ZORRO
By Isabel Allende. Translated from the Spanish by Margaret Sayers Peden. HarperCollins. 390 pp. $25.95
The original "Zorro" was the "Spider-Man" of the 1920s. First it was a piece of pulp fiction by Johnston McCulley called "The Curse of Capistrano," which was probably stolen from "The Scarlet Pimpernel." But soon it became a franchise, just like "Spider-Man." The movie versions started with "The Mark of Zorro," staring Douglas Fairbanks, which morphed into the Tyrone Power remake, along with some other versions, before turning up as a television show, which I am just old enough to remember. The logo for that show was a Z, cut into a wall by the tip of a rapier with a swish, swish, swish . The cultural autophagia of this story has been going on for a long time because its premise is so appealing: A man has a double life, first as a bumbler, whom his beloved dismisses, and then as a masked hero, whom she adores.
Given that the culture has eaten this story so often, it is no surprise that we have a new, modern version by Isabel Allende, whose novels include The House of the Spirits . And, in trying to appraise this version, I think the greatest error would be to misunderstand the spirit of the book. Obviously, Allende wants to have some fun, and in this she succeeds with a variety of spunk and good cheer. The fun is in the book's sensitivity, which more than anything else has the earthy frankness, if not quite the dense texture, of Alejo Carpentier, from whom, I'd be willing to bet, Gabriel García Márquez learned a lot. And frankly I am amazed at how enjoyable a picaresque novel can be, particularly one imbued with swashbuckling, swordplay, honor, hidden desire, unlikely coincidence and a good old-fashioned villain. Such elements are a reminder of the attractions of one of the main strains of world literature that starts with Don Quixote .
In this version of the Zorro legend, we begin with the parentage of our hero in old California, learning that Zorro -- whose real name is Diego de la Vega -- has some Indian heritage, too. We see him being educated in the wilds of California and then in the more civilized venue of Spain, although perhaps "civilized" in the context of the brutal Napoleonic era is a misnomer. Still, it is in Spain that Diego, the pupal Zorro, really learns to fence. He does this at Maestro Manuel Escalante's Fencing Academy, where he also is invited to join "La Justicia," which has as a mission statement the desire to "seek justice, nourish the hungry, clothe the naked, protect widows and orphans" and, well, you get the idea.
It is not possible to sum up the surprises, rescues from prisons, flirtations (between Zorro's true love and, for example, a pirate), but the book has plenty of what Hollywood would call non-stop action, and this is told with a pleasure so keen on the author's part that it's difficult not to be swept up in it.
The novel does have some imperfections, such as a New Age Machisma (which is most obviously seen in such characters as The Wise Woman With Herbs). Also, obscured by the spirit of fun and Allende's multicultural impulse, the book contains some bigotry. Allende observes, for instance, that "White women . . . always seemed arrogant and complicated; they were often ill, they didn't know how to dance, and they were rather useless when it came to making love -- they did not even like to take their hair down." In the spirit of Zorro, I think someone should defend the amorous honor of white women, and so, as a man of honor, I'd like to say that this observation is about as wrong-headed as can be. Still, putting aside such minor excesses, the overall impression the book leaves is exceedingly pleasant and charming. En garde! Coup droit d'autorité! ·
Craig Nova's latest novel is "Cruisers."
