The Whale

The Whale, or, Moby-Dick
© 1851 Herman Melville
630 pages

The Whale, alternatively called Moby-Dick,  is a comprehensive  19th century guide to whaling and whales from a novelist who decided to take a hand at writing nonfiction. Such a thing was not unusual in those days, as many people were amateur naturalists -- Darwin, for instance, originally intended to be a country parson who dabbled in geology.  Melville used his prior whaling experience and considerable passion for the subject as the basis of his research, though -- novelist as he was -- he could  not help but insert a splash of narrative into the  scientific survey.   It's an interesting distraction, of course, but even the spectre of an obsessed captain with a pegleg in search of revenge doesn't cover over the fact that Melville, for all his interest in the subject, is still...off. He insists that whales are fish, for instance.   The fictional element is quite interesting in its own right, of course,   featuring an young chap with a hunger for adventure befriending a strange man from the far corners of the world, and then being thrown into the rough and tumble world of whaling while the ship sails towards its doom, badgering every other ship it meets with queries on whether they've seen The Whale or not.  This fictional aspect has a mythic quality about it, especially given the origins of the name Ahab -- a king who angered God by turning to idolatry and who was later destroyed and his body tossed to the dogs in judgment.  Returning, however, to the main course -- whales, their behavior,  the hunting of them --  I wish Melville had imposed more organization.  While there's  a great deal of information here, I don't quite understand why it's still regarded as a classic of scientific literature, alongside The Origin of Species and On the Motions of the Heavenly Spheres.


Please note that the above paragraph is a thoroughly tongue-in-cheek ribbing of Moby-Dick, a book that would be as short as The Old Man and the Sea if the voluminous content about whales, whaling, whale-boats, and Wales were removed and the story left alone  I enjoyed this book and this review for all the wrong reasons!

The Return of Horatio Hornblower

Hornblower Addendum
Collected 2011 eNet press
79 pages

Has it been eight years since I last sailed with Horatio Hornblower?  The naval adventure series by C.S. Forester, and the A&E movie series based on it were one of the highlights of 2010, and in the years since I’ve subjected many friends to those same movies so I could have the pleasure of watching them again in company.  In hunting for books like Horatio Hornblower, however, I stumbled upon a collection of Hornblower tales I’d missed -- or, mostly missed.  This is not a substantial collection by any means; it’s rather shorter than the shortest Hornblower work, Hornblower and the Hotspur, or Hornblower in the West Indies,  and two of its five stories have been previously collected.   The stories are chiefly of interest to those who know and admire Hornblower already,  as they put him in fascinating or morally demanding situations.  The last story here has him encounter a seeming lunatic who claims to be the emperor Napoleon, for instance, while another has him tasked with securing an Irish deserter and discovering a secret compartment in the man’s trunk filled with gold. In all instances Hornblower proves himself to be a perfectly honorable and charitable fellow.  Perhaps the most interesting story in the one in which Admiral Hornblower is asked to take insane King George III to rendezvous with another ship, but they’re stumbled upon by an American frigate in the latter part of the war of 1812.

Although this collection really only recommends itself to the completists among Hornblower readers, I felt instantly at home as soon as I started reading the first story. Forester and his naval hero were good to experience again.

I'd planned this book to be a Read of England post, but it's more "fun-sized" than a regular read. I am gearing up for that, however -- we're a week away from a solid month of English glory!

Crewshiplife: or, the Love boat

Behold, the story of a hotel manager whose steady gal runs away to university and leaves him heartbroken. Ready for a change, he applies for a position on a cruise ship as a junior assistant purser, and delivers a memoir regaling us with a play-by-play of his social life, of nights spent dancing, drinking, and going to bed with similarly emotionally wrecked and lonely young people who stumble from hangover to hangover. The book is largely about their chain of using one another, nights of dancing, drunken hook-ups, and days of working as clerks and continually answering the same questions from those swinish masses, the customers. It's just like passengers to wreck what seems to be a college keg party afloat in uniform.

There is very little information in here about the actual operation of a cruise ship, merely the training experience of one fellow who devotes far more page space to his dating play-by-plays than to what duties he was actually performing on the ship.  I'm sure he's a nice guy, and I feel bad for not liking his book, but..seriously, it'a s chronicle of dating. If I want that, I can listen to Taylor Swift.


(Amazon recommended this to me after reading Cargo Ship Diaries...which was mostly about one man chasing skirts throughout Eurasia. Guess I should have seen that coming, but both were read via through a free trial of Kindle Unlimited.)

Sphere

Sphere
© 1987 Michael Crichton
385 pages

 Norman Thomas is accustomed to government officials asking for his assistance to counsel survivors at plane crashes, but traveling fifteen hours into the middle of the Pacific is a first.   Upon arrival, John finds not an island with aircraft remains, but a small fleet of ships from the US Navy:  and the object of their concern isn’t a crashed vessel at all. It’s a sunken ship…a spaceship….that is three hundred years old.   So begins an eerie psychological thriller, as Thomas and a team chosen to make first contact with unknown life forms are taken by sub deep into the bottom of the ocean, into a lightless world of fear and wonder.

  Johnson came to the Navy’s attention when, during the Carter Administration, he submitted a report to a committee concerned with extraterrestrial life.  It wasn’t a subject he took seriously, but they offered him money for educated guesses, and with a house to pay for he was more than happy to make guesses.  Those guesses have become US policy, and the recommendations he made have become his own hand-picked team of zoologists and other professionals.   From the beginning Johnson and the other civilians suspect the Navy knows more than it is letting on,  but the surprises are only starting: when the craft is breached, it proves to be not of extraterrestrial origin, but is human-made, with English signage and stocked with Coca-Cola!   But the interior of the ship has still more surprises, alien and powerful, and after a hurricane scatters the surface fleet the explorers are left marooned thousands of few below. There, as strange happenings start to claim their lives, the slowly-dwindling survivors begin to question their own sanity.

