Just finished the first Flashman novel. It's as good as everyone says it is, though many of the geographic, military, and political details of Flash's adventure in Afghanistan sound an awful lot like the current American war there. Fraser's cheery depiction of great-power folly reads a little too much like the morning papers for comfort.

The Flashman stories employ a one-two punch of irony. The first irony is that in the time frame of the story everyone around him believes Flash to be a paragon of valor and virtue, whereas he knows that he is really a cowardly scoundrel who only achieves glory by dumb luck. The second irony is that to a contemporary audience Flash's breezy contempt for everyone female, non-white, or beneath his social station does in fact feel like the pure distillation of Victorian manhood. And even if Flashman's exploits are bunk, he nevertheless seems like the kind of heartless S.O.B. you need on hand in order to maintain a global empire. The first of these ironies makes these books funny. The second makes them serious.