My latest audiobook from Librivox was The Sheik (1919) by E.M. Hull, and it was a fascinating experience – and not only because I discovered that some people say ‘sheek’ rather than ‘shake’. (The recording was done by a group of people, taking different chapters, and an especial hat nod must go to M.J. Franck who is a brilliant reader.)
If you’ve done any reading about popular fiction in the early decades of the 20th century, you’ll have read about The Sheik. It was an enormous bestseller (selling over a million copies even before the silent film with Rudolph Valentino was released – which, incidentally, you can watch on YouTube). It kicked off a whole new lease of life for desert noir, or whatever they were calling it. And I’m pretty sure that almost nobody reads it nowadays.
I listened to it entirely out of my interest in literary history – not for the novel itself. You’ll understand why the more I explain, if you don’t already know about the novel. And this blog post will have spoilers, because I’m not expecting anybody to read The Sheik. Indeed, I urge you not to read it.
The novel tells of Diana Mayo, an independently-minded young woman who doesn’t want to kowtow to society’s restrictions. She’s not interested in romance or marriage, but instead wants to go exploring on her own – to the concern of her decadent brother. Indeed, she is rather an admirable and refreshing character. Against her brother’s advice, she sets out into the desert with some locals to guide her… and is ambushed. Some of the men are shot. And she is kidnapped by ‘the sheik’. There is rather a lot about how strong he is, and about how his strong arm pushes her strongly against his strong chest. He’s strong, in case that was too subtle.
The sheik is Ahmed Ben Hassan. And he has not intention of letting her go now that he has her. Indeed, between the second and third chapters he rapes her. He continues to rape her every day for several weeks – this is 1919; we don’t see those scenes, but we do get lots of scenes of him looking cruelly at her, laughing cruelly, smiling cruelly etc. Hull goes in for iterated statements.
And throughout all of this, Hull is crazy racist. Lots of sweeping statements are made about “the Arabs” and their supposed disregard for mercy. A lot of her horror seems to come as much from having had sex with “an Arab” as from being raped – though the word ‘rape’ is never used. It’s all pretty unpleasant.
It gets worse.
One day, out riding, she manages to escape. Long story short, she doesn’t get super far until Ahmed Ben Hassan catches up with her and makes her come back to his camp. And… she realises that she is in love with him. I knew this was coming, but I still shouted at the car radio when it happened. I think this brief excerpt sums up everything I hated about the plot of the novel:
Her heart was given for all time to the fierce desert man who was so different from all other men whom she had met, a lawless savage who had taken her to satisfy a passing fancy and who had treated her with merciless cruelty. He was a brute, but she loved him, loved him for his very brutality and superb animal strength. And he was an Arab!
I had thought it might be more like Pamela, where the power of her virtue forces him to repent – but, no, she is the one who changes to be his object. And – skipping forward a few chapters – phew, it turns out he’s actually European after all, so all’s well that ends well.
Hull writes surprisingly well and engagingly, and I’d enjoy reading her in an entirely different sphere – it doesn’t make much of a difference what a writing style is like when it’s about this. My main surprise – as with when Fifty Shades of Grey became so popular – is that so many people had this… taste? fetish? fantasy? Apparently in 1919 this passed for acceptable reading – unless all the millions of copies were read in secret, of course. It’s telling that, in the film, the sheik only thinks about raping her, but doesn’t actually do it.
I’ve no idea what E.M. Hull’s other novels are like (though I don’t hold out hopes for The Son of the Sheik), and I don’t think I’ll explore any further. This dip back a century has confirmed my worst fears from reading about the novel – and painted rather a disturbing picture of what was de rigueur in 1919.
I haven’t come across this book and am glad of that. Reminds me in some ways of the dreadful (in modern eyes) works of McNeile (writing as “Sapper” with his “hero” Bulldog Drummond) which are anti-Semitic, anti-German, xenophobic in general and brutish. Extremely popular in Britain between WW1 and WW2.
Oh gosh, I read one of those once – completely repellent.
I think I read The Sheik (which I pronounce “sheek”) out of curiosity in high school or junior high school but it was a condensed version and I am guessing the rape scenes were edited and went over my head. I have more memories of reading Elinor Glyn (who was much influenced by The Sheik) – first The Visits of Elizabeth which was funny in an ingenue way and later the rest of her work which were more obviously part of that genre. I think I read every single one because they were in the university library and easy to find when I didn’t want to do my assigned reading. Elinor spared her readers any rape fantasies (that I recall) but there were definitely lots of strong arms and passionate embraces. However, even when – much later – I was a romance editor there were still some authors who thought these violent heroes were acceptable. Luckily, the readers became more sophisticated in their tastes.
