It is 1884 and thirty-two-year-old spinster Amelia Peabody, having inherited a modest fortune from her scholarly father, has set out to finally see some of the world. Full (some might say overfull) of confidence in her vast knowledge, quick-wittedness, and moral superiority, she has bludgeoned her away across Europe – maid and companion unhappily in tow – and arrived in Rome.
And it is in Rome that her story, Crocodile on the Sandbank by Elizabeth Peters, begins:
When I first set eyes on Evelyn Barton-Forbes she was walking the streets of Rome – (I am informed, by the self-appointed Critic who reads over my shoulder as I write, that I have already committed an error. If those seemingly simple English words do indeed imply that which I am told they imply to the vulgar, I must in justice to Evelyn find other phrasing.)
In justice to myself, however, I must insist that Evelyn was doing precisely what I have said she was doing, but with no ulterior purpose in mind. Indeed, the poor girl had no purpose and no means of carrying it out if she had. Our meeting was fortuitous, but fortunate. I had, as I have always had, purpose enough for two.
What follows is a perfect homage to Victorian adventure novels, with exotic settings, dastardly villains, sweet young lovers, a deadly threat…and Amelia.
Amelia is the masterstroke. She is bold and forceful and often right but frequently entertainingly blind to that which is directly in front of her. Peters has great fun in making this clear to the reader even as Amelia, our narrator, remains ignorant.
After learning of Evelyn’s tragic circumstances (but also her impeccable lineage), Amelia becomes determined to take care of her. Evelyn, far, far, far more rational than Amelia, points out that this seems inadvisable:
‘I might be a criminal! I might be vicious – unprincipled!’
‘No, no,’ I said calmly. ‘I have been accused of being somewhat abrupt in my actions and decisions, but I never act without thought; it is simply that I think more quickly and more intelligently than most people. I am an excellent judge of character. I could not be deceived about yours.’
Evelyn, starving and destitute, has her rescuer and Amelia finally has some colour in a life that has been far too quiet for far too many years.
Together the ladies continue on to Egypt where Peters, an Egyptologist, quickly and entertainingly guides us through the major tourist sights, presents to us the noted archaeologists of the day, and, most importantly, introduces us to two young men, the brothers Radcliffe and Walter Emerson. Walter and Evelyn are immediately dazzled by one another’s good looks, sweet personalities, and overall aura of kindness. Like Amelia, you can only look on in approval. Elder brother Radcliffe, generally called by his surname, and Amelia have a different and far more combative initial impact on one another.
Amelia and Evelyn set out in a dahabeya to cruise the Nile and coincidentally (nothing is coincidental when Amelia is involved) find themselves visiting the site the Emerson brothers are excavating. Soon they are an integral part of the excavation team, which is thrilling enough, but then mysterious things begin to happen. Can the ghostly shape that seems to be disturbing them in the night truly be a mummy? No. Even they know that. Most of the time. But the truth is as sinister as any true Victorian pulp novelist could have wished.
I read this book first in my early teens and didn’t appreciate it. I was still at a stage in my reading when I wanted protagonists to be relatable. Amelia was so old (how things change!) and rigid and didn’t she know how ridiculous she was? I put it down without thinking of reading on.
I came back to it in my late teens as though it was an entirely different book. It wasn’t but I was an entirely different person, one who was finally capable of appreciating Peters’ comic brilliance. I adored it and read on through the entire series (or at least the seventeen books that were then available).
The series is fantastic and I’m thinking of rereading it in full this year. Amelia mellows with time, which is necessary to sustain our sympathy for several decades, and other enticing characters are introduced, but the freshness of Crocodile on the Sandbank does fade away a little. Other pleasures replace it (young Ramses! Older Ramses!) but Peters was free to have such fun with this first book and it shows. It is never anything but a delight to reread it.
The Captive Reader 