THE BLUE WOLF

Two Mongol lads become leaders of their universe in a relentlessly serious saga about Genghis Khan.

If there’s anyone left in the civilized world who has any doubt that central Asia is one of those places best left to the central Asians, let him spend several days of his effete Western life curled up with this hymn to 13th-century life on the steppe. Dripping with blood (much of it drunk, some mingled, most soaking the ground under the pounding hooves of Mongol chargers), thick with research (everyone wears a del rather than a cloak and drinks airag rather than fermented mare’s milk), and chockablock with widescreen imagery (grass, grass, grass), this is the tale of Bo’urchu, the most loyal friend an ambitious landless nomad could ask for, and Temujin, the nomad in need of such a loyal friend. Charismatic Temujin, eventually to be Genghis Khan, burns to redress the humiliation of his family; Bo’urchu pretty much wants to lead a nice life, zooming around the steppe on the best horse in the world. Having the less pressing agenda, Bo’urchu spends the rest of his days following Temujin in and around Mongolia, administering ritual humiliation, beheading, enjoying a bender now and then, raping, uniting tribes, and ultimately putting together a nation capable of going to war against the big dogs, China and the West. Temujin gets all the girls, and there are plenty. He especially gets the ones that his blood brother Bo’urchu fancies. Temujin fathers many sons, Bo’urchu doesn’t. There are rewards for loyal chums, though. There’s plenty of booty—the old fashioned kind—and lots of hunting. And, whenever there’s occasion to celebrate, everybody settles in and tears apart a nice sheep to eat, raw if necessary. Gourmands will enjoy the recipe for barbecued whole marmot, which suggests inserting a hot rock into the wee rodent. Oh, and by the way, the women love the life as much as the men. Honest.

Sort of lags after the first few hundred amputations.