Customer Reviews

The Reavers

5 star:		(5)
4 star:		(7)
3 star:		(1)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

The Reavers is very much in the style of Fraser's "Pyrates" but, in my opinion, not as successful. For those of you more familiar with the Flashman books, both The Reavers and Pyrates are more over-the-top, more fantastic, and the narrator is constantly interjecting with a wink and a nudge.

Pyrates is probably my all-time favorite Fraser novel-- but The Reavers felt more like a rehash. Even so, I definitely enjoyed it.

If you haven't read Pyrates yet, I'd recommend reading it instead.

. . . and a volume of SJ Perelman smashes through the collected works of Sir Walter Scott and takes a corner off a Harry Potter tome before plunging into a history of Hollywood swashbucklers. That will give you a flavor of the late great George MacDonald Fraser's last work.

Fraser wrote five kinds of books in his illustrious career. There were his peerless Flashman books, of course. There were his solid histories - A Hollywood History of the World remains the best and most engaging study of the subject matter ever written. There were his two volumes of memoirs - Quartered Safe Out Here is easily one of the five best firsthand accounts of World War II, a classic which should be on every shelf of military history for the next millenium. There was Fraser's other fiction, ranging from the comic McAuslan novels to the dark and brooding Candlemass Road. Then there were his two nonsense novels: Pyrates and this, his valedictory novel.

Personally, I've never cared for this sort of humor. It is too loose, too many word plays, no structure to hold on to. I've never seen the point of the Marx Brothers or Perelman. Nevertheless, this is a superior example of this sort of fiction and I found myself laughing out loud far more often than I ever had while watching Duck Soup or reading Westward Ho!

And as someone who read the first, newly published Flashman in high school, I have received a lifetime of enjoyment from the author. If as his last work, he chose to write a book which gave him the undoubted pleasure The Reavers gave him, then I say, bravo, Mr. Fraser.

Now if only his publisher can convince Fraser's daughter - a fine writer in her own right - to resume the Flashman novels, all will be well in the world. The literary world, at any rate.

Like most others who will pick up this final book from Fraser, I am a longtime devotee of his Flashman series. And the sheer pleasure of reading that series has driven me to seek out and read most of his other fiction and non-fiction over the years (including this book's ancestor, The Pyrates). Of these twenty or so books, this one is clearly the silliest of the lot, and anyone picking it up should be ready for a pretty heavy dose of wink-wink, nudge-nudge.

The book is essentially a farcical rewriting of his earlier novel, The Candlemass Road, complete with many of the same characters and situations. The story is set in the same 16th-century Scottish/English borderlands that Fraser wrote a history of under the title The Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers. It concerns a Spanish plot to kidnap King James and replace him with an impostor (and if that sounds familiar, it's because Fraser used the device in Royal Flash). Seeking to foil this plot are an Elizabethan secret agent, a Scottish highwayman, a stunning English noblewoman, and her saucy sidekick.

If this sounds like a delightful historical thriller, well, be warned that Fraser wrote this one with his tongue even more firmly planted in cheek than usual. It brims with modern pop culture references, anachronisms, authorial asides, and over-the-top renderings of thick Scots dialect. None of these bothered me, but plenty of other readers seemed to find some or all of these elements annoying. However, in the preface, Fraser is pretty clear that the book was primarily written to amuse himself, so I'm willing to go along with the ride. Especially since it's the last we're likely to get from such a great storyteller. (Unless, that is, a literary executor manages to uncover one last packet of Flashman adventures....)

Ultimately, a pretty minor and self-derivative work from a very entertaining writer. If approached in the right frame of mind, it should provide a few hours of very light entertainment, and possibly spur the reader to check out some of the true history of the setting.

This book is a delightful, lunatic romp through a story part Elizabethan, part Hollywood, and part surreal, wonderful insanity. No, it's not Flashman and wasn't meant to be. It's just George MacDonald Fraser letting his hair down and doing the literary equivalent of a cocaine-fueled, head-banging, 4 minute guitar solo. Unfortunately, this joyous frolic turned out to be his swan song, as the old fellow passed away earlier this year. What's great about this book isn't so much the story but the writing. It is the effervescent artistry of a master wordsmith, hilarious and brilliant. What makes it more amazing is that it is the work of an octogenarian. If he could write this well at age 82 or so, the next Flashman novel would have kicked some serious you-know-what. Well, we can only imagine what might have been and enjoy what he's left us. And this is a great final gift.

Spoiled, arrogant, filthy rich and breathtakingly beautiful, the young Lady Godiva Dacre is exiled from the court of Good Queen Bess [who can't abide red-haired competition] to her lonely estate in distant Cumberland. Poor Godiva. The turbulent Scottish border is no safe place for an Elizabethan heiress: ruthless reivers; black-mailing ruffians; fiendish Spanish plotters intent on regime change. What's a girl to do? She has no-one but Kylie, her blonde school chum. Or does she? What about the dashing highwayman, and that rugged English superman? Hmmm.

From its taut [!] opening sentence [over300 words worth] this [moral] tale is a totally frivolous nonsense. It is, as George MacDonald Fraser firmly stated in his foreword - completely over the top and written for the fun of it. If you can't read it in the same vein, then pass it by. I think that George MacDonald Fraser had a lot of fun writing this book (his last) and I certainly had a lot of fun reading it, notwithstanding my concerns about Frey Bentos and the European Union.

