Scan barcode
A review by mafiabadgers
Hashish: A Smuggler's Tale by Henry de Monfreid, Helen Buchanan Bell
adventurous
funny
informative
fast-paced
4.0
First read 01/2025
The blurb describes Henry de Monfreid as a "Nobleman, writer, adventurer and inspiration for the swashbuckling gun runner in the Adventures of Tintin". I think I should prefer to call him outrageously immoral, totally self-centred, and fantastically racist; that is to say, a fairly typical Frenchman.
It opens with the reminder that, as told in the previous volume of memoirs, a shipment of munitions that he had been smuggling had been seized, so the arms syndicate from whom he had acquired them on credit was not best pleased with him. This is more or less how George Lucas introduced Han Solo in Episode IV of Star Wars, and if Han Solo were an early-Twentieth Century Frenchman, he'd probably be a lot like de Monfreid. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that de Monfreid was an influence on George Macdonald Fraser's Flashman—they have that same scoundrelly feel to them, though Flashman doesn't have de Monfreid's passion for adventure. And what a passion it is! As much as he relishes the thought of making hearty profits from his eight cases of hashish, actually being an intrepid drug smuggler seems to excite him just as much, and indeed he admits that he often imagines himself as a cinema hero to spur on his failing courage. To set off his exploits, he often goes on philosophical tangents about the blighting of Nature by Man and Machinery, or the racial failings of Greeks and Egyptians. Some of these digressions have aged better than others, it is true, but much of the racism is so far removed from the sort that is prevalent today that the best response is simply to laugh at it.
Aside from the entertainment value, which is considerable, this book's greatest strength is in resurrecting a time long past. You can almost smell the tobacco smoke drifting from roadside cafés, or feel the grittiness of the pearls as you 'gift' them to corrupt officials. Marxists may also appreciate his commentary on English imperialism:
The blurb describes Henry de Monfreid as a "Nobleman, writer, adventurer and inspiration for the swashbuckling gun runner in the Adventures of Tintin". I think I should prefer to call him outrageously immoral, totally self-centred, and fantastically racist; that is to say, a fairly typical Frenchman.
It opens with the reminder that, as told in the previous volume of memoirs, a shipment of munitions that he had been smuggling had been seized, so the arms syndicate from whom he had acquired them on credit was not best pleased with him. This is more or less how George Lucas introduced Han Solo in Episode IV of Star Wars, and if Han Solo were an early-Twentieth Century Frenchman, he'd probably be a lot like de Monfreid. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that de Monfreid was an influence on George Macdonald Fraser's Flashman—they have that same scoundrelly feel to them, though Flashman doesn't have de Monfreid's passion for adventure. And what a passion it is! As much as he relishes the thought of making hearty profits from his eight cases of hashish, actually being an intrepid drug smuggler seems to excite him just as much, and indeed he admits that he often imagines himself as a cinema hero to spur on his failing courage. To set off his exploits, he often goes on philosophical tangents about the blighting of Nature by Man and Machinery, or the racial failings of Greeks and Egyptians. Some of these digressions have aged better than others, it is true, but much of the racism is so far removed from the sort that is prevalent today that the best response is simply to laugh at it.
Aside from the entertainment value, which is considerable, this book's greatest strength is in resurrecting a time long past. You can almost smell the tobacco smoke drifting from roadside cafés, or feel the grittiness of the pearls as you 'gift' them to corrupt officials. Marxists may also appreciate his commentary on English imperialism:
If the English are sowing drachmae in Greece, it is probably in order to reap pounds sterling elsewhere. They have probably some interest in preventing your country from producing hashish. The question of morality is only the classic excuse, most valuable as an argument, since it is unanswerable. These high principles did not prevent the English from methodically poisoning a magnificent race, the Red Indians, with alcohol in order to seize their country. The same clergymen who are today declaiming in America against the sale of intoxicating liquor lavished the deadly fire-water on the natives, accompanied, it is true, by Bibles and sermons. Their bodies were killed in the name of the Great Nation, but their souls were saved in the name of the Lord, so John Citizen’s conscience was clear. I’m only mentioning all this to indicate the importance which must be given to philanthropic movements on the part of governments. Anyhow, I don’t blame the English for killing the Red Indians as they did. Since they had to be killed, it was preferable to do it painlessly by selling death by the glass. You see how natural it is to suspect that the English have a commercial interest in stopping the Greeks from growing hemp. Hashish must exist in one of their colonies.
Even after all his racism, he really had me going there! Up until the moment he said they had to be killed. It's almost like a practical joke, but it's a useful insight all the same. Anyway, the book is tremendously enjoyable, and if even half of it is true, then the so called realists have a lot to answer for.