Open your text of The Four Feathers, turn to Chapter XXIV – ‘On the Nile,’ then look at the passage that begins thus:
“It was a common story and the logical outcome of the belief that life and death are written and will inevitably befall after the manner of the writing.” (Mason, 272-3)
Couldn’t it easily be the opening lines of a captivating novel?
Mason’s “The Four Feathers”
Image from BarnesandNoble.com
That’s one of the qualities I’ve come to love about A.E. Mason’s style of writing, how every single paragraph is composed in such a way that no matter which one you start reading from, it’s always a great story. The first reason I picked this particular part then, is because it was here that I realized how important this little skill is. The other reason is that we see in these couple of lines, a lot of the literary as well as stylistic techniques that Mason uses to describe the cruel and kind nature of mankind. But first, a short synopsis.
At this point in the story, we’ve just left Ethne, Durrance, and Mrs. Adair and are with Calder, traveling down the Nile, as he witnesses a brutally wounded Arab lying neglected and baking in the sun. Unable to watch the unfortunate man’s suffering (for he has now found out that it’s a man), he has him moved to the shade and is struggling to come to terms with the reality that lies before his eyes. We later discover that the Arab is Abou Fatma, Harry’s helper.
We know from the passage’s first line itself that Mason is no stranger to the use of alliteration: “belief that…written and will…befall…writing.” As prevalent as it has been in his prose so far, this continues throughout the paragraph and juxtaposed with his simple yet poetic language, draws the readers attention to right where he wants it drawn. His contradictory constructions, like the antithesis of the Arab’s “serious” bruise and its “simple remedies,” place subtle emphasis on issues of importance – the thing that Calder is most disturbed by is the way the injured Arab had suffered almost unnecessarily, just because of negligence from the natives. This is further brought to light with more detailed descriptions and strong images. As Calder imagines the ordeal Abou Fatma must have gone through, Mason makes us, with the help of various forms of parallelism paired with repetition, imagine the brutality with him. How could anyone not come to aid to the poor man who lay still for days “unwashed, unfed, and with his thirst unslaked”? How could they watch, and yet not save him, and his “bruise had become a sore, the sore had gangrened.” The torment is tedious, it is too much, and like Calder, we are fascinated by it- ah, human nature! Here, Mason’s diction and personification of the sun and the flies come into play as well, and our heart goes out to the Arab who is mistreated and abused not just by his kind, but by the merciless great Sun from above and the fickle flies too. How do you not pray for the poor man’s relief? How can you dismiss such a ghastly image from your mind?
The tone Mason adopts in the passage adds to this effect too- it’s an odd mixture of calm logic and disbelief, a lot like the way we’ve looked at the happenings in the novel so far. Let’s just hope, like Calder watched Abou suffer and we’re watching Harry and Ethne and Durrance struggle, that by the end, we’ll find relief and resolution too, like Calder must have, when he unexpectedly, yet finally, finds a doctor who might be able to tend to Abou.
Source:
Mason, A.E.W. The Four Feathers. Grosset and Dunlap. New York. 1901.