Published three years after his phenomenally successful "The Coral Island", ""The Gorilla Hunters" finds Ballantyne bringing back three friends from previous novel but this time they are grown up men and instead of Pacific, the story is set somewhere in Africa. It's all very exotic, adventurous and one can feel author's excitement as he muses about places he imagines - it must have been thrilling for his readers back than - however, the time wasn't kind to this one, it clearly feels like a work from a bygone era and it reflects opinions and perspective of Victorian writer.
I giggled with joy when Ralph, Peterkin and Jack meet again, after being apart for six years: they are different, grown up men now but in some ways they are still the same as we remember them, in fact, sometimes I even think they are three different aspects of the same person. Very soon, though, the huge gap between our modern sensibilities and dear old Ballantyne became evident - his characters are indulging in man's sport (that is, hunting) and even if he goes into trouble of explaining it all as a sheer scientific expedition (animals are being killed and collected for a purpose of research and exhibition back home) it grates very badly on modern reader who is not so bloodthirsty. There is a subplot involving all sorts of fights with native people left and right (described as simpletons, as Victorians would have seen them) but focus is mainly on three friends swaggering around with their guns and killing unsuspecting wild animals while they are drinking water from a pond or playing with each other. Gorilla, Elephants, Giraffe, you name it, they all get killed, eaten and collected as trophy. Even Ballantyne himself is not exactly sure about all of this, because he feels compelled to explain their actions as pure science: “For,” said Jack, “what would the naturalist do without the hunter? His museums would be almost empty and his knowledge would be extremely limited. On the other hand, if there were no naturalists, the hunter—instead of being the hero who dares every imaginable species of danger, in order to procure specimens and furnish information that will add to the sum of human knowledge—would degenerate into the mere butcher who supplies himself and his men with meat; or into the semi-murderer, who delights in shedding the blood of inferior animals. The fact is, that the naturalist and the hunter are indispensably necessary to each other—‘both are best,’ to use an old expression; and when both are combined in one, as in the case of the great American ornithologist Audubon, that is best of all.”
Well, I love animals - the fact that we kill them and use them as food troubles me deeply, since apparently we can find proteins elsewhere and inflicting pain and suffering on any living species seems like a hypocrisy, as we tend to play affectionately with our pets but have no problems with killing, skinning and roasting some other animals. I saw a waggon yesterday with several young calves who were obviously taken on a road with no return and it was chilling to see them so oblivious to their destiny, such beautiful, young animals taken for a slaughter. So to read about these three young hunters enjoying themselves while killing wild animals in their natural environment (just because they look dangerous, scary and protective of their offspring) didn't sit well with me.
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