The Nutmeg of Consolation by Patrick O'Brian

Source of book: I own this.

This is book 14 in O’Brian’s Aubrey/Maturin series, so I won’t duplicate what I have already written about the past couple of installments. Previous reviews are linked here:

The Letter of Marque

The Thirteen Gun Salute

This book continues the tale begun in the last book. Jack and Stephen and their crew have been shipwrecked on an island in the South Pacific, leaving them with a dwindling food supply and only a slim chance of escape.

O’Brian manages to get them off the island, and into a new ship, this one a loaner until they can reuninte with The Surprise, the privateer owned by Stephen, and Jack’s favorite ship.

This ship, a recently restored vessel that had been sunk in shallow water, is named The Nutmeg of Consolation after a phrase used in the previous book by the ruler of the kingdom central to that book. In my opinion, this is the best book title in the entire series.

Like previous installments, this book is based on the actual annals of the British Navy. Obviously some things have been changed, as one captain couldn’t possibly have all these adventures, and they would take far more total time than they did in the books. Still, there is a high degree of realism. The complicated nature of the plots come from their basis in fact.

The plot leads from the island to yet another ingenious plan by Captain Aubrey to engage a superior French vessel, to an extended episode in Australia back when it was a penal colony. As with many of the other books, this one forms merely a part of an extended story spanning several books, and thus should not be attempted on its own. In fact, it would be folly to start the series anywhere except at the beginning. The only exception might be that one could, in a pinch, skip the first book. But even then, the background from that book, which stands alone as few of the books do, can be helpful in understanding the rest. Best to read from the beginning, understanding that one is really starting a 20 volume tale.

As in all of the books, the dialogue and the characters are the best part. (See my previous reviews for more on this.)

A few things stood out about this particular book. First, O’Brian is brutal in his description of the treatment of the prisoners in the Australian penal colonies. I was strongly reminded of the treatment of slaves in the United States. Brutality is indeed a human trait. A horrid human trait, but one that is disturbingly universal. We seem to have this built in desire to inflict immense pain on our fellow man.

Another heartrending passage occurred when the ship stops by an island to take in water. Nearly the entire population is dead, however, from smallpox. It is easy to forget, now that vaccinations have eliminated that horrific disease, how it destroyed great swaths of people, particularly those not previously exposed. In this case, two young girls are all that remain of the entire island. And this wasn’t particularly unusual. One could write a whole book on the way that smallpox destroyed non-European races during this time in history.

There was one final thing that really struck me. Stephen Maturin is the most thoughtful person in the entire series, probably because he is a spy, but also because he is a bastard, an Irish Catholic though in the British navy and secret service, and a rather unattractive man. He marries Diana, who is the most interesting and flawed female in the books, but has a troubled relationship with her. At one point in this book, he believes he has lost the bulk of his fortune through a bank failure. He isn’t that concerned about the personal hardship, because he really doesn’t care about wealth. He does, however, worry about the effect this might have on his marriage. Diana has resources of her own, and they won’t starve in any case. But Stephen worries about the shift in “moral advantage” within the marriage.

As Stephen thinks it, “moral advantage” is the enemy of marriage. In a good marriage, the balance is equal. Neither party feels superior to the other. As part of Stephen’s thoughts, he recalls the marriage of some relatives of his, who start out happy, but end up in a competition of who can sacrifice more for the other - and make the other feel that debt. (In this case, for example, the wife spends the value of the presents her husband gives her for prayers and masses for his soul.) I’m afraid the divorce attorney in me recognized too many clients in this one. Particularly the women who can’t resist reminding their (now ex) husbands what a sacrifice it was to be a housewife. Or how much they have given up for God. Moral advantage is indeed the enemy of marriage - and of love.

As always, I highly recommend Patrick O’Brian as perhaps the best modern historical fiction. Sadly, he passed in 2000, so there will be no more of these outstanding books. At least the ones he wrote can keep one busy for a while. These books are well written, well researched, and contain outstanding dialogue and memorable characters.

The Thirteen Gun Salute by Patrick O'Brian

Source of book: I own this.

I already discussed Patrick O’Brian in my review of the previous book in the Aubrey-Maturin series, The Letter of Marque. If you are unfamiliar with either the author or the characters, I strongly recommend reading the earlier review.

