I have touched ever so slightly upon my issues with Baroness Orczy’s The Scarlet Pimpernel before, but I think that there is more, both good and bad, about this novel that bears saying.
First of all, before I get into my problems with it, let me explain very quickly why I love it. The Scarlet Pimpernel is, near as I can tell, the first instance of a hero utilizing a dual identity in the modern sense that was then built upon by Zorro, Superman, and eventually just about every comic book superhero in existence. The difference is that the alter ego of The Scarlet Pimpernel is an unseen, ethereal, (dare I say?) elusive figure–as opposed to a man in a mask. He leaves his calling card, but no one ever realizes that they’ve come across him until after he’s gone, for he miraculously disguises himself as this or that.
This version of the idea with more subterfuge and less action (no swordfights even!) may come from the fact that Orczy originally intended for Pimpernel to be a stage play, and so the book is a good deal more talky than the average swashbuckler. Not that this is a problem.
In fact, to me, what makes the book really incredible (and probably why I haven’t bothered seeking out any of the sequels just yet) is less the excitement and more the arch of the relationship between Percy and Marguerite Blakeney. I have long maintained that a major problem with escapist fiction in most all mediums is that writers seem entirely unable to wrap their heads around the fact that a romantic relationship can still offer dramatic fodder after marriage. (This will be spewed by myself with the utmost vitriol when discussing Grant Morrison’s run on X-Men, but that is an entirely different story.) The Blakeneys are married from the start of the novel, but Marguerite is quickly becoming disillusioned with the fact that her husband, who once quite ably captured her heart, now seems an unenthusiastic fop. The fact that the story is told from her perspective makes this all the better; I would get into more, but, you know, spoilers and all that.
The point is, it’s a very exciting and emotionally affecting little book that I love dearly, but it presents one very glaring problem to my egalitarian sensibilities. What is this problem, you ask? Well, upon seeing how ungodly long this post became, I’ve decided to split it into two… so I’ll tell you tomorrow.