Perhaps the last word belongs to the author's statement from the foreword: `If we seem to treat history lightly in this regard, that is not to say we are false to it; mad fancy may go hand in hand with sober fact, as long as the two remain distinct.' Indeed.

Jennifer Cameron-Smith

George MacDonald Fraser sadly left us in 2008, but the blessed author left behind some of the most beloved comic novels written in recent years. From his adored "Flashman" series - a perfect comic counterpoint to Bernard Cornwell's bloody Sharpe novels - to the high-sea silliness of "The Pyrates," Fraser's novels have enchanted readers far and wide.

"The Reavers" is not Fraser's best book, but that's far from a critical review - the man set the bar extremely high. This book is akin to "Pyrates" in that it is a stand-alone work of comic gold. Allegedly set in the late 16th century on the English-Scottish border (although with this book, Fraser's historical fidelity is, shall we say, fluid), "Reavers" tells a story of love, political intrigue, and heinous Spanish plots and schemes.

Archie Noble and Ebeneezer Gilderoy are English and Scottish special agents, sworn foes and rivals for the fair, spoiled hand of Godiva, an English princess. Forced to work together to fight off a dastardly Spanish plot to replace the Scottish king with an imposter, this team offers Fraser countless opportunities for him to split your sides with a well-timed jape. Indeed, few sentences lack a punchline - this is a joke-heavy book.

And it is also a bit of a struggle - even though it is far shorter than the epic "Pyrates," "Reavers" is a dense book requiring close attention to what the heck is going on. Fortunately, the jokes come so fast and furious that you don't really mind if you've lost the plot thread, and this isn't actually a Russian novel as far as plot complexity is concerned.

Fans of Fraser have already read this. If you are new to Fraser, don't start with this book - start with "Flashman," jump over to the "Pyrates," and finish with this one. You'll be glad you did.

It takes a very self-assured author to begin a book with what is perhaps the most ridiculed opening sentence on all of literature. The late Mr. Fraser was certainly that; after all he wrote 12 Flashman novels (I wish that there were more!), and numnerous other books, both fiction and nonfiction. Who better to mock convention?

This book is an incredible mishmash of literate writing, bookish puns, wild swinging between 15th and 21st century dialogue, and some interesting nods to other books and movies (e.g. James Bond, etc.) and quotes from the likes of W.C. Fields, et al.

I found myself laughing uproariously at times, and annoying my family by reading some of the book to them. At times it overreaches in trying to be too amusing, but I forgive Mr. fraser for that because of the enjoyment I have had over the years from his writing.

This book won't be to everyone's taste, but if you're an admirer of the author of Flashmanm, and you enjoy silliness and intelligence mixed together, I heartily recommend this book.

Classic over the top GMF. The Reavers draws on three of his previous works, in no particular order: The Steel Bonnets, a serious (yes, serious) history of the border region between Scotland and England in the Tudor era; The Candlemas Road, a novella about the area and era he wrote some years ago; and The Pyrates, a send up on all those 30's Errol Flynn pirate movies. He moves from the late 16th century to the 21st and back again without missing a beat and the anachronisms will leave you in tears, if not totally convulsed with laughter. It's sad that this was his last book, because there will never be any more; at least we can take comfort in the fact he went out on top.

The late George MacDonald Fraser's final novel is ludicrous nonsense from its' cliche beginning - "It was a dark and stormy night in Elizabethan England" to its' daft ending.

GMF himself wrote in the author's preface, "This book is nonsense. It's meant to be."

Completely over the top, a parody of a swashbuckling romance, taking the mick out of everything ancient and modern. Some people will like the style of humour, others will hate it. I found it funny enough, and the anachronisms obviously deliberate enough, that I could forgive things which usually have me knocking stars off right left and centre - such as a reference to a "Cumbrian" estate in the 16th century.

(The county of Cumbria was not created until the 1970s: I am old enough to remember when the area on the Anglo-Scottish border where the novel is set was called Cumberland.)

The heroine, Lady Godiva Dacre, described as "the ultimate Elizabethan knock-out" has been commanded by Good Queen Bess to leave her court, apparently because the Queen was jealous of her naturally red hair, the regal head now requiring industrial quantities of henna to retain its' colour. So Lady Godiva has retired to her estate near the Scottish border, accompanied by her friend Kylie (yes, really) who is described as "petite, blonde and chocolate-box pretty, with those gorgeous contours common amongst saucy milkmaids and well described by the modern expression "stacked."

And it continues in a similar ludicrously anachronistic vein throughout the book as our heroines meet a cast of equally improbable and absurd characters and have a strong of unlikely and absurd anachronistic adventures.

It's more of a parody than a novel, a pastiche of a historical romance: not everyone will like it but I did, and suspect most of those who are not ashamed to admit to a silly sense of humour will likewise enjoy it.

The Reavers is not up to the author's Flashman series -- but, then, what can be. He mixes modern sensabilities in a 17th century setting and too numerous authorial asides that impede the otherwise galloping narrative.