The Ivory Child by H. Rider Haggard
An Elephant God and an English Hero
H. Rider Haggard’s The Ivory Child, published in 1916, marks another thrilling installment in the adventures of Allan Quatermain, the iconic English hunter and explorer. Best known for King Solomon’s Mines, Haggard once again plunges readers into a world of mystery, danger, and spiritual confrontation, this time with a supernatural war threatening an African kingdom. Combining colonial-era bravado with mystical themes, The Ivory Child serves as both a rousing adventure and a revealing artifact of its time.
In The Ivory Child, Quatermain is called to aid a beleaguered people living far beyond the familiar bounds of Africa. They are tormented by a demonic entity tied to a sacred ivory idol—an “Elephant Child” worshipped by a mysterious priesthood. To liberate the land, Quatermain must undertake a perilous journey, face supernatural forces, and align himself with native allies. As always, the story is framed by his memoir-style narration, blending personal reflection with high-stakes drama. What begins as a mission of curiosity transforms into a spiritual crusade, testing Quatermain’s resolve and ingenuity.
Central to the novel is the theme of good versus evil—not just in the physical sense of combat, but in spiritual and metaphysical dimensions. The ivory idol represents an age-old malignancy, and Haggard pits rational Western courage and intuition against ancient curses and dark magic. Imperialist ideologies underpin this theme, where the British adventurer stands as a civilizing force confronting chaos and superstition.
There is also a persistent exploration of fate and destiny. Quatermain is portrayed as a chosen figure—his involvement in foreign conflicts seems inevitable, and he often wrestles with the philosophical weight of his actions. The novel toys with questions of belief, cultural difference, and divine providence, though always within the framework of colonial heroism.
Allan Quatermain is as confident and dry-witted as ever, a man of action with moments of contemplative introspection. His character feels lived-in and credible, though very much the embodiment of Victorian masculinity and empire. The supporting characters—especially Harût and Marût, the twin high priests—are vividly drawn, if not without exoticized caricature. The native queen and her people, too, occupy that gray area typical of Haggard: richly imagined yet filtered through the lens of colonial exoticism.
The African setting, meanwhile, is rendered with Haggard’s characteristic flair for dramatic landscapes. Jungles, temples, and hidden kingdoms are described with an eye for grandeur and menace. The blending of realism with fantasy creates a setting that feels immersive and menacing.
The pacing of The Ivory Child is generally strong, especially in its middle acts where the spiritual and military stakes intensify. The early exposition is a bit slow, focused on Quatermain’s recruitment and the mystery of the ivory figure, but the narrative gathers speed as the protagonist delves deeper into the unknown. The climax—where spiritual forces and physical confrontations collide—is particularly compelling, both in emotional resonance and sheer action.
Haggard’s prose is robust, often florid, with a Victorian weightiness that may seem overwrought to modern readers. However, his command of suspense and descriptive energy remains impressive. His use of the first-person voice adds intimacy and immediacy, making even the most implausible events feel grounded in Quatermain’s voice. The story occasionally veers into sermonizing or melodrama, but it maintains narrative clarity throughout.
Perhaps the most intriguing element is the merging of adventure with metaphysical horror. The idea of an evil spiritual entity being physically embodied in an idol and affecting an entire people raises questions about belief, fear, and cultural power. The psychic battles and prophetic dreams elevate the story above mere jungle escapades, giving it a mythic dimension.
The Ivory Child is classic Haggard: exotic, adventurous, and brimming with the spirit of empire. It is both thrilling and problematic—entertaining in its page-turning plot, yet dated in its worldview. Its portrayal of African cultures is filtered through paternalistic tropes, though arguably more sympathetic than many of its contemporaries.
Readers who enjoy vintage adventure fiction, especially with mystical or religious elements, will find this a satisfying read. Those sensitive to colonialist attitudes may struggle with its framing, though it remains a valuable historical artifact as well as an exciting narrative.
A mystical adventure steeped in imperial fantasy—The Ivory Child blends spiritual warfare with jungle derring-do in a tale that both delights and provokes.
—N3UR4L Reviews
