Hannibal Rising

I’ve never quite understood the fascination with Hannibal Lecter. No, I take that back; I understand the fascination.

He’s articulate, charming, calm and collected in the face of any danger, and immensely inventive. He’s always one step ahead of his opponents, evading capture and injury with the grace of a gazelle fleeing a forest fire. Isn't there a part of us who'd like to be all that? It's such an enticing fantasy. But he’s also a cannibal who murders without compunction and if that doesn’t muddy the waters of who we take for our fictional heroes, then nothing will.

(I can think of a couple of other examples in same vein: Michael Caine’s character in the film of Get Carter and Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men (film and book). Both are criminals. Both kill without compunction. Both have been taken up as somehow ‘cool’ characters by their own unsettling fan bases.)

Well, here’s Hannibal Rising to muddy the waters even more. Because in this book we’re taken back to Hannibal’s childhood, and to the ravages he and his family suffered as the Second World War raged through eastern Europe. And it’s because of these that Hannibal sets out on the course that will turn him from a protective, loving child to remorseless killer and eventual cannibal.

And boy, is it hard not to like him as he tracks down the men who destroyed everything to do with his early life. It’s a gripping story, eminently readable. Once again, Hannibal is calm and collected, effortlessly inventive and almost always one step ahead of his prey. We come to relish the way he tracks down these monsters and deals out vengeance. Because if Hannibal is bad, then the ones he pursues are even worse.

At least Thomas Harris doesn’t end the book endorsing his creation. (Not that I think he ever did in any of the other books. In fact, I think he might well have been surprised by the success his creation enjoyed.) As one character says to him: What is there in you to love?’ The trouble is, there seem to be a lot of people who do love him, and I find that disturbing.

Then again, I did read the book. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. Perhaps I just think too much.