One of the greatest – and most basic – compliments that can be paid to any work of literary fiction is to call it a page-turner. Before any other, this one can easily and confidently be applied to Davor Pleskina’s tale of adventure, In the Shadow of the Crescent Moon, the second (!) book of his Steel and Honour trilogy. As soon as we have been introduced to the novel’s three main heroes, we find ourselves nurturing an ever-growing stake in their individual fates and the success of their venture, carried along by the suspense over the perils they face, the exhilaration of their victories and the affliction over their defeats, great and small. In this, the story is highly cinematic in its conception and execution. In fact, if a movie version were ever to be made, the novel could almost be taken intact to deliver the script with little more than a change in format. The rhythm, pacing and tempo of a big-screen version are already present in the text as written, right down to the fine sense of balance in the build-up from tranquil domestic or natural settings as backdrops for sparingly apportioned dialogues to scenes of credibly depicted and well crafted high action. The characterizations, too, are believable and relatable, whether pro- or antagonists, with even minor roles given distinct personalities rather than being tossed in and yanked back out as faceless extras. Nor are the two major and two minor female characters pigeonholed as one-dimensional damsels in distress or helpless victims of the profoundly patriarchal Ottoman and the post-medieval Christian societies of the era – even if, from today’s perspective, that is to a large degree what they were.
In matters of genre, too, this tale can look back on a proud motion picture tradition among, as just one example, Westerns, and, to choose the most suitable parallel from among my own personal favourites, John Ford’s masterfully executed story of abduction and rescue, The Searchers (1956). Like Ethan Edwards, Steel and Honour‘s Ivan carries deep emotional scars, in his case a physical one as well, from a mysterious past experience of his own with abduction and forced integration into the world of those who have now become his adversaries. As Ethan spoke “good Comanch’ “, Ivan speaks fluent Turkish. Both seem driven more by a deep-seated, burning hunger for revenge than by their actual mission to rescue the girl. And both face off with a personal, individual antagonist from among the host of their enemies. Ethan’s nephew and partner on their quest, Martin Pawley, finds his counterpart in Nikola, the eager, young, but as yet inexperienced soldier who comes of age through the journey and its horrors. Whereas Debbie, the abducted girl in The Searchers, lived with her Native American band long enough to bury nearly all her white settler upbringing and identify solely as a Comanche, her counterpart in Steel and Honour is split into two young women, one of whom has also lost all but foggy, early-childhood memories of her Vlach past and is now diligently studying the Quran and anticipating her full conversion to Islam. She, too, has been almost fully absorbed into the community of her abductors. The other of the two, Mira, has not had time to undergo such a profound transformation, but even so, she has already accepted her lot and is beginning to look ahead to a future with the Ottomans and a Turkish husband, mentally leaving her Croatian life behind in a rapidly fading – or increasingly repressed – past. Pleskina’s portrayal of the Ottomans is a sensitive one, offering the reader an opening through which to understand and even relate to their concerns and motivations and see them as fallible but driven human beings, neither inherently good nor evil. While The Searchers has been criticized for the racist foundation typical of Westerns of that era – still within living memory of the Indian Wars, after all – John Ford made a point of giving the Comanche relatable motives beyond sheer aggression, with Scar mentioning “two sons killed by whites”, a step towards understanding that was atypical of the confrontational 1950s. The moviegoers were also expected to know that abduction of children was customary among Native Americans as a way of avoiding inbreeding, while Mira was presumably taken to serve as a slave. In classical world literature, as well, this tale can lay claim to endless predecessors, ranging from ancient Greek epics (the abduction of Helen) to the Norse and Irish sagas (the abduction of Winlogee and her rescue by Cú Chulainn).
When faced with the vivid and evocative descriptions of not only the visual backdrops but of the sensory experience of the characters’ immediate environments – the frosty winter nights and the warmth of an open fire, the scent of straw bedding, the jingling of armour announcing the approach of a band of janissaries – the reader can’t escape the distinct impression that Pleskina has himself gained personal experience of the conditions and circumstances he describes. In just a few words, his descriptive prowess brings the chill of winters from times increasingly long past right into the readers’ own chambers, making them want to wrap themselves up in warm blankets, turn the heat up, light a fire and seal the cracks beneath the doors and around the window frames. And the scene he paints of an Ottoman bey introducing his son to the delights of coffee, just as freshly discovered in that era as it is freshly ground and brewed in the Turkish manner, promises to awaken the readers’ olfactory and gustatory senses to the prospect of accompanying a chapter or two or three with a piping hot cup of java. At the same time, we are feasted with an account of how this coffee was served and what exotically spiced dishes once graced an Ottoman bey’s table. Not forgotten are the simpler delights of the common folk in Carniola and Croatia of the time: the wine, cheese and bread. And the inevitable violence arising from confrontations between the adversaries is depicted as a haphazard blend of luck, both good and bad, chance and skill that seems far more credible and realistic than the increasingly superhuman acrobatics of many a contemporary adventure-story hero.
Almost as a complement to the sensual portrayal of events, the copious footnotes provide cultural and historical context, bringing clarity into the complex web of ethnicities, social and military casts and troops and the conflicts of the era and region. The term ‘balkanization’ entered the English language long ago, itself carrying associated images of the complexity of competing and conflicting groups that defy all attempts at simplification. So, these explanations come in handy and may well serve to satisfy the intellectual curiosity of many a reader, add another layer of authenticity and further illuminate the historical background of this historical drama. Above all, the footnotes serve the body of the text as good footnotes are meant to: they obviate the need for long-winded elucidations that would only hobble the action and disrupt the pacing of the narrative. On that note, it’s time to cut the literary chit-chat, turn the page and set out on an action-packed adventure.
Enjoy!
K. Michael Tikhomirov