If one knows where to look, there are a lot of knife fighting texts on the market.  Many are fairly straightforward systems – variations on the same theme of individual defense with the knife, using various postures and applying varied degrees of complexity.  Some are more scientific than others; some are more martial than others; some are more practical than others.

Among these texts are a few that make for enjoyable reading regardless of technical content.  This is thanks to the lore imparted – real or imagined glimpses into actual or fictitious blade cultures, the romantic patina of which grow slowly but surely on the brain of many a Walter Mitty wistfully perusing the pages of such literature.  The Sicilian Blade is one of these.  It paints a picture of Sicilian culture as proud, quick to redress wrongs with violence, ever-armed, and mui macho.  On its pages, crude hand-drawn illustrations depict vest-wearing, mustachioed Sicilians fencing each other with lockblade stilettos, defending their honor with flashing steel. 

I am not immune to the draw of such books, though I try to recognize the difference between the romantic and the pragmatic.  The well-worn lockback stiletto pictured here is my own blade, ground to hair-splitting sharp, its handle smooth with mile after mile of travel.

When you consciously look away from the practical and to the stylized, you must constantly keep in mind that you are allowing yourself something.  You are taking a break from the constant doom and gloom and preparations for the End Times that sometimes characterize martialist survivalism.  You are playing at something.  You are recreating.  You are consuming the intellectual equivalent of dessert.

Sevillian Steel

It was with this sense of self-indulgent whimsy that I purchased James Loriega's Sevillian Steel: The Traditional Knife Fighting Arts of Spain.  I will be honest with you.  I know relatively little about Spanish culture except for snippets of Romany lore I picked up from a friend in college, who knew a Gypsy girl in high school and spoke of her more than once.  I cannot, therefore, confirm any of the historical assertions contained in Mr. Loriega's book.  I have no way of knowing if the Spanish knife school he describes really exists or not, nor can I truly comment on the historical Spanish literature cited (because I am not fluent in Spanish).  Whether fact, conjecture, or some blend of the two, the book was nonetheless entertaining.  That is all I wanted of it and that is how I approached it from the beginning.

Sevillian Steel.  Knife sold separately.

Loriega, a student of Ronald Duncan (among others), first relates a little of Spain's history where knives are concerned.  He lists some of the different names used for the knife, including cuchillo (any fixed-blade knife), punal (a stabbing knife), daga (dagger), and navaja (the folding clasp knife).  "The term Sevillian Steel," he asserts, "...is one that is used by the knife combat enthusiasts of these regions when referring to the weapons and fighting systems that originated and evolved in Andalusian Spain.  ...That Andalusia became a major cradle of knife combat is hardly surprising given the fact that prior to 1492 it was one of the major crossroads of the known world.  ...[T]his part of Spain had at one time or another been invaded by the most hostile warrior cultures ever to tread European soil."  The rest of this section of the book is devoted to the history and use of the navaja, including historical manuals relating to it.

The author indulging himself far from fabled Andalusia.

The Spanish clasp knife has a certain flair.

Loriega describes a knife fighting school he says he found in Spain and introduces three styles or classifications within the "arts of Sevillian Steel." These he identifies as the baratero style, a rudimentary method concerned only with "street survival;" the gitano style, a stylized art that he says originated with the Gypsies; and the sevillano style, the most sophisticated and fluid of the three.  He goes on to describe the design characteristics of the navaja, relates more terminology, and provides photo sequences detailing how to open and close a Spanish clasp knife.

Text and images contained in Sevillian Steel.

The text contains three chapters on the styles and tactics of the baratero, gitano, and sevillano methods.  Footwork, feints, ranges, and even "rules of engagement" are covered.  These are brief sections, largely conceptual in nature, with few if any technical illustrations.  Photo sequences involving specific techniques follow in chapters on offensive and defensive use of the navaja, as well as one on targeting ("Finding Flesh").  There is a chapter on the woman's navaja (the salvavirgo, defender of a woman's virtue) and one on carry modes.  One method described involves using a spring-clip open-top pistol magazine pouch in order to carry the clasp knife inside the waistband, the handle projecting above the beltline.

Line drawing at right is an illustration by Loriega depicting targets.