This book picks up the story after Captain Aubrey’s smashing (literally!) success in commanding his own privateer. Alas, this is small consolation to Aubrey, who lost his commission in the Royal Navy after being set up in a stock fraud scheme by his political enemies.

At the outset of this book, Aubrey and Maturin set off on another mission connected with Maturin’s secret work as a spy, when a new development in Indonesia presents itself. Since an official naval ship is needed to deliver the envoy so he can attempt to negotiate an important treaty before the hated French can do so, the powers that be decide to reinstate Aubrey to his command. This is Aubrey’s dream, of course, but he does regret that he must leave his beloved Surprise, the frigate that has long been his favorite ship.

As I noted before, there are twenty completed books in the series, with one left unfinished at O’Brian’s death. This book is number thirteen, and the books form a continuous narrative. Thus, this book ends right in the middle of the story, like many of the others. I will have to keep reading to figure out how this adventure ends.

This particular book has far less actual battle action than the previous book. No two books are exactly alike, but this one particularly focuses on the cloak and dagger stuff, plus some interesting diplomatic maneuvering. The fact that O’Brian makes these events exciting is a testament to his skill. O’Brian, like C. S. Forester before him, used the actual events in British Naval history for his plots, so he generally works with what he has, filling in the details as necessary, and using his own characters.

I must admit, the particular plot in this one is interesting, in light of both The Arabian Nights, which I am reading with my kids at present, and the vagaries of diplomacy in our present time. As it has been throughout history, the details of the treaty are merely a part of the whole. Who knows whom - and particularly who is sleeping with whom - is equally important to the negotiation. In this particular case, the potentate in question is batting for the other team with an important (and highly attractive) advisor, who is also getting some on the side with one of the French diplomats. (As I noted before, the only graphic sex in the series occurs in Maturin’s description of insect nookie in his scientific journals.)

A few things about this book deserve mention. First, I particularly enjoyed the many descriptions and mentions of flora and fauna. Maturin is an amateur naturalist (as all naturalists were in that time - Sir Joseph Banks preeminent among them), and the book dwells at length on several of his excursions. Whether it is his hike to a remote decayed volcanic crater to see the orangutan, or his dissection with a fellow naturalist of a tapir, or his capture of a Sago Pedo, a particularly cool insect. (A large, predatory Katydid native to Spain, to be precise.)

Second, there are O’Brian’s typically excellent characterizations. In particular, I would mention Preserved Killick, Aubrey’s steward. Killick is not only Aubrey’s valet on board, but also is responsible for entertaining dignitaries and generally supervising the hospitality of the vessel. Sallow, cranky, and sarcastic, he really is one of the delightful long-term characters.

I also liked the portrayal of the diplomat, Mr. Fox. He is far too concerned about receiving the respect and accolades he thinks he deserves.

Fox...occupied a more or less perpetual stage, playing the role of an important figure, an imposing man, and the possessor of uncommon parts. To be sure, he was at least to some extent all three; but he would rarely let it alone - he wished it to be acknowledged. There was nothing coarsely obvious or histrionic about this performance; he never, in the lower deck phrase, topped it the knob. Stephen [Maturin] thought the performance was by now almost wholly unconscious; but in a long voyage its continuity made it plain, and on occasion the envoy’s reaction to a real or imaginary want of respect made it plainer still. Fox did not seek popularity, though he could be good company when he chose and he liked being liked; what he desired was superiority and the respect due to superiority, and for a man of his intelligence he did set about it with a surprising lack of skill. Many people, above all the foremast-hands of the Diane, refused to be impressed.

I will admit that I know a few people like this - a few judges included. It is not only the self-important that O’Brian skewers. He also has some cutting remarks for the “stuffed shirts” that occupy a certain level of government service:

Dinner was less agreeable, however. Before it Fox introduced him [Maturin] to three high officials who were to join the mission, almost caricatures of their kind, tall, red, thick, arrogant, with booming voices and an inexhaustible store of platitudes.

Even Fox cannot abide these dullards, but considers them necessary to counterbalance the French contingent.

“We have to produce a show at least equal to what the French can offer...and these people the Governor has lent me are used to missions of this kind: they can stand there in their gold-laced uniforms for hours without suffering; they can give the appearance of listening to speeches; they never have to steal away to the privy; and at banquets they are capable of eating anything from human flesh downwards. But I admit that their company is a trial.”

