Book 4: The Reavers

The Reavers is the final novel of writer George MacDonald Fraser, who passed earlier this year. Never heard of him? Well, you should. In hi s lifetime he authored fifteen fantastic Flashman novels; all following the adventures of scoundrel Sir Henry Paget Flashman via false “memoirs”. Fraser’s style is always humorous and somewhat scholarly, with a fine and funny editorial voice. The Reavers is not a Flashman novel, but a comic adventure in the vein of Shakespeare, set in 1590s England.

The comparison to Shakespeare is due to the many plot contrivances that constantly reunite heroes and heroines with each other and their enemies. Think “Much Ado About Nothing” and “Twelfth Night”. Does anyone really believe that Benedict and Beatrice would talk themselves into loving each other just from overhearing some false gossip? And no one notice that Viola isn’t really a boy? Of course not. It’s the craftsmanship, the poetry and above all else, the humor that keeps it interesting.

Each chapter is separated by a narrator’s voice, one that is strong throughout, but also an easy example for the tone of the novel.

“Well, it’s been quite a night…highway robbery, swordplay, various raids (including one you haven’t heard about yet); hens; cats, a fortune in jewelry carried off; Bangtail deceased, Beauty robbed and beglamoured, our leading man in deep schtuck (but at least he’s fed and redolent of after-shave). What else? Ah, yes, dastardly Spanish rogues a-plotting to o’erthrow our green and pleasant land. A tangled skein, gossips, but fret not, it’s all under control…we hope.”

That’s quite a bit of the plot in a nutshell. There are two heroes, Archie Noble and Bonny Gilderoy, an English and a Scottish spy, and two ladies, the haughty and beautiful Lady Godiva, and her cute and lusty friend, Kylie. They uncover and must stop a Spanish plot (perpetrated by, among others, a monk with a Deep South accent, his pygmy companion, and a saucy sorceress known as La Infamosa), all while seducing each other, leading rebellions, falling in love, and enlisting a gang of football hooligans to save the futures of England and the Scottish crown.

The events are all preposterous and tongue in cheek; mentions of Paul Newman, Arnold Schwarzeneger, Jell-O, LSD, and football jerseys worn by highwaymen serve as constant, and not unwelcome, reminders that they are meant to be. When a monk wishes for an “anachronistic Polaroid”, it’s hard not laugh. Despite the good humor, the story does come a bit unglued toward the end; it’s as if Fraser decided to wrap it up as ridiculously as possible. However, the ludicrous ending in no way takes away from the overall story. Like Shakespeare, humor is Fraser’s saving grace. Who can really care about the plot when we’re having so much fun?