Sphere  is a remarkably creepy book, a genuine thriller: from the beginning, its developments incite curiosity, and later dread.  How did a human spaceship, whose operating principles and material are far beyond the present’s abilities, come to be buried beneath centuries of coral and the oceans themselves? What was its mission,  what is the meaning of its baffling cargo (a mysterious black sphere), and…why do people keep dying?  Strange animals keep appearing around the underwater habitat,  including a giant squid that can heavily damage it;  the built environment around them keeps adding surprises,  things suddenly being there that weren’t before…and then there’s 'Jerry',  some strange entity attempting to communicate with the crew. “Jerry’s”  conversational skills have an uncanny aspect, familiar yet menacing.   Ultimately, even the psychologist-narrator seems on the verge of cracking up before an explosive conclusion.

 I’ve only read a few of Crichton’s works (Andromeda Strain, Timeline, Jurassic Park, Lost World), but this ranks near the top. It is a psychological thriller, not only because the characters seem to be collectively losing  their mind, but because Crichton’s author-lecture addresses perception, imagination, and reality.  The alien here is utterly alien; this isn’t a Star Trek humanoid with a bumpy nose, or even a SF monster that has a mouth, eyes, and the desire to eat what it sees.   The alien presence here is not comprehensible; the characters don’t even know if they’re seeing an actual sphere, or some part of a transdimensional object that merely looks like a sphere in our plane of existence.  Crichton’s writing may be plain, but what a scientifically-inspired imagination!

Diving Companions

Diving Companions: Sea Lion - Elephant Seal - Walrus
©  1974 Jacques-Yves Cousteau
304 pages

Before David Attenborough, there was Jacques-Yves Cousteau, who helped invent SCUBA gear and used it in expeditions across the globe to explore the unknown right here on Earth: the life of the oceans. The journeys of the Calypso and her exploring minisubmarine resulted in a series of books about whales, dolphins, and the like, but Diving Companion collects Cousteau's adventures with more far-flung creatures: sea lions, elephant seals, and walruses. The book combines a  travel diary and nature commentary, throwing in a little Eskimo anthropology as a bonus. Unusually for the series, there''s also a chapter on the coastlines and islands of Alaska, which were studied enroute to the Artic. There, sea otters receive some lingering and affectionate attention.

 The stars themselves are a related family, cow-like creatures which at some point took to the sea again. Most of them make their habitat in cold zones, protecting themselves with large sheaths of fat. Their diets vary from species to species; sea lions are quick enough to go for fish, while elephant seals are relegated to less-fleet-footed starfish.   Although they are all wary of human contact, being hunted species, the crew of the Calypso found them approachable from a crawl. (The humans literally crawled on the beach and became one with the herd.)  In an effort to see how they might adjust to living and working in humans, Cousteau's men attempted to capture test subjects and keep them on the boat, both in a cage and in a large pool. The elephant seals, the grumpiest and most intimidating of the three, thwarted every attempt at capture.  Two sea lions were brought on board the Calypso and seemed to adjust to captivity, even keeping near the boat when unleashed, but they exhibited a marked sadness and were eventually freed.  An orphaned walrus pup was also adopted, and because of its young age grew very much attached to the humans.    Although much of the book is certainly dated now, like the balance established between the Eskimos and the walrus population which nourished them, as well as the increasingly-dangerous state of elephant sea concentration onto one island,   these are creatures worth reading about -- especially the beautiful sea lions.

The Voyage of the Beagle

The Voyage of the Beagle
© 1839 Charles Darwin
448 pages*

As a young man, Charles Darwin lacked sharp direction. His father wanted him to become a doctor, but he hated the sight of blood.  His passion was natural philosophy, the observation and study of the natural world,  and he briefly considered becoming a country parson so that he would have the time to pursue that passion. A chance opportunity to join the crew of the HMS Beagle, assigned to survey the extreme southern end of South America,  gave him more occasion to practice natural observation than he might have ever expected. It was on that journey that he collected the data that would produce his first book,  a monograph on coral reef formation, and stir his imagination about life's abundant variety.

Voyage consists of a log by Darwin, divided into sections of interest, and follows him and the Beagle  from England to South America, then across the Pacific back to England again. Darwin's real purpose on the ship was to keep the captain company,  a man who would have otherwise had to have made conversation with common sailors.   Virtually all of his commentary is given over to descriptions of Darwin's time spent on land, aside from brief mentions of dolphins frolicking.   Young Darwin explores the surrounding area every time the ship puts into port, but he is often dropped off for several days on end, trekking into the interior. Voyage is a work of scientific journalism, describing the flora and fauna of South America's rims and outlying islands. Darwin's commentary reveals an already practiced scientific mind, especially in the area of geology.  The author is most famous, of course, for his insights into biology, particularly the way natural selection forces living populations to change over time.    His  chapter on the Galapagos island and its famed finches drops a hint of the patterns Darwin was beginning to detect:

"Seeing this gradation and diversity of structure in one small, intimately related group of birds, one might really fancy that from an original paucity of birds in this archipelago, one species had been taken and modified for different ends."

In addition to detailing the behavior of pumas and the native economy of this-or-that group of Patagonians, Darwin has a few extraordinary experiences. At least once he is marooned in-country during a revolution, and as the Beagle is sailing up the coast of Chile, there is a volcanic eruption and several earthquakes.  Darwin does not limit his commentary to the plants and animals he collects; he also has much to say about the peoples they meet, and here he comes off rather nicely. He views Spanish and English civilization being created in these distant lands an improvement on say, human sacrifice, but recognizes that the age of 'discovery' has also been one of violent ruin for many.   He takes in the many strange customs he sees not with condescension, but with wonder -- with the exception of commenting on stagnant rural economies.  Upon departing the eastern coast of South America on the return trip, he sighs with relief that he will never again witness a slave-country; in Australia, he exhibits a strong sympathy for the aboriginal peoples, who have lost their land to both Polynesians and the English.

