The Lecters survive for three years in the woods during Hitler's eastern campaign, but ultimately, in 1944 and 1945, the front collapses and things get really bad, as they did for many families caught up in the tide of that war's lethal backwash. In desperation, Harris explains, many of the hiwis (or collaborators) "went into business for themselves," looting and robbing and grabbing what they could. Hannibal's childhood idyll amid wartime is shattered. His parents are killed, and he and his sister, Mischa, wind up in the care of a group of greedy freelancers with the names of Grutas, Milko and Dortlich. They know the castle contains riches, treasure, and artwork.
But they didn't count on having to stay there so long they'd starve. Lucky for them, they left Hannibal and his plump sister alive—a move not really explained, but it sets up the gruesome wartime trauma (which needn't be spelled out) that launches Hannibal's lifelong penchant for human flesh. Hannibal escapes with his life, but goes catatonic for many years, visions of his sister's fate coming to him in italicized flashbacks. After the war, his family's castle becomes an orphanage, where the young Hannibal unleashes ruthless beatings when provoked. During these, his pupils do not dilate.
This predictable story continues until Hannibal is rescued by his uncle, an effete painter who is romantically entangled with the daughter of a former Japanese diplomat. She goes by the name of Lady Murasaki, and wherever she moves in the book there is the sound of swishing silk, the scent of jasmine and the promise of a bath nearby. Oh, and her robe comes open at opportune moments, presenting a few moments of unnerving sexual tension between her and her adopted stepson, whose warrior instinct she tacitly endorses by covering for his violent acts. Teenage Hannibal finally kills a man in defense of her honor with a samurai sword she happens to keep around. He dines, offstage presumably, on the man's cheeks. The first foul step toward his future begins.
Hannibal Rising would have been truly interesting, and more disturbing, if Harris presented us with a moment when Hannibal could have turned back—or even thought about stepping away from violence. But he doesn't. The minute he begins to speak again, it's clear that he has launched himself on a plot of revenge that will not be stopped for love or plausibility. Great leaps in time explain his accumulation of considerable knowledge and physical dexterity, not to mention artistic ability. He turns up in Paris at 18 nearly a full doctor, Lady Murasaki now living on the Place des Voges in silk and jasmine-scented quarters. Artwork stolen during the war begins to turn up in galleries, providing Hannibal the necessary lure to undertake a quest to avenge his sister's death in earnest.
The cleverest thing this book does is win us over to the rightness of this cause. True, most of us wouldn't want to do a Jamie Oliver on our enemies' bodies, but killing them would be tempting. There is a minor but tangible reward to following Hannibal as he tracks them down with a bondsman's unswerving drive. Spiders appear throughout this book, and that is the best metaphor for how Hannibal operates. He lays traps. He makes deals with a French police detective to spare his enemies' lives, so they can be tried publicly, but breaks them. If only Harris had given him better lines. "I've waited so long to see your face," he says to one of them. "I put your face on every bully I ever hurt. I thought you would be bigger."
It's not the only clunker in this book. In a last-ditch effort to get Hannibal to renounce his obvious revenge quest, Lady Murasaki offers to take him off to Japan, which has been flattened from the war. "In Hiroshima green plants push up through ashes to the light," she says, touching his face. "If you are scorched earth, I will be warm rain." Hannibal responds to this entreaty with the closest semblance of emotion he can show. He sees points of light and flees the room.
Dr. Cordell Doemling in Hannibal was indeed correct. It was a delusion to think that "Hannibal Lecter does not have emotions like admiration or respect." But as Harris has painted his monster here, those are the only emotions that Hannibal possesses. It is in admiration of the samurai ethic that he begins his killing. It is out of respect that he hides it from Lady Murasaki. As for why he continues? That's the only question this book doesn't answer, and probably for good reason. It leaves room for a sequel.