I’m guessing those million copies were read a lot less publicly in 1919 than 50 Shades was in the 21st century. Some would argue we’ve made progress. I’m not one of them.
And – sort of laughing – I’ve never noticed before: Rudolph really does look strong, doesn’t he? Look at those arm muscles!
I ended up with a copy of this in my Virago collecting days. Our reactions to The Sheik were identical although I think I threw the book when she decided she loved him. Gack.
I don’t think I could have made it through the entire book. I cannot believe this is in the Virago catalog. I get that it’s a very popular novel by a woman, which is important for that era, but the idea of falling in love with your rapist is just offensive. Ew.
It *is* disturbing, and I too can’t understand why this is in the Virago catalogue. I would say thank goodness we’ve moved on from this kind of weird rape/submission fantasy stuff, but with the success of the execrable 50 Shades tripe, we obviously haven’t…. :(((
Yikes! What a problematic text. I’m happy to read your review rather than the book itself. I also don’t understand the 50 Shades phenomenon. BDSM preferences aside, I’m bothered that what’s essentially abusive behaviour is both presented and accepted as ‘romantic.’
Nope. No, no, no. Thank you for confirming that I do NOT want to read this book. Not even as literary history.
I read most of this book a few years ago before losing patience with it. I understand why Virago published it, and think they were right to (there were a couple of other equally horrendous examples of early erotica for women with it) both because it was such a popular book in its day, and because essentially the same rape fantasy remains so popular in a barely evolved form even now. I can see why it was a fantasy in 1919 when it would have been far harder for women to openly express desire, and so much easier if choice/responsibility/agency is removed. It’s having your cake and eating it. That it’s still such a popular trope bothers me, I know we’re meant to let people own their fantasies, but I think this one wants questioning.
Thanks for this interview. I have just started the book and can barely put it down.
Oh yeah, this book is complete trash. I’ve read a fair few early twentieth century adventure novels, and The Sheik is trash even by those standards. Like Beau Geste is trashy and racist, but it is not as hideously rapey as this one. Blech.
(I say “sheek” btw. I forgot other people did it the other way!)
It’s suuuuch trash. (My friend from Morocco informs me that ‘sheek’ is closer to the Arabic, so well done America.)
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It sucks because the first and second chapters (right before he kidnaps her) are actually super freaking well written. I almost started to talk about on social media how well written it was and ahead of its time on feminism until…. holy shit. It’s like someone else took over writing the book?!?!
Yes! She is such a wonderful character at first, and then…
Hi!
I am late to this post, but I thank you for sharing this. I did not read the book, but I wanted to out of curiosity. It (fortunately, in retrospect) was not available at our local library.
I then watched the movie because I didn’t want to wait for our library to bring it in from another branch to know the story. I found myself excited during the beginning of the film at how refreshing Diana Mayo’s character was like you said! Just like one of the readers here said, I thought it was ahead of its time and very engaging. Charmingly beautiful and trippy film visuals and niceties aside, I was left disappointed by Diana’s fate and how powerless she was made, so soon into the story. I thought they didn’t really give her a chance to relish in her independent dream at all. Could it be a narrative choice that will offer clarifying justifications throughout the movie? Maaaybe, but it’s so disheartening and disappointing to pull a fast one on us right off the bat. That being said, the movie still seemed to have potential to make a better point with the story because Diana in the movie persistently fought back with bravery and perseverance and held her ground for pretty much most of the movie, although gradually surrendering to the hopelessness and powerlessness of her situation. She even tried to escape from him.
Judging from your account with the book here, I’d definitely say the movie seems a lot less… morally defunct? That’s saying a lot when you consider the racism, misogyny, glorified kidnapping, and the part where he considers raping her, but I guess even though movie Ahmed kidnaps and sexually assaults, he doesn’t sneak up on women and rape them. Good for him?
You could say that since learned his lesson about true love and how it must be earned and then save her life from the other tribe while getting stabbed in the process, that the justice scale was definitely more balanced and made more sense in the movie than in the Stockholm syndrome rape fetish mess that the book sounds like.
Prince Ahmed seemed to learn the lesson that true love is selfless and can only be earned, and never forced. That is precisely what makes love so beautiful and tender.
All in all, it was fun reading your review. I definitely don’t want to read that jarring book now. I’m rewatching the movie right now because, I’ll admit, it’s fascinating, especially being so old and a silent film, too. I really enjoyed it, probably couldn’t say the same about that book if I read it though.
See ya thanks for posting this! :>