For the reader with a scientific appetite and the willingness to chew on pages of description, Voyage is appealing.  This is not some layman's travel guide to South America, obviously, but a book intended for those who wish to learn about the land's geography and life. In 2016, of course, there is added historical appeal; not only in exploring a continent not yet hit by industrialism, but in seeing a giant of English scientific achievement in his youth, still gathering material awaiting the imaginative spark.

*I read from an online version from Literature.org, so pagecount is taken from an Amazon edition. 

Master and Commander

Master and Commander
© 1969 Patrick O'Brian
411 pages

This morning, in a quiet courtyard, I finished Master and Commander, the first book in Patrick O’Brian’s Napoleonic naval stories.  These have been recommended to me ever since I finished Horatio Hornblower, though O’Brian devotes far more space to technical seafaring matters. He’s aware of this, too, having a sailor explain the workings of the good ship Sophie’s riggings to the newly-arrived surgeon.  The series is reliably referred to as the Aubrey-Maturin series for centering on the friendship between Commander Jack Aubrey and his surgeon, Stephen Maturin. There are other interesting relationships, like the Mysterious Past between Maturin and the lieutenant of the Sophie, Jack Dillon. Both seem to have a connection to the failed and bloodily-repulse Irish Uprising in 1798.  The book follows  Aubrey’s brief stint on the Sophie, which largely involves him chasing potential prizes, almost to the ruin of his ship.  One character comments that Aubrey would have been a better fit  as a pirate a century prior.  Despite his winning audacity, Aubrey's relationship with his immediate superiors is testy, to say the least. When O’Brian is not attempting to trip or entangle readers in the ropes and riggings of 19th century naval equipment,  he has a lovely hand for description, and I would not be surprised if I sailed with the good captain again. The main attraction for the books other to the naval action is the presence of a natural philosopher, a man fascinated by the world around him.

Fin Gall

Fin Gall: A Novel of Viking-Age Ireland
© 2013 James Nelson
290 pages

When a Danish longboat happened upon a small Irish craft on the rough seas , it found more than quick booty.  Onboard the boat was the Crown of the Three Kingdoms, a priceless artifact more precious for its political import than for its jewels. Whomever was granted the Crown gained the allegiance of the major kingdoms of Ireland; what price in gold or influence would the Irish tribes pay to have it restored?  Alas for the crew of the Red Dragon, the Irish weren't the only ones fighting among themselves-- for Dubh-linn, a booming Danish ship-fort, has been taken by the Norwegians!  So begins Fin Gall, a story of medieval war and adventure amid frantic infighting.

 In a surprisingly crowded field of Viking fiction,  Fin Gall distinguishes itself through its Irish setting and the well-crafted naval scenes.   The fractious nature of Ireland, made worse by competing Scandinavian clans crafting alliances with and against the Irish tribes, provides the basis of the plot. One Irish lord has been named chief, another resents it; one Norse lord wants to dominate Ireland,  an underling resents it;  much backstabbing ensues. The Red Dragons spend the book tripping over entangled alliances,  brawling, and hustling away.   The lead character, Thorgrim Nightwolf, is an interesting sort, so cunning that his men think he can transform into a wolf and gain a foretaste of the future through his dreams. His motives throughout the novel are refreshingly decent:  though he has come to Ireland to raid and plunder, he spends most of the book trying to keep his son Harold and an elder relation safe from Norwegians, Irish princes, and women. There's a lot of pungent boasting, though not quite as riotous as Cornwell's, and two back-to-back sex scenes which little changes but the name of the Irish lass involved.  Those Irish ladies are the weakest point here: they both encounter captive Danes, both help them escape for private motives, and both wind up randomly sleeping with the Dane in question.  The play-by-play is not especially awkward, but anything beyond "And they went to bed" is more information than I care to read.   After much danger has been out-lived, through both wit and luck, the book ends with a nice hook for the next novel: Dubh-Linn.

I'll definitely be pursuing this series, as both of its 'hooks' are well-set for me. Most Viking fiction I've read takes place far inland, but this had a multitude of maritime scenes, and they made the savage sea really come alive. I also appreciated the way the Irish were handled here in general,  aside from the two women who blurred together.  They will probably become more distinct in further books, especially considering that one is a princess with a Danish in the oven.



Related:

• Leofric: Sword of the Angles, S.J. Arnott
• The Saxon Chronicles, Bernard Cornwell

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
© 1952 C.S. Lewis
223 pages

            There are unwanted gifts, and then there are unwanted gifts that pull your only son into a fantasy world of dangerous creatures, powerful enchantments, and the odd supernatural beging.  These last are usually called books, but a certain portrait of a ship at sea can do the same thing. At any rate, that’s what happened to Edmund and Lucy Pevensie, along with their obnoxious cousin Eustace.  One moment they were sitting in a guest bedroom, staring at it, and the next they were on the ship with the boy-prince whose throne they’d help win.  With his country at peace, regal Caspian decided to set out to find some lost countrymen, and perhaps discover the End of the World. So begins The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,  a tale of Narnian adventures at sea.  There’s no enormous stakes here, just the call of the open ocean, a thirst for adventure slaked only by salt spray as a ship of merry friends sails into the unknown.  They have a serious mission in discovering the fate of several nobles who were sent on fools’ errands by the wicked regent who attempted to kill Prince Caspian. The forlorn peers have met various fates; some, eaten by dragons; others turned to gold; still others captivated by spells.  The character of  Eustace makes for a particularly entertaining tale, not because he’s a delight because he’s such a boor. He’s a very modern boy, Eustace, raised by parents who know better than everyone else, and whose head is filled with practical things like the workings of watermills, and no cranial capacity given over to dragons.  It’s a pity, for when he was turned into a dragon it might have helped to know what such a thing was!  The humorless Eustace is completely out of place in this magical world, although he takes the existence of talking, combative mice in stride.  The mishaps and adventures aren’t mere amusement;  each carries with it some moral import. This is most obvious on the isle of Deadwater, where the party encounters a pool of water that turns anything immersed in it into gold; the wealth is tantalizing and deadly. Aslan makes infrequent appearances, offering mercy or a warning to those who err.  Lewis’ interweaving of Christian themes and European myths continues,  with an ending that makes plain Aslan’s significance. 

