As a sequel to King Solomon's Mines, Allan Quatermain would subsequently prove effective in generating a number of prequels. It's a good enough story--in fact, essentially two stories. But it's also clunky in more than a few instances and certainly nowhere near the equal of King Solomon's Mines. Once again, Quatermain and his companions, Sir Henry and Good, embark on a journey to uncover another lost civilization. This one is descended from what seems to be a remnant of Sassanid Persia.

First, what is clunky about it? The fact that you have two separate stories that not only diverge from one another but have but the barest connection, the Mackenzie Mission Station and the Kingdom of Zu-Vendis. There is also the introduction of a child into the Mackenzie story. The appearance of children in Victorian literature is usually annoying, and that is the case, here, with "dear little Flossie," who seems so entirely innocent that she is possessed of bovine stupidity. That is until facing danger, when she turns into the African version of a derringer wielding Annie Oakley. Last, there is Haggard's obsession with the detail surrounding the architecture of Zu-Vendis' palace and temple. When Haggard describes landscapes, he is at his best, even when he descends somewhat into purple prose. But when talking of these two buildings, he almost seems to be reading out a particularly nightmarish set of instructions from Ikea. The eyes glaze over. These weaknesses, nonetheless, are easily put out of mind, once the adventure picks up in the latter chapters.

Aside from the adventure, however, probably the most important part of Allan Quatermain is the "Introduction" to this novel. In it, Quatermain explains his worldview. There should be no mistake. It's anti-imperialist and anti-colonialist to its core. (How would a Zulu empire have developed had it never come into contact with Whites? What sort of civilization might the proto-Egyptians have built in isolation for thousands of years? What if one of Alexander's Greek generals had managed to lead his army into a place secluded from the world for 2000 years?) It all seems to reflect the influences building around Haggard himself. Clearly, there was the effect of Darwin's thought. (Indeed, with Quatermain's discussion of the rise and fall of empires and peoples, there is a hint of what would come to be called Social Darwinism about a decade or so later.) And there was also a strange sort of melding of Christian manners and Buddhist views towards life and the universal. I know very little of Haggard's biography, but I can't help but think he must have known something of Theosophy and, in particular, the work of the Theosophical Society of Madame Blavatsky. The spiritualism, the balance between nature and god(s), the role of the so-called Masters of Ancient Wisdom. So much of Blavatsky's tenets seem at work in Haggard's novels.

Whatever the influence, Haggard had little difficulty in generating an interest for the mystical and the hidden metaphysical realms in life. Far from being an agent of imperialism, Haggard and his protagonist, Quatermain, seem to be the last Romantic hero. They have more in common with the Byronic hero than some nineteenth century preview of Colonel Blimp. ( )