Lightning-cracked
time portals. Secret tombs. Slave ship
mutiny. Snake men. Buried alive. Parlays with kings. These are just some of the adventurous
elements of Leigh Brackett’s The Sword of
Rhiannon. (Though initially
published as Sea Kings of Mars, it
quickly changed names, and in reprintings since has consistently been known as The Sword of Rhiannon.) Written in 1953, it was one of the last
threads of the pulp era yet benefits from increased expectations regarding
prose and characterization. It never,
however, fails as an adventure.
Matt
Carse, Earthman and grave looter on Mars, meets with the opportunity of
lifetime one evening walking the streets of Jekkara. Shown the mystical sword of the mighty and
long dead sorceror Rhiannon, its gleaming jewel only set his mind moving in
other directions: where there is such a beautiful sword, there must also be
treasure of greater magnitude. Taken to
the tomb, its there his greed gets the better of him. Examining a particularly strange artifact,
the rug is pulled from under his feet and, like Alice, through the rabbit hole
Carse goes. With only Rhiannon’s sword
in hand, he arrives at a Mars millions of years in the past and into the middle
of one of the biggest plots the planet has ever known. Carse’s problem is, his
actions are what unleash the plot and send the world of the Sea Kings into
turmoil.
There is
no doubt that The Sword of Rhiannon
has its roots in the stories of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E. Howard, and
others. But with the value of hindsight
and the increased expectations of readers given the overall evolution and
maturing of the field, Brackett elides dross and focuses her storylines, dumbs
down the uber-hero qualities of her protagonists to somewhere just above
everyday Joe status, and looks forward politically in terms of assumptions
regarding gender, class, and other troublesome areas that underlie the stories
of the early pulp writers. At the same
time, she has a firm grasp on what makes pulp fiction enjoyable; visuals,
action, adventure, and sense of wonder are present in spades. Entering Rhiannon’s tomb, discovering what’s
hiding in Emer’s closet, the crystal technology of the climactic scene—these
are moments of vivid storytelling the genre is perhaps most renowned for.
In the
end, The Sword of Rhiannon is classic
planetary romance. Ideologically empty, it earns its keep by telling a brisk,
exciting adventure and presenting colorful and engaging imagery. Possessing the classic comedic side-kick, a
mysterious female character, winged men, and technology from so far in the past
none know how to operate it, all the ingredients are in place for fun. As minor as it may be in comparison to the
focus on delivering an enjoyable story, Brackett steps on few toes politically
as she spins her adventure. Women with
agency, class equality, and other ideas are hidden away amongst sword fights,
minds trapped within minds, and, of course, the fate of Mars.
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