Cod

Cod: A Biography of a Fish that Changed the World
© 1997 Mark Kurlansky
294 pages

In Salt: A World History, Mark Kurlansky detailed the surprisingly impactful career of a table condiment on human history. The importance of salted fish, both as food and as an industry, popped up again and again, not surprising given that five years earlier Kurlansky had penned an entire book on cod. For coastal peoples, fishing is more than a leisure sport done at the river; it is the sustenance of life itself, the foundation of regional economies.  North Atlantic cod have been especially important in this regard, keeping food on the table in England, Spain, Iceland, and New England.  Town seals featured the codfish prominently; in Boston, an artifical one hung from the rafters of city hall.  In the mid-20th century, several European powers engaged in "cod wars" in which their commerical and quasi-military coast guards grappled with one another, ramming their ships and cutting trawl lines.  They were fighting not just to ensure that their respective nations got a good piece of the cod pie, but that the pie would be there in the future. This history of cod has an ecological point, for man's rapacious appetitite and creative gift for fashioning technology to maximize yields has frequently driven populations into peril.    Cod demonstates the problem of the commons, in which resources held in public are abused and exhausted; not until nations began aggressively quartering off sections of the ocean and fighting off the competition were populations of the fish possible to measure and protect.  Despite moratoriums and restrictive quotas, the codfish have not rebounded as quickly as expected;  their future seems to lie in 'farms' (like catfish ponds), a somewhat depressing spectre.

Related:
Russ Roberts of EconTalk interviewed the CEO of a seafood restaurant enterprise this past Monday, discussing the problems of the fish industry today.  He followed it today with a podcast on the oyster business. (Roberts has also interviewed people about the potato chip and bottled milk businesses.)

Armada

Armada
© 2012 John Stack
400 pages

It is the 16th century, and a crisis looms for England.  Spain, who thanks to the plunder of the New World and its Hapsburg connections, is Europe's heavyweight and the declared enemy of England, threatens war. Spanish armies stand just across the Channel, occupying Holland, and a massive fleet has sailed from Iberia to help cover and transport that invading army to a land which has not known a conqueror's boots in five hundred years.  The force from without may have assistance from within, as persecuted Catholics look to Madrid for salvation. In the center of this drama is Robert Varian, a secret Catholic whose father was said to have died in exile following defeat in a rebellion decades ago.  Robert's father Nathaniel is quite alive, however, and from Spain he has helped organize the forthcoming invasion.  If Robert could be convinced to aide his father and provide intelligence on the gathering English fleet,  he could very well pave the way to Spanish victory and the restoration of the Faith in England.  But matters are far from simple.  A recusant Robert may be, but he is an Englishman who loves his Queen -- but does he love her more than his father?  As the hours draw the two massive forces closer to conflict, desperate attempts in England to root out a potential spy dot the landscape with death, and two missions converge in the same running battle as the English fleet and a fickle wind fight fiercely against the armed might and brazen ambition of the Dons.

Robert Varian dominates the lead here in a way  John Stack's other hero, Atticus, never did. Although there is an ensemble of other viewpoint characters, one of whom is his principle Spanish rival, this is Robert's story.  Happily, then, he's a likable fellow; conflicted, but devoted to his faith, his country, and the memory of  his father. He thrives as a warrior in an age of changing seamanship; sailors might pack primitive muskets and fire cannons instead of cutlasses and arrows, but cannons have begun their conquest of the naval scene. While the Spanish still rely heavily on boarding and hacking away,  the English have begun to experiment with using cannon alone to wear down the enemy. It is a tactic that will serve them in good stead during the battle itself, and give the Spanish captain Morales no end of grief. He wants desperately to take down Varian, a man who took his ship but spared his life in a raid, but how can he if the English do not consent to letting their graceful gunships be bludgeoned down by massive galleons? So Varian wrestles with both his conscience and the Spanish, working out the question of how he can be true to his faith, his father, and his country.  His love for both England and the church contrasts with the fanaticism of those on either side working against him, both Puritans in England and holy warriors in Spain.

The story of the Armada's protracted fight against the English fleet, unfolding over the course of several days, is told largely through the repeated brawls between Varian and his Spanish counterpart's ships, climaxing with a frantic duel aboard a burning ship.  It's a strange story, both because of the in-flux state of naval war, transitioning from ancient to modern methods, and because of the way it ends. The Spanish Armada is not destroyed, and neither is the English fleet;  they fight and go home. Stack's historical note comments that it was fortunate for England that the Spanish regarded themselves as spent, for the English fleet was driven to exhaustion as well, and this attitude reflects itself in the story, in that the Spanish lead is driven to despair over his loss even as the English captains are worrying about what the morrow will bring.  Varian, at least, gets most of his ends tidied up, though parts of the ending seem to be begging for a sequel.  It's a slight blemish, however, and if Stacks does more work in this period, so much the better off are we readers!

