Book Review: Green Hills of Stranglethorn

Green Hills of Stranglethorn is the masterpiece of big game hunter Hemet Nesingwary (anagram of Ernest Hemingway, author of Green Hills of Africa). Though Nesingwary is the author, it is Barnil Stonepot who requests help in reassembling the epic book (*somebody* is a poor librarian). Hemet's tome has been manhandled and many of its pages lie scattered about Stranglethorn Vale; the player must retrieve them from the pockets of trolls, the bellies of tigers, and the clutches of murlocs.

The Story

The book begins with Hemet establishing a base camp by a freshwater inlet. His companions are Ajeck Rouack (the daughter of Hemet's old battle comrade), Sir S. J. Erlgadin (whose father lobbied for improved working conditions for the Stonemasons Guild during the restoration of Stormwind), and Barnil Stonepot (Hemet's servant). Hemet goes on a tangent about Sir Erlgadin's disenchantment with the nobility, mentioning Stormwind's betrayal of the Stonemasons Guild. He catches himself and asserts that "[t]he purpose of this story is not to act as a political treatise or a biography."

The very first morning, Ajeck gets the first kill by saving Barnil from a lurking River Crocilisk at their camp. The group sets out in search of prey and eventually comes across a male Stranglethorn Tiger. Before Hemet can cock his rifle, Erlgadin wounds the tiger with his crossbow and Barnil finishes it off with a thrown axe. A blood-curdling growl spoils their new mead-enhanced festive mood. Hemet unleashes a "clumsy volley" on the Panther but it vanishes, so the hunters head back to the base camp. Apparently these panthers are part of a booming fur trade in Azeroth:

I had promised the expedition that we would spend the next day hunting panthers, as their furs are in high demand throughout Azeroth. It only makes sense that such demand should exist with all of the able-bodied hunters, trappers and fur-traders off giving their lives so valiantly in the name of the Alliance.

Though Hemet has so far been a lousy shot, his Human friends are eager to learn how to use Dwarven rifles rather than their own "primitive range weapons." The next day the hunters follow some panther tracks southward, coming upon a huge rope bridge that compels Hemet to comment on the local inhabitants:

So often it was assumed that the native Trolls were a primitive and uneducated race yet as I gazed upon the master craftsmanship of the bridge I was able to recognize the skill with which the Troll builders overcame the seemingly impossible feat.

At the sound of snapping twigs, Hemet lets his Human friends try for the kill, seeing as how he has already bagged countless panthers; a "beautiful specimen" of a black panther darts out. Being their first time using rifles, the kickbacks surprise the Humans and Erlgadin inadvertently jostles Ajeck just as she pulls her trigger; fortuitously, her shot hits a large branch which falls upon the fleeing panther's back, killing it. Within weeks, Hemet's camp has stockpiled an immense amount of furs, and they decide to try their luck on the Raptors. They set out southward; Barnil is concerned about Trolls, but Hemet is confident they are too busy with their tribal skirmishes. Besides, he has faced Infernals and the Burning Legion army, and is unafraid of trolls.

The hunters find and kill an unsuspecting raptor, which prompts a celebratory pipe-smoking break; the celebration is cut short when a pack of angry raptors begin to pursue them. The hunters find themselves cornered at the top of a sheer cliff over the sea, and prepare for a fight to the death. Miraculously, a great white tiger (presumably King Bangalash) intervenes, scattering the raptors and giving the hunters a chance to escape back to the base camp.

* * * *

This book was more engaging than I expected. It ranges from the sheer monotony of trudging through humid jungle undergrowth to the euphoria of a hard-won kill. Hemet knows how to tell a good tale and keep you reading: each chapter ends with the hunters about to be pounced upon by Something with fierce eyes and sharp teeth, so that you need to find the next chapter in order to find out how they make it out of that scrape. WoW books also have the virtue of being fairly short.

I like how the fur trade made its way into this narrative. Apparently there's high demand for animal furs because of the great danger with which they're obtained. I know I've faced grisly death at the hands of Stranglethorn wildlife (mostly when I walked as a level 8 Blood Elf through the zone in order to reach a neutral Auction House), but what's a death or two to someone who doesn't really die? The infinite spawning of beasts doesn't really support a high demand either—infinite supply should make for negligible demand—but I suppose Hemet has to justify his hunting rampage somehow.

Hints of colonialism also crop up: Hemet is surprised at the technological capability the local troll inhabitants—whom, as he mentions, are often considered primitive and uneducated—show in the construction of bridges. The abandoned docks near the base camp prompt Hemet to wonder what original inhabitants might have built them—perhaps an ancient and forgotten civilization that was displaced by the trolls. Even the weapons that the Humans prefer seem "primitive" to Hemet, who relies on his Dwarven-technology rifle. He tries to introduce them to gun usage—much like early explorers bestowed their own technologies on the "primitive" inhabitants they encountered—but they prove clumsy (if absurdly lucky) with the rifles. In the end, though, the Humans revert to their own technology. I guess they don't even want the weapon that Hemet seems to need; what one culture sees as a lack is maybe not even translatable (as either a need or a want) in another culture.

Given all these little tidbits, I love the part where he denies any political or biographical content. Primitivizing peoples (whether by outright calling them "primitive" or by belittling their tools/weapons/architecture) quite obviously sets up a hierarchy of cultures, in which the simpler one is depicted as inferior and backward; in essence, they are seen as being in an early stage of civilization, and we modern Dwarves (or what-have-you) have already forgotten more about building and weaponry than they have yet discovered. Anyway, this is what I saw in Green Hills of Stranglethorn and I assume it is because the book is meant to be in the Colonialist style.

Nice profound closing to this book: "Such are the risks of the big game hunter," writes Hemet. "We toy with fate by delivering it. Yet each of us, at some point, will face fate's razor sharp teeth." If you're lucky like Hemet, a big tiger will chase away those nasty fate-teeth.