In Defence of Harry Flashman Essay

It is understandable why the first mention of the character of Harry Flashman – the opportunistic philanderer of his Majesty’s service who lied and cheated his cowardly way through the Victorian pages of his fictional memoirs by George MacDonald Fraser – is enough to deter the browsing lady, though far be it from anyone to say it should. Since patterns of book-buying snake across the sexes like a flailing sidewinder, it would be hopeless to say as to where on the shop shelf the hand might lay to rest. Nevertheless, for a series of stories far too overlooked for the public’s common good, what could the otherwise fairer sex also find to appreciate in a man whose charm seems as fictitious as the women who fall for it? To put it more simply: can this man – to borrow the blurb – be all bad? If the name â€Å"Flashman† is shouting forward from the back of your mind, dare the â€Å"Lord Flashheart† be named as the bothering heckler? Don’t think him an unwanted associate, for ‘Blackadder’s’ slavering womaniser could be seen as an exaggeration of the â€Å"Flashman persona† and certainly close to what Harry himself may have become had he not, by hand and boot of queen and empire, been thrown into the Flemingesque scenarios he haphazardly emerged from, some the wiser and better-shaped. Unlike the all-consuming debauchery of his comedic counterpart, Harry’s lechery is merely a tempered impetus; punctuating his desire for the English comforts that makes for the only form of patriotism you’ll see in him, if you can call it patriotism – the patriotism of Bond it most certainly is not. What differs Harry from James is awareness, and when taking stock, the idiom trumps the ammo. It would be daft to credit Harry’s decision making with the weighing of political consequence, however; that would be a laughable excuse; something he doesn’t begin to admit. It’s fear that has his mind running back to the jolly English riff-raff and the spread of beds that await. Though isn’t to think with your legs the best strategy for the reporter? Reluctant maybe, Harry is a better reporter than he is a soldier. This cowardice kept him alive ’til a time when he could afford to admit the truth. Concerning the First Afghan War, the truth about a man, General Elphinestone who single-handedly stripped the meat from his ranks as he rung them through the Khord-Kabul pass on their retreat from Afghanistan. Long after witnessing rom on high, the massacre of the regiments from which he had high-tailed the night before, Flashman verbally guts he whom he declares â€Å"No fate could be bad enough for†: â€Å"I still state unhesitatingly, that for pure, vacillating stupidity, for superb incompetence to command, for ignorance combined with bad judgement – in short for the true talent for catastrophe, Elphy outshines all as the greatest military idiot of our own or any other day†¦ † Now what a sorry waste of insightful wit it would have been to have it lost amidst the idiot pride of a fellow more gallant than Harry. Elphinestone is not alone; Harry considers many of the figures he meets to be – to varying degrees – morons, despite his care to concede a grace here and there. It’s no surprise that he met such a top-heavy pile of fools; he was, after all, involved in some of the worst disasters of British imperialism – all the more reason to flee when he could. But you know the fastidious type. Perhaps you’ve a friend whom fits this description, in which case, you’ll understand how empowering it feels to have them praise you – you’re worth a cheer! When chance encounter pairs Harry with one he considers of rare dignity, you too, as the reader, hold them as praiseworthy, or rather, worthy of investigation. It was in 1842 when he jumped into the carriage of Lola Montez – an Irish dancer girl turned adventuress of Europe whose life was spent â€Å"playing with kingdoms† as one might romantically say. Her appearances in ‘Royal Flash’ are glimpses; moments too brief to capture her entirety, yet he alludes to a life beyond the pages with so delicate a respect that one is inspired to follow. Whilst Harry never himself existed, he may as well have. It’s very easy to speak of his personality as anything but fictional. Perhaps to no great surprise considering we get to know the fellow through his own confessions, worded not merely to the benefit of his own authenticity, either. The true blue honesty rubs off well onto those he brushes shoulders with. It’s what we have to thank this bounder for – dramatising without disfiguring a past of characters pallid to most today and enriching the pursuit of history for ourselves. Harry once said about the Earl of Cardigan, that some human faults are military virtues; for Harry, some human faults are literary virtues.