The Odyssey

The Odyssey
© 1884 trans. George Herbert Palmer, original author Homer
313 pages

Three years ago I read The Illiad, and intended to follow it shortly with The Odyssey. Like Odysseus, however, my own attention was blown of course. This is course a classic, second only to the aforementioned Homeric poem in terms of hallowedness. Virtually everyone knows the story;  a veteran of the war against Troy, the architect of its defeat, attempts to return home, only for a quick jaunt across the Aegean into a ten-year journey, full of monsters and the ill will of the gods. An early escape from the monster cyclops Polyphemus earns our hero Odysseus and his crew the enduring wrath of Poseidon, who throws every obstacle he can at them. Fortunately the clever hero is much-loved of Athena, goddess of craft, and she offers able assistance to both the hero and his young son.They'll need it, because while the master of the house is lost at sea, his manor is filled with suitors who want his wife Penelope to wed them. Literally eating him out of house and home, they intend to kill young Telemachus and force Penelope to wed.

I know the Odyssey as Odysseus' story, but his perilous adventures only occupy a fifth of the book. Instead the tale opens with the gods considering his plight, and Athena embarking on a mission to inspire young Telemachus to go searching for news of his father.  A third of the way in, the focus switches to Odysseus, who -- captive by a goddess who wants him to bed her --  makes his escape with a little help from his divine friends. After washing up on one island and massacring its inhabitants without so much as a cross word exchanged between them,  he is driven into the sea and finds refuge among an island of friendly folk who urge him to tell his story. Enter the cyclopes and the rest.  The book by and large consists of a great deal of dialogue, of people making speeches and delivering flourished stories to one another; Odysseus himself seems to use a different name, and invents a different backstory, every time he makes land.  Even after he's home safely, he spins a yarn for his father, seemingly for the pleasure of saying "Just kidding, it's me!"

Although the speeches and such aren't exactly scintillating reading, the language makes up for that a touch;  the Odyssey began as a oral tale, we know, and the expressive language and use of repetition bear that out. Athena is ever the grey-eyed, Odysseus lordly, the dawn rosy-fingered. (In one stance it is also fair-haired.)  The amount of names,  people and place, dropped here is staggering, putting even The Illiad to shame. I'm glad to have finally read the Odyssey, considering its place in western literature, and enjoyed much of it, but I think I have to count The Iliad my favorite of the two.

Captain of Rome

Captain of Rome
© 2010 John Stack
400 pages

The Mediterranean is awash in blood as the first Punic War steeps in intensity.  Having risen to the challenge and successfully confronted Carthage on the high seas,  the Republic of Rome  is swaggering under the influence of expected victory. Its fleet greatly enlarged, its sailors gaining their sea legs, the early humiliating losses seem to have been left behind. But Hamilcar Barca is far from beaten, planning a brutal counterstrike that will imperil Italy itself.  None in Rome are wise to the danger, its politicians fighting to claim credit for the presumed victory. To the laurel-seeking politicians, the military is a route to glory, including the men of the good ship Aquila, its crew and the Ninth Legion which it serves.   Its captain, Atticus, is an outstanding tactician, having snatched victories from the teeth of defeat and prevented some losses from turning into catastrophes. His success is resented, however, by some Romans who see in him nothing but an uppity Greek, a wily Ulysses with suspect loyalty. His reputation highlights the failures of others; if a Greek can do it, why can't they? Such a failure is Tribune Varro, a  pup given high rank by his daddy's gold, who makes Atticus the object of resentful sulking. As Carthage's plan ripens and the hour for a crushing blow to Rome arrives, Atticus is deep in the snare of petty politicians and endangered not only by Barca's great fleet, but assassins from his own lines.  In Captain of Rome,   Atticus must survive not only the threat of enemy ships, but the aftermath of his own earlier successes.

 The promising setup is fulfilled by Stack's execution, delivering action not only on the sea, but on land and in political chambers.  Atticus isn't the only officer whose future is threatened by others' ambition; the Carthaginians have their own Varros.  The ongoing tension between Atticus and his counterpart in the Ninth, Septimus, is especially well done; although the two are comrades-in-arms and fast friends, Septimus' hostility towards his sister's romantic relationship with Atticus threatens to drive them apart. The tension is never dispelled in one big confrontation; whenever  their repartee declines, circumstances impel the two to work together and ally again. It's not a clean back and forth, either, but an area of muddy water the two are never quite out of, even during the epic-scale battle at the end.  The strength of their friendship amid these stresses is an unexpected and added strength to a novel that already has plenty of appeal, considering the familiar-yet-exotic nature of classical-era naval combat, and the scheming (Carthaginian and Roman) that delivers a series of crises for the characters.  Readers will also appreciate the handling of the Carthaginians, who aren't villainized, though there are villains among their ranks;  instead, through Atticus' experience we see in the war's contenders  two powers alike in ambition, served by both honorable warriors and loathsome cretins.  Captain of Rome is another triumph in this fascinating trilogy of historical naval fiction.

Ninety Percent of Everything

Ninety Percent of Everything:  Inside Shipping, the Invisible Industry That Puts Clothes on Your Back, Gas in Your Car, and Food on Your Plate.
© 2013 Rose George
287 pages

UK Title: Deep Sea and Foreign Going: Inside Shipping [...]

What is 1300 feet long, travels the distance to the Moon nearly annually, and is nigh-invisible? The answer is any container ship, fleets of which convey the overwhelming majority of all goods traded between cities and continents, but which most people never think about.  This may be so because so few people work in modern sea-shipping, or because in the age of terrorism ports are severed from the cities they serve, blocked away by miles of walls and checkpoints.  In Ninety Percent of Everything, journalist Helen George spends several months aboard a ship owned by Maersk, a Danish commercial giant,  meeting the men and women who keep the fleets float in an effort to understand their experience and the importance of the shipping enterprise in the 21st century.

