Bantam, $3.95, ISBN 0-553-20901-9
Historical Fiction, 1982 (Reissue)
Trade Wind by MM Kaye, ah, a literary voyage that’s as spicy as Zanzibar’s famed cloves and as potentially problematic as a Victorian gentleman’s opinions on phrenology.
Fair warning, dear reader: if your literary tastes lean more towards romances where consent is king and cultural sensitivity reigns supreme, you might want to swap this tale for something penned in the current millennium. Published in 1963, this book is a product of its time, complete with rape, slavery, and enough white man’s burden to make Rudyard Kipling blush.
Our story unfolds in the exotic realm of 19th century Zanzibar, where we meet Hero Hollis, an American heiress with more pluck than sense, and Rory Frost, a roguish sea captain with a moral compass that’s seen better days. Fleeing an unwanted marriage, she is thrust into a world of political intrigue, slave trade, and colonial machinations. Rory, our anti-hero extraordinaire, rescues her from the sea only to keep her as a rather reluctant guest aboard his ship. What follows is a tempestuous relationship that would make modern consent educators reach for their smelling salts.
Ms Kaye’s prose is as lush and intoxicating as a Zanzibari spice market. She paints the island with vivid strokes, bringing to life the “labyrinths of narrow ways between high white houses” and the “hot, spice-laden air.” You can almost smell the “mingled odors of cloves and cinnamon, seaweed and tar” wafting from the pages. Her descriptions are so evocative, you’ll find yourself swatting at imaginary mosquitoes and wiping phantom sweat from your brow.
But looking at it she could catch a glimpse of sun-dappled shade and the crimson fire of hibiscus beyond it, and suddenly she was no longer Hero Athena Hollis, but Eve or Pandorra or Bluebeard’s wife. She stood quite still for several minutes, not in doubt, but to listen, and hearing no sound but the surf and sea wind, ran lightly up the steps.
But don’t mistake this for a mere bodice-ripper set against an exotic backdrop. Trade Wind is a historical epic that sees our protagonists navigating slave revolts, cholera outbreaks, palace coups, and enough swashbuckling adventure to make Errol Flynn look like a landlubber. Hero transforms from a naïve American girl to a woman who can hold her own in the cutthroat world of Zanzibari politics, while Rory grudgingly evolves from a self-serving rogue to… well, a slightly less self-serving rogue with a heart of gold.
The author’s relationship with her setting is as complex as a Zanzibari political intrigue. On one hand, she doesn’t shy away from depicting the brutalities of colonialism. The Arab slave traders are portrayed as cruel and inhumane, while the British colonizers are shown to be arrogant and dismissive of local customs.
Were the well-fed black slaves of the Zanzibar Arabs so much worse off than the wizened children of ‘free’ whites, who worked in factories and mines? And would Salme think that a grimy, fog-filled and smoke-blackened market in some industrial town was so much to be preferred above the hot, teeming, colourful bazaars of her native Island?
Yet, there’s an undeniable undercurrent of white savior narrative. Hero and Rory frequently find themselves in positions where they must rescue or educate the locals, reinforcing the idea that the colonizers are necessary for progress. It’s a stance that will likely induce more eyerolls than a teenager at a family dinner.
Despite its flaws (or perhaps because of them), I can’t help but enjoy this novel. They truly don’t write ’em like this anymore, for better and for worse. It’s a rollicking adventure, a passionate romance, and a fascinating, if problematic, glimpse into a bygone era.
He has seen the squalor and the enchantment, and known that although the world was shrinking with the relentless swiftness of a sandbar when the tide has turned, it was still, for a little while longer, a vast and mysterious place full of unexplored territories, secret cities and beautiful, beckoning horizons.
However, to any intrepid readers planning to dive in, be warned: you’re entering territory unmapped by modern sensibilities. This is no safe space hugbox land. It’s a wild, politically incorrect ride through 19th century colonialism, complete with all its thorny issues as well as very flawed characters. Pack your mental mosquito net, leave your 21st-century sensibilities at the door, and prepare for a journey that’s as troubling as it is thrilling.