This reminded me of a certain Dilbert comic strip. Apparently some things never change. 

As Maturin observes (regarding a character in a previous book), in this line of work, “truth” is often what one can make others believe.

“What I meant was that if he could induce others to believe what he said, then for him the statement acquired some degree of truth, a reflection of their belief that it was true; and this reflected truth might grow stronger with time and repetition until it became conviction, indistinguishable from ordinary factual truth, or very nearly so.”

A few other interesting mentions were the prevalence of syphilis, which we tend to forget these days; and the durian, a favorite fruit of a few of my friends. (Some day I’ll try this. We found dragon fruit here locally this year. Will durian be next?)

As a final note, I was once again shocked at how O’Brian used his unique pacing to let the death of a major villain sneak up on the reader. Just as in a previous book when Captain Harte, Jack Aubrey’s nemesis, is blown up with his ship with no warning whatsoever; Andrew Wray, the traitor who has done his best to get Maturin killed just shows up suddenly as a corpse, a victim of an assassination when his intrigue fails. While many, perhaps most authors like to build gradually to a stunning climax, O’Brian often sneaks major events in with a bland sentence or two, leaving the reader gasping for breath as he or she realizes that something astounding or terrible just occurred without any sort of advance preparation. I think O’Brian was on to something, though. Sometimes we lose a loved one after a long illness, so we are prepared. Sometimes, though, death and destruction strike without warning. I remember hearing more than once that someone I once knew had died, out of the blue, and it can be a sobering experience. Just this last year, a relatively young colleague simply didn’t wake up one morning. One day, she was there, and the next not. In war, this is a “normal” experience, much more so than in our everyday lives.

Maturin, of course, gets the ironic pleasure, or whatever ambiguous emotion he felt, of dissecting his arch-nemesis (for scientific purposes - his friend is collecting spleens), and disposing of the rest of the body discretely (for patriotic purposes - he is a British agent, after all). In his characteristic phlegmatic way, he does what he must, but I must admit this particular passage is disconcerting in the extreme, and O’Brian’s matter-of-fact writing heightens the sensation.

As I noted in my earlier review, I think that this series represents some of the best modern historical fiction. The characterization is excellent, and the writing is both modern and sophisticated while remaining of the time of its setting. And, O’Brian doesn’t feel the need to preach, but simply tells his tale, relying on the astute reader to draw his or her own conclusions.

The Letter of Marque by Patrick O’Brian

Source of Book: I own this. 

 

The Letter of Marque is number twelve of the twenty and one-half books in the Aubrey-Maturin series that O’Brian wrote between 1970 and his death in 2000. The series follows the lives of the two main characters throughout their careers, and thus may be considered to be one exceedingly long novel.

Originally born in England as Richard Patrick Russ, he changed his name in 1945 after marrying the ex-wife of Russian nobleman Dimitri Tolstoy (a distant cousin of the famous author). O’Brian was quite secretive about the early part of his life, and there is some evidence that he was involved in the secret services during World War II, which might explain his wish to leave his past and past name behind.

The Aubrey-Maturin series is the story of Jack Aubrey, naval captain; and Stephen Maturin, a physician and secret agent. The two meet for the first time in Master and Commander, and afterward are inseparable both personally and professionally. The series is often compared to C. S. Forester’s Horatio Hornblower series, as both used the real life adventures of the British Navy during the Napoleonic Wars as the basis for their plots – particularly the exploits of Captain Thomas Cochrane, the inspiration for Jack Aubrey. However, O’Brian’s novels have appeal beyond the exciting episodes. The character and personalities of the two men are central to the narrative, and keep the series from becoming a mere naval thriller in long form. In fact, O’Brian is most often compared to Jane Austen for his characterization and sparkling dialogue.