Like the containers the ships are filled with, Ninety Percent is a glorious grab-bag of topics; a little history, a little science, a little travel, a little military action on the high seas.  The Maersk Kendal, George's home for most of the trip, is lead by Captain Glenn, a man who lived through the revolution in shipping that followed "the Box", or the advent of containerization. Once a young seaman on a tramp steamer that moved from port to port, picking up small articles,  he witnessed the death of old harbors that were closed to make room for the far larger equipment needed to handle the containers. He is a romantic figure who can navigate the seven seas on a sextant alone, even if the march of time has forced him to spend his days a wheelhouse that resembles a computer lab.  Steaming from city to city, through monsoons and canals, ships like his can arrive in a harbor and completely turn over hundreds or thousands of containers in less than 24 hours  before departing into the night. 

The seamen's experience remains as it has for thousands of years -- lonely, dangerous, and often boring.  The views from the ship are of nothing but a long expanse of boxes piled another, and the work is similarly dull for most,  constantly cleaning and painting the ship, or tending the house-sized engine.  Most sailors come from developing countries the world over, and especially from the Philippines since their ability to speak English is prized. Dismal and unnoted as the work is, like most jobs it's better than starving. As the captain of the Kendal laments, even today when the fast container ships have reduced the globe from the world to a village, their crews are treated like the 'mere scum of the earth'.  Ms. George  also includes a segment spent on a military vessel hunting Somalian pirates (taking a decidedly unromantic attitude towards the sea-going thugs who are the object of so much fascination by the western press), and visits a portside organization that does its best to ameliorate the condition of the sailors, offering them counseling and sending them goods from home.  Although the book concerns modern shipping, George keeps it grounded in history as she can, retelling the story of World War 2's merchant marine sailors who endured the same danger for the same purpose as the Navy, but with little honor or compensation rendered.  One positive aspect of the sailors' experience is their time spent in the company of the sea's abundance of life, especially dolphins 

Ninety Percent of Everything succeeds in going aboard the massive machine that is a container ship and giving its lifeless expanse of hull and rows of containers a human face;  for all the automation, the sealanes still remain the province of sailors who have brain enough to engineer solutions against fickle winds and waves. While George doesn't spend a great deal of time about the mechanics of shipping (nor should she, seeing how that territory was well done in The Box),  her account of the human side makes for fantastic reading. Her Yorkshire ancestors would surely be pleased. 

Fire on the Waters

Fire on the Waters
© David Poyer 2003
448 pages

When Eli Eaker volunteered his services to the USS Owanee, his chief intention was to get away from his domineering father and an arranged marriage to his beautiful but sisterly cousin Araminta.  That, and physicians suggested the sea air to him as a cure for his ailing lungs. He never expected that the threat of secession, which he used as an excuse for running away from father dear's iron hand, would be realized in the form of open war, but soon Mr. Eaker finds himself an increasingly needed officer on a cantankerous ship, a sailing-steaming hybrid tasked with the resupply of Fort Sumter. Those with a little historical savvy might guess that such a mission doesn't pan out, but that's not the worst of it. The  union's hemorrhage of southern states takes a toll on its officers and enlisted ranks, meaning that Mr. Eaker -- a rich scion whose naval experience is limited to adventures on his father's yacht -- finds responsibility thrust upon him, while at the same time he's distracted by a possibly deathly illness (tuberculosis, known as 'consumption') and the woes of his fiance-cousin who is likewise desperate to escape Eaker Sr.  

Fire on the Waters is the 'hardest' historical fiction I've read; not difficult, but hard in the sense of science fiction that is based on 'hard' fact. This is a novel heavy with details, and delivered with the authenticity of a cast-iron skillet to the head; Poyer uses old literary conventions and archaic spellings of words to give his narrative real historic grounding. The charm this adds distracts the reader from the fact that the story consists of one dismal failure  after another for its characters - though such reverses give Eaker a chance to prove his worth. Though this is a novel of the Civil War at sea, and most of the characters are sailors, combat is minimal and occurs mostly on land. The real strife of the novel is between the characters over competing loyalties the Owannee's captain and first officer are both southerners,  and each are torn between the home they were raised in and the flag they have fought under for so long. The first novel in a trilogy, Fire on the Water impresses most with its detail, and its maritime setting is quite different from most Civil War-related historical fiction.

The Pagan Lord

The Pagan Lord
© 2014 Bernard Cornwell
320 pages

Uhtred of Bebbanberg is having a bad week. First his hall was burned by an old rival-enemy, Cnut Ranulfson, in retaliation for Uhtred kidnapping his children, which Uhtred did not do. Uhtred of Bebbanberg is many things, but he doesn't kidnap kids. After clearing that little mess up at Cnut's place, he returns home to find the rest of his estate burned down by the church in retaliation for his accidentally killing a priest who attacked him when he attempted to prevent his eldest son Uhtred from becoming a "Christian wizard". Uhtred didn't mean to kill the priest; he just has that effect on them, like carbon monoxide.  Driven from Christendom by an excommunicated mob and hated by the Danes,  there's really no place to go but up -- up into Dane-held Britain, to the fortress Bebbanburg, his ancestral home stolen long ago by a treacherous uncle.  It could be all so simple:  take the fortress with a little derring-do and turtle up, allowing his enemies to cut one another to pieces. Alas, Cnut Ranulfson has complicated schemes afoot, and to get out it and lead the Saxons to triumph will involve a ship,  borrowed children, and a dead priest on a stick. That's life in Anglo-Saxon Britain, and the tale of The Pagan Lord.

