Unfortunately, in Hannibal, Harris seems to introduce violence for violence's sake, as if he wished to live up to his reputation as America's master of freakish gore. The result is a far bloodier but also far less interesting book. Even Lecter's murders--so stylish (for lack of a better word) in Harris's previous books--seem out of place in their crassness.
The book is not helped by the unstinting nastiness of Hannibal's chief villain. Mason Verger, Lecter's only surviving victim, attempts to take revenge on Lecter by subjecting him to a horrendous death. But, although the villains in Harris's earlier two books were at least somewhat sympathetic, Verger does not even demonstrate the slightest glimmer of humanity. I mean, the man drinks the tears of crying orphans! Now, a villain does not always have to be sympathetic--although Harris's other villains were certainly more interesting for having some normal human qualities--but without this sympathy Mason becomes as frightening, and just about as compelling, as a B-movie monster.
The other great crime of this book is what it does to Hannibal Lecter. Before this book, Lecter was cool. A brilliant, charming monster, he performed his crimes gracefully, with pride and consummate skill, and his manners were impeccable even when his hands dripped with blood. The most fascinating aspect of Lecter was his amorality. He simply didn't seem to recognize the value of the people whom he murdered, and when he turned his gaze on people you could tell that he saw them as expendable sacks of meat. Finally, Lecter was cool because he scoffed at attempts to explain him. He did not think of himself as mentally ill, and the most frightening thing about him was the feeling that, perhaps, he was not.
Then we come to Hannibal. For some reason, Harris suddenly feels compelled to explain how Lecter became the man we know and fear. Suddenly, Lecter becomes an orphan. What's more, there's childhood trauma! a lost sister! an idyllic childhood! And let's not forget about the Nazis. To make things even worse, Lecter becomes obsessed with the physics of time. Although Lecter's academic disgressions are usually fascinating (and still are, in certain sections of this book), his theories about time sound stupid, mostly because they are stupid. And there's the problem: when Hannibal Lecter sounds stupid, he no longer seems scary.
The ending of this book is also ridiculous. You'll know what I mean if you read it (which I don't suggest you do).
Finally, the plot meanders, probably because it must deal at times with three characters who are all supposed to be doing significant things in three different places. Unfortunately, they're not all doing interesting things, nor are the things that they are doing even related to one another. Ultimately, the story comes apart at the seams. You can always put this book down.
So Hannibal is a bad book. Of course, it does display more of Harris's meticulous research, his crisp writing, and Hannibal Lecter, and for some people these qualities may be enough to entice them along the narrative. I, on the other hand, would suggest skipping this book and reading the rest of Harris's ouevre instead.
Copyright © 2001 Steven Wu 