THE READING RHEUM: THE TRAIL OF FU MANCHU (1934)

                                                          

,I noted earlier that BRIDE OF FU MANCHU was atypical in that Sax Rohmer constructed it like a traditional notvel, rather than being a concatenation of episodes. Until I re-read TRAIL OF FU MANCHU, though, I didn’t realize that the author must have formulated at least some of the plot-threads of TRAIL in mind when he wrote BRIDE. For instance, during one of Fu’s many BRIDE-lectures to viewpoint character Alan Sterling, the doctor discourses a bit on alchemy. The subject has no affect on BRIDE’s plot, but it’s of particular consequence in TRAIL.

Obviously, given Rohmer’s treatment of Karameneh in the first three books, it was perhaps a given that TRAIL would deal in part with the aftermath of Alan Sterling “stealing” the bride of the devil-doctor, Fleurette, long-lost daughter of Karameneh and Doctor Petrie. Fu Manchu kidnaps Fleurette here just as he abducted Karamenehh in Book Three, and by the book’s end the doctor swears not to do so again, just as he (largely) left Karameneh alone following her abduction. (In essence, whenever Fu promised to leave someone alone, it meant that author Rohmer didn’t intend to make any great use of said character in future.)

TRAIL isn’t as tightly written as BRIDE, but it has a different distinction. Every previous Fu-book used a single viewpoint character, but Book Seven is the first one to utilize multiple viewpoints. Alan Sterling doesn’t tell any of the story until eighty pages in, a couple of viewpoint characters are throwaway figures, and a couple of others are “firsts:” Nayland Smith narrates a chapter or two and Fleurette has the distinction of being the first female character in a Fu-novel to get her own chapter. All of the transitions work well, and though the plot is looser than that of the previous book, only one episode—an early subplot in which Fah Lo Suee fakes her death for no clear reason—doesn’t cohere with the rest of the narrative.

Another Fah-related subplot has become a major part of the Fu Manchu mythology. Fah and Nayland Smith don’t seem to have crossed paths prior to her introduction in Book Three, and Rohmer barely has the two interact afterward. Then, toward the end of this novel, Fah Lo Suee --despite having styled herself as a person of “light loves”—suddenly announches, in front of her father, her father’s minions, and several captives, including Smith—that she’s loved Smith since she first laid eyes upon him. The announcement proves so arresting that even Fu Manchu, who’s rarely surprised by anything, admits that he didn’t see this one coming—perhaps mirroring the astonishinent of Rohmer’s regular readers. The only one who doesn’t react much is Nayland Smith, though he’s rather preoccupied at the time. Not only does he witness Fu executing his disloyal daughter (though of course she’s back soon enough), the doctor also fully plans to slay Smith and his allies this time, and only Smith’s resourcefulness saves the day, making for one of Rohmer’s most exciting action-sequences.

In addition, Rohmer also experiments with bringing a little more verisimilitude to his adventurous sage. Though Fu Manchu escapes police captivity with ridiculous ease in BRIDE—much as he did in Book One—this time he isn’t able to poof away like an Arabian genie, nor can he conjure up bevies of scorpions and dacoits out of nothingness as he always had before. Smith doesn’t explain exactly what he’s done to cut Fu off from his Si-Fan network. Yet somehow, as the novel opens the policeman has managed to make Europe hot for the villain, which is one reason Fu returns to England, to kidnap Fleurtte as a future bargaining chip. More central to the mastermind’s plan, though, is his attempt to overcome his financial embarrassment by manufacturing gold after the fashion of the ancient alchemists. Rohmer is understandably vague about the process, though Fu makes an intriguing suggestion that the operation involves the sacrifice of human flesh. Aside from the technique of gold-making and some of the mental tricks performed by the two Asian evildowers, TRAIL departs from most of the “mad scientist” tropes seen in BRIDE. And though Rohmer is never all that wrapped up in the realities of running a criminal empire, it’s amusing to speculate that Fu’s expensive BRIDE laboratory may have caused him to overspend his resources, as much as any action taken by Nayland Smith.

Late in the novel Smith says to his confidante, “Seems like old times, eh, Petrie?” But early in the book Rohmer shows a sedulous determination to remind readers of the long history between the policeman and the super-criminal. One chapter references “the Zayat Kiss,” and one of Fu’s minor associates from the 1910s, John Ki, returns for a few scenes. The novel’s greater emphasis on verisimilitude has a consequence: the characters, particularly Fu Manchu, are not quite as deeply mythic as they are elsewhere. But TRAIL does boast one deeply resonant scene, which improves upon a similar event in HAND OF FU MANCHU. In that novel, Fu Manchu needs an operation, and he forces Petrie and another doctor to do the deed. In TRAIL, Fu’s alchemical stratagem is destroyed, but he gets a physical rebirth thanks to Petrie. To save Fleurette—who, once again, never shares any scenes with the Oriental schemer—Petrie must save Fu Manchu from the ravages of old age by administering the exilir vitae. Just as the aggrieved physician approaches his patient, Fu does his mind-reading trick, once more disclosing the fact that, no matter what crimes he commits, he’s always the most interesting man in the room:

“’O mighty Caesar! Dost thy lie so low?’ I observe, Doctor Petrie, that this beautiful passage from an otherwise dull play is present in your mind… You honor me.”