman, in an amazingly convoluted plot, end up on all sides of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade: as a slave-runner, overseer, plantation hand and fugitive himself, from Africa to New Orleans to Kentucky and Illinois. Perhaps the best part, however, is that Flashman remains an unrepentant rogue, selling out friends and lovers and perjuring himself at the climactic court martial. Everything you'd want from a Flashman book is here, including a funny Abraham Lincoln cameo.

The final six installments are pretty hit-or-miss. Even the Flashman formula is subject to the law of diminishing returns, resulting in uninspired entries like Flashman and the Mountain of Light or ...and the Dragon. Then there's Flashman and the Tiger, an awful excretion centered around the premise that a 100-page baccarat game is more interesting than the Zulu War. (Fraser started out as a sports journalist and he has a lamentable weakness for sporting events; see also Flashman's Lady's interminable cricket matches.) The final entry, Flashman on the March, is mostly a return to form, marred by Fraser's proffering none-too-subtle commentary on the Iraq War.

Fraser's non-Flashman books are a mixed bag. The McAuslan stories are his next-greatest achievement, a wistful, quietly amusing look at the British Army at the twilight of empire, that's a world apart from Flashman. The Pyrates! tops Flashman in terms of over-the-top bawdiness, with a charming self-awareness. Quartered Safe Out Here, an account of his WWII service in Burma, deserves equal praise. On the other hand, Black Ajax is more interesting than good, The Candlemass Road was a chore and The Reavers a trifle, and I couldn't even finish Mr. American (more interminable card games). His forays into screenwriting are just as variable, from the brilliant Three Musketeers to his disappointing Royal Flash adaptation.

Later in life Fraser became a crabby old Tory, his final memoir a collection of cranky rants about "Rastafarians" and the EU. This is a shame, as it contradicts his fictional style: a wry, cynical sense of humor, remarkably sharp observations, respect for other cultures and an admirable unwillingness to pass judgment on his characters.

My mind frequently goes back to that cold January day, when Fraser opened a whole new world of adventure. For all the hours I've spent drinking, wenching, conniving, surrendering and unwittingly conquering the world with Harry Paget Flashman, Mr. Fraser earns my undying gratitude.

UPDATE: Flashman and the Tiger finally arrived in the mail today, just a day late for this post. Now I am the proud owner of the complete Flashman papers. 1/13/2012