"Knifeless and unarmed defenses" are the topic of the last portion of the book, which includes defense against the blade using everything from coats and canes to chairs and scissors.  Loriega touches on some of the conceptual framework of knife defense, including kicks and using your own body (and even your blood) in a self-defense scenario.  Chapters on first aid, selecting a knife, and what would seem some sober advice round out the text.

Esparcia Rosewood Montera Clasp Knife

As with any review, regardless of how seriously I take the subject or how knowledgeable I am of the topic, I try to experience the material as fully as possible.  In the case of Sevillian Steel, this meant I had to obtain a Spanish clasp knife, examples of which were nowhere to be found in my accumulation of blades.  I went straight to WorldKnives.com, where I purchased an Esparcia Montera clasp knife with rosewood handles.  I received excellent service and fast shipping.

Esparcia Rosewood Montera from WorldKnives.com.

I selected the Montera because it is aesthetically pleasing and one of World Knives' most popular clasp patterns.  It seemed representative of the navajas depicted in Loriega's book (though it lacks the pronounced clip point typical of those knives).  Wielding it certainly does evoke the Andalusian imagery contained in Sevillian Steel.  While I'm not about to engage in any honor duels with passing Gypsies (my devotion to The Martialist knows certain limits), I suspect this would be the knife for such an activity.

Spine and clasp release contrast nicely with heavy brass bolsters.

My clasp knife is a hefty blade – six inches closed with a four and three quarters inch 440 stainless steel blade.  The blade is a modified clip point with a long, unsharpened false edge, suitable for both thrusts and slashes.  It has some "belly" thanks to its subtle sweep and performed reasonably well in testing against paper, cardboard, and plastic.  It had just an okay edge out of the box, so I sharpened it to suit me.  This included reshaping the tip, which was a little dull thanks to the shape of the edge bevel. The blade locks open with some vertical play but feels reasonably secure despite this.

Clasp release raised.  Moving it pulls the clasp mechanism off the "teeth."

The rosewood handle scales are a deep red-brown, polished and lacquered for a smooth feel.  Overall fit and finish where the brass bolsters, steel clasp spine, and release lever meet and mate is relatively crude but functional.  Pins are uneven but ground flush.  The whole affair feels handmade.

The curved, tapered handle feels comfortable and natural in my thick mitts.  The handle material feels a little slippery, thanks to its smooth finish, but it isn't too bad.  Point of balance is just below the bottom of the brass "neck."

The curve of the Montera fit my hands pretty well.

The clasp mechanism does not facilitate fast or casual opening.  One name for a traditional Spanish folder like this, according to Loriega, is caraca, a term referring to the ratchet sound of the lock mechanism. Teeth on the blade tang scrape against the clasp as the blade is opening, producing an audible rat-tat-tat noise.  One imagines this is supposed to strike fear in the hearts of those who know what it means, like the "click" of an Italian switchblade.

To open this stiff mechanism requires two hands, a maneuver illustrated in Loriega's book.  Closing such a knife is trickier.  The thumb release must be held open for the entire arc of the blade, or the knife will lock partially open as one of its teeth engage the clasp.  To close the knife while keeping your fingers out of the way takes some doing.

Opening the knife with two hands as described in the text.

Manipulating the thumb clasp takes some doing.

Carrying the clasp knife presented some problems.  Mr. Loriega's text contains an illustration of the blade tucked in one's sash, but of course I don't wear a sash unless I'm attending my Kung Fu classes.  The Montera can be carried simply shoved into the beltline or secured IWB with a magazine pouch as described in the text.  I found that this particular knife fits well simply sitting in my back pocket, too, as the length and curve of the knife keep it oriented diagonally across the width of the pocket.  It prints fairly obviously this way.

The knife shoved into the beltline.

Montera fits the pocket well but prints badly.

Ultimately, this is not a very practical carry knife.  It has character and it has style, but progress in knife design has made the difference between old and new quite evident.

Sevillian Style

While I don't know how much of this text to believe, I enjoyed reading Sevillian Steel and enjoyed even more my own practice with the Spanish clasp knife.  These are undeniably facets of what makes foreign knife cultures fascinating.  Both book and blade have an aura, and atmosphere of exotic locales and romantic altercations.  Real or fictional, it would not be advisable to attempt living in such a world.