Cornwell's Saxon Stories series, featuring a warlord of divided loyalties -- a Saxon raised by Danes who served the Saxon king Alfred in his quest to defend Britain against Danish invasion - has so far consisted of superb odd-number books bridged by good even-numbered books. Pagan Lord is a bridge despite its odd-numbered status, but as solid as the Roman span Uhtred uses here while being pursued by an army five times his size. Pagan Lord is battle- and politics heavy, and consists largely of travel: Uhtred's first response is to buy a boat and go 'viking', but as he begins to put together the pieces of whatever diabolical scheme his Norse rivals are up to.  In younger years Uhtred might have abandoned the Christian Saxons altogether and taken his home fortress with  Danish help, but his lingering attachment to his 'own' people is magnified by his love for a Christian woman who stands to be treated badly if the Danes win.  So once again he kills men he admires and aides men who despise him, because of a woman; Cornwell's heroes tend to have that honorable flaw.  The Pagan Lord wasn't quite the novel I expected: happily, it's not the conclusion of the Saxon stories, even though Uhtred advances into the gates of his ancestral home.  The novel seems to move toward its conclusion in the middle before Uhtred's plan goes awry, and he has to retreat into the mouth of Chaos, where he and all of Saxon Britain engage in war against the schemes and horde-strong armies of the Danes.  The Pagan Lord is on the short side, but's a fine tale of adventure set during the Viking age.

Ship of Rome

Ship of Rome
© 2009 John Stack
368 pages

            Three hundred years before it became an empire, the Roman Republic started its ascension toward power when it took on the Carthaginian state  for control of first the island of Sicily, and then the entire Mediterranean. Their struggle unfolded over the course of over a hundred years and ended with the complete destruction of Carthage, but it began with an ignominious Roman defeat. As mighty as Rome’s legions were on land,  the war with Carthage made control of the sea a must. Ship of Rome is a tale of naval warfare set during the first Punic War, as mighty yet humiliated Rome sought to find a way to  make good on its naval weakness.  It’s the story of two men, a Roman legionnaire turned marine named Septimus, and his friend and brother-warrior, the  Greek captain of the good ship Aquila. Together they attempt to save Rome from defeat, and redeem  their lost comrades.

            Roman historical fiction is typified by political intrigue and battles on land, not naval stories;  Britain was a naval empire, not Rome. But the war with Carthage made sea superiority a must, just as Britain’s war with Germany made air dominance a requirement, regardless of English naval accomplishments. In Ship of Rome, a Roman army officer and a Greek sea captain serving on the same ship are key players in the opening battles of the first Punic War, when Carthage decides to turn the delicate balance for power between the two states’ holdings in Sicily into open war,  first blockading a supply port and then luring the Roman fleet into a disastrous battle.  The Carthaginians are skilled at naval warfare, and Rome has no time to train its men sufficiently to surpass their rivals experience. But a way must be found, or the legions in Sicily will die a slow death of disease and starvation. Complicating matters is the rivalry between the two Roman consuls over who will get the glory for turning the side, and their mutual treachery of one another is only given spice by the wiles of the merciless Carthaginian admiral, who early on is thwarted by the Aquila and wants revenge.   At least Atticus and Septimus can count on one another to cover the other’s back – at least, when Septimus isn’t distracted by his little sister making goo-goo eyes at his comrade, who for all of his virtues can’t help not being properly Roman, but only merely Greek.

            Ship of Rome is a fantastic read, novel both for being Roman fiction set on the high seas, and for being a sea story set in the classical world. Naval combat during the Punic War bears little resemblance to that of the Age of Wooden Ships and Iron Men that has produced series like the Aubrey-Maturin novels or C.S. Forester’s Horatio Hornblower. There are no cannon broadsides here; combat consists of ramming and boarding;  these ships’ weapons are the six-foot long bronze rams on their front ends and the swords, shields, and arrows of the men aboard her.  Readers of sea stories will find it engaging, but there’s combat on land and in the courts as the consuls vie for power, not to mention the interpersonal conflict like that between the senior consul and his slave, a gladiator who is biding his time and waiting for an opportunity to strike for freedom – but not before taking the consul with him.  For all this strife the plot matures nicely, and even gives a slightly villainous character some sympathetic development.  John Stack has delivered here a book with a lot of appeal; for my own part, I’ve already ordered its sequel, Captain of Rome.

Related:
Review of same at Seeking a Little Truth
Armada, John Stack

Sharpe's Trafalgar

Sharpe's Trafalgar: Spain 1805
© 2001 Bernard Cornwell
301 pages

Richard Sharpe did well for himself in India, rising in the ranks from private to Ensign,  as well as finding love and fortune. But while Sharpe has been helping Britain grow powerful in India, an ambitious man named Napoleon has turned France from a nation divided by civil war into a power which dictates the fortunes of all of Europe. Only Britain's small navy stands between it and invasion by the new French Empire's grand fleet. When Ensign Sharpe sails home to Britain, he's caught between an epic naval confrontation  and thrown into the furore of one of the Napoleonic War's most decisive battles: Trafalgar

Bernard Cornwell notes in the novel's afterword that a soldier such as Sharpe has no business in a naval battle like Trafalgar, but it's not Sharpe's fault that his ship was seized by a French privateer en route to join France's fleet. Aside from a little derring-do on shore, where Sharpe brings a dead man to life and makes a steadfast friend in an English naval captain, Trafalgar takes almost entirely aboard ship -- making Trafalgar a case of "Richard Sharpe meets Horatio Hornblower". Instead of focusing on naval maneuvers, however, Cornwell uses Sharpe   to tell the story of the Marines, who, given Britain's preference for close combat, and Admiral Lord Nelson's desire to capture the enemy fleet -- have an important part to play. The battle itself is the climax of a plot rich in mystery and treason, where Sharpe's fortune and future are placed in jeopardy.

Trafalgar is yet another strong title in Sharpe's Series, one which offers a refreshing change from land battles and gives our hero a new ally, one who I was glad to see return in Sharpe's Prey.

Related

• Hornblower and the Crisis, for Hornblower's own role associated with Trafalgar. 

The Sea-Wolf

The Sea-Wolf
© 1906 Jack London
Reprinted in Tales of the North, © 1979.
pp. 183-330

Humphrey van Weyden never imagined that a simple ferry ride across the San Francisco Bay would take him so far. Following a collision at sea, he is rescued by one Wolf Larsen, the dread lord and master of the sealing schooner Ghost -- a man quite unlike any other van Weyden has ever encountered. The Wolf is the embodiment of brute strength, wild cunning, and savage brutality who dominates his ship, striking fear into the hearts of all aboard her. Wolf is inescapable -- but to obtain his freedom, van Weyden must somehow find the strength to do so.

