For better or worse, Eaters of the Dead is one of Michael Crichton’s more overlooked works. In the afterword, Crighton says he conceived of the book as a retelling of Beowulf. Rather than structure Eaters like a traditional novel, he writes as if transcribing a 10th Century travelogue.
Crichton takes a historical figure, Ahmad Ibn Fadlan, an ambassador of the Caliph of Baghdad who made early contact with Vikings around 922 A.D., and uses him to retell the tale of a Norse community under threat by an unnamed terror. In a way, this makes sense, as readers would probably relate more towards the civilized and monotheistic Arab than with pagan Vikings who, by Ibn Fadlan’s account, had horrible table manners.
Crichton even goes so far as to invent sources that he used for footnotes to try to give Eaters a flare of authenticity. Whereas Eaters of the Dead was written to simulate a discovered manuscript, the film version titled The 13th Warrior is a more by the numbers action/adventure.
Critics almost universally revile the 13th Warrior, which was directed by John McTiernan before being reportedly salvaged by Cricton in reshoot. In his review, Roger Ebert gave it a paltry one and a half star, stating, “it displays a lot of cash on the screen, but little thought. To extract the story from the endless scenes of action and carnage is more effort than it's worth.”
The decidedly non-Arab Antonio Banderas stars as Ibn Fadlan and performs passably, as does the rest of the cast. They’re not reading Shakespeare, of course.
In both the film and the book, the Vikings love being Vikings. They’re mostly a happy lot and all the really want to do is die well – on their feet, in battle. Essentially, they are Klingons.
The carnage Ebert describes isn’t done in any campy tongue-and-cheek sort of way. There are no terrible puns and clichés. Ibn Fadlan never says “I’m getting too old for this shit,” or quips “don’t get ahead of yourself” after beheading a heavy.
The Vikings are mostly of good cheer, and even though they’re habits and rituals border on the savage, there’s enough good humor so that you’d have them over to watch the Superbowl. These are Men, unapologetically macho. They don’t stand around and talk about their feelings.
The role of women in Eaters of the Dead is practically nil–the narrator mentions them in passing, usually in describing their presence as sexual vessels. And while there is a token love interest in the film version, make no mistake. This is strictly a boys club whose answers to life’s problems can be summed up with “grow stronger.”
Despite all these faults, I think I’m one of the few people who actively enjoy this story. One of the big pluses is that finally there is an Arab hero.
Ibn Fadlan is one of the few Middle Eastern characters in Hollywood whose main job isn’t to give Bruce Willis or Arnold Shwartzenegger someone to punch. Arabs are more accurately portrayed as epochs of culture and civility, which is historically accurate. Around 921 AD, Baghdad was making huge advances in arts and science while most of Western civilization was figuring out the correct burning temperature for witches.
While Ibn Fadlan is mostly an observer, the character is essential. The reader or viewer needs someone civil in order to tell the story; otherwise you’d have 300, a film that is infinitely worse.
Eaters of the Dead, once you ignore footnotes that serve more of a distraction than give it an aire of historical authenticity, reads at a good clip. It’s a page-turner for an airline, good escapist literature. The 13th Warrior is likewise escapist. I wouldn’t deconstruct it any more than I would Die Hard (another McTiernan film) or National Treasure. Both are a decent way to spend an afternoon, especially if you’ve got a thing for Vikings.
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