While The Sea-Wolf follows the Ghost on a sealing expedition from San Francisco to Japan on peril-fraught seas, the adventure and struggle here is between two men --  one impotent if morally courageous, and the other gloriously strong but bankrupt as a man. Each fascinates the other: they circle one another like Buck and his counterparts in The Call of the Wild. While van Weyden attempts to make a life for himself aboard the Ghost, determined to survive, the two grapple over their respective worldviews -- treating the reader to a philosophical discussion about morality, the meaning of life, and the measure of a man.

The Wolf is a fascinating character, ferociously strong in both body and in spirit. He is almost 'the unfettered', the Nietzschean superman, but he lacks something to strive for. He lives for nothing, only exists, and so he languishes for all his strength. In the end it is what fate they create for themselves as the plot tests them which proves which is the better man -- for while van Weyden can develop the strength and cunning he needs to stand on his own two feet, independent of others, the Wolf is capable of growing beyond himself -- to live as a man, and not simply exist as a beast.

The Sea-Wolf enthralled me, not just for the wild energy London's characters and plotting seem to possess, but to witness the triumph of the human spirit -- not just van Weyden's growth, but his ability to maintain the nobility of humanity while at same time harnessing the beautiful, wild strength inside.

A note about this version of the story: the publishers printed the novel in four magazline-like columns and supplemented the text with stunning artwork by W.J. Aylward. Tales of the North collects The Call of the Wild, White Fang, The Cruise of the Dazzler, The Sea-Wolf, and fifteen short stories. I received it for Christmas years ago but never realized what a tremendous boon it was until I opened the book to see if it contained The Sea-Wolf: I'd been planning on checking that out from the library.

Related:

• 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. The strong but bitter Captain Nemo reminded me much of the Wolf. 
• The Iron Heel, Jack London
• The Call of the Wild, Jack London.
• The Fountainhead/Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand. While I've never read them,  the Wolf uses the objectivist arguments for selfishness against van Weyden in the course of their discussions.

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
© 1870 Jules Verne
382 pages

 Scarcely a year after the end of the American Civil War, Professor Pierre Aronnax of the Museum of Natural History in Paris is  preparing to return to his native France following the conclusion of some research when he learns that the  Abraham Lincoln, a fast frigate, is about to set forth on a mission to track down and destroy a mysterious sea monster that has been plaguing seagoing traffic for several months. Aronnax -- author of several books on the life of the oceans -- sees the mission as the opportunity to identify and study the fascinating creature, which he believes must be a narwhal of some previous unknown type.  This perception changes when the Abraham Lincoln discovers the beast to be made of iron:  Aronnax's narwhal is a submarine!  The frigate is swiftly destroyed, but Aronnax, his servant, and a Canadian fisherman find refuge aboard the strange machine. The captain of this vessel, a nationless eccentric billionaire who identifies himself as 'Nemo', informs them that although he will extend to them every courtesy of a guest, no one who boards his Nautilus is permitted to leave. Professor Aronnax is thus given the opportunity to study the world's oceans up close and in an unbelievable vessel.

So begins an adventure at sea and a fascinating bit of science fiction. As Nemo and Aronnax sail through the world's seas, they explore underwater forests and submerged volcanoes and fight off creatures of the deep -- all of which are described in great detail. When I first read a children's version of this book, the Nautilus seemed to me a version of the Enterprise, underwater. It had a museum, a library, and at least one viewing gallery in which the crew and (accidental) passengers were separated from the ocean depths and all the wonder they contained by a few inches of glass. As an adult, I find the book all the more fascinating given its time. Nemo's machine needs to surface every five days to replenish its air tanks, but otherwise gains all it needs from the sea itself. It moves at fifty knots, which far surpasses the first US nuclear-powered submarine (the USS Nautilus), and other modern ships, like the USS Abraham Lincoln and even  destroyers like the USS Bainbridge.  Verne's imagination is astounding: the submarines of his days were primitive things, mostly wooden and useful only for drowning their crews.  What powers this amazing ship is Electricity. I took this for granted, but Aronnax is infatuated by the idea -- and well he should be, for the electric dynamos of 1866-1870 were hardly worthy of the name. Not for another decade or two would electricity begin to used in lighting and electric motors. To Verne, electricity is a thing of the future, and its capacity is boundless. It is the source of infinite energy, and he uses it as energetically as Isaac Asimov used 'atomic energy' in the Foundation series. 

20,000 Leagues incorporates more science and technical explanation than any other science book I've yet read, and I can only imagine how riveted 1870's audiences were by his explanations of the Nautilius' electric engine, and his descriptions of what the waters of Earth contain and might contain. I kept wanting to put the book down and watch David Attenborough's Blue Planet, so catching was Aronnax's joy at seeing whales, kelp forests, coral reefs,  underwater tunnels through the earth, lost ships and sunken cities.  Leagues isn't quite as readable as Around the World in 80 Days, and I don't quite know why. The abundance of scientific and technical descriptions contributes, but the translator approached the book knowing it was known for troublesome translations and so I must assume he would have earnest on making the book readable.  Even so, there are some odd turns of phrase: at one point, Ned Land laughs while moving his jaws up and down 'very significantly'.  I think this was because he was teasing someone about eating him. (The characters' conversations about cannibalism were some of the more humorous passages of the book, in part because they read so strangely.)

20,000 Leagues under the Sea deserves to be read again and again, combining natural wonder with the story of a mysterious man who built a superior machine. While story is interesting of itself, considering its optimism and Verne's imagination in historical context made it most impressive. His Nautilus is a superior construct of the mind, making today's cramped vessels still seem primitive by comparison.