The novels themselves are notable for a wealth of careful detail. O’Brian made a study of the geographical details of the places around the world in which the events occur, and is able to use these details in his descriptions of the battles in a vivid manner. I found it easy to picture the position of the characters in each assault on land, the lay of the obstacles around a difficult harbor entry, and the lines taken by the ships in battle as each tries to gain the best position regarding the wind and the orientation of the guns. O’Brian uses plenty of nautical terms, and doesn’t explain them all at first, so the reader must keep up as best he can until things start to make sense. This parallels the disorientation that Maturin feels at sea the first time. (He never quite gets over his lubberly tendencies.) Maturin is also a naturalist, so his adventures bring an abundance of plants and animals to the story, in their natural habitats, and occasionally aboard the ship. The cloak and dagger episodes involving Stephen’s work in intelligence are also full of authentic atmosphere and incident – perhaps lending some credence to the idea that he had lived this life.

O’Brian has an interesting writing style that almost defies a short explanation. On the one hand, his dialogue is similar to Austen and other contemporaries – it certainly isn’t modern speech. On the other, the writing itself feels modern in texture. The words flow naturally, without the stilted feeling typical for 19^th Century writing. Also unique is O’Brian’s choice of pacing. He will dwell in loving detail on a seemingly insignificant scene: insignificant to the plot at least. These scenes are often important for character development. O’Brian uses his pacing in other scenes to suggest the perception of time. The preparation for a battle will seem long and tense, building gradually to the big climax, which will then fly by breathlessly, with little chance to notice even the details of the fight. Then, O’Brian will skip over certain events altogether. Some of these, I wished he had fleshed out, but he chose which portions of the story he felt were most important. This is not to say that important plot points are left out, because they are not. I never felt lost, just a bit concussed. I suspect this is intentional. The experience of war isn’t like the movies, or even most books, but the author makes an attempt to recreate the feelings through pacing.

Another more modern facet of the writing is the realism as to the less savory elements of society. Disease and prostitution are ever present in the 19^th century world. The fact of adultery is not denied, nor is it glorified. Sex is treated frankly, but not graphically. (There is a scene of rather graphic insect sex, though.) The typical novel of the period either ignores these issues, or treats them in a lurid and unrealistic manner. I found O’Brian’s approach to be a more honest one. There is no bodice ripping here. Venereal disease is common, as are illegitimate children. (Maturin himself is one.) Adultery isn’t the grand romance of certain modern literature, but has real life consequences. Nothing is there for the titillation factor. Everything serves the plot and the characterization.

As to this particular volume of the story, it is set much more at sea than the previous one, The Reverse of the Medal, which takes place primarily on land. It is also less dark in its events than its predecessor, and has plenty of exciting naval action. It also explores Maturin’s opium addiction and Aubrey’s inner torment in more detail than previous books, giving a contrast to the rather sunny events of the book. (Assuming you consider kicking French posterior to be a happy affair, of course.) The book also brings the character of Diana Villiers (now Stephen’s wife), the most interesting female character in the series, back into the story.

It would be pointless to spoil the plot of this or any other book in the series. Suffice it to say that O’Brian can be counted on to tell a good tale. The story is hardly the main point, however, or there would be no reason to re-read these after the plot is known. The excellent writing and characterization are what raise these books above the average adventure tale. 

Some notes on stuff beyond the books:

I have not seen the movie version of Master and Commander. In general, I have a hard time with movies that are based on good books, because a disappointment is likely. There are a few great adaptations of good books: Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy comes to mind, as well as the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice and the first two Anne of Green Gables movies.

I will admit I am prejudiced against this one from the start because of one detail. The plot of the movie is taken from The Far Side of the World, rather than Master and Commander. This is not the problem. The problem is that the enemy in The Far Side of the World is not France, but the United States. Perhaps Hollywood thinks American audiences can’t handle being the villain. Perhaps Hollywood reads American taste well, seeing as Adam Sandler has a career. It still hacks me off. Let Aubrey shoot at Americans!

I have, however, enjoyed one item connected with the movie. Aubrey’s favorite ship, the Surprise was lovingly recreated for the movie. It is now preserved as a functioning ship at the San Diego Maritime Museum. While a purist would quibble that the “actual” Surprise was a bit bigger than the movie one, this is still a truly amazing reproduction. For those of ample means, it is possible to train as a deck hand, and sail this thing on a cruise. If that is beyond your budget and time allotment, the museum itself is well worth the price. In addition to the Surprise, you can tour the Star of India, an actual ship from the end of the age of sail. My kids loved this. One of the original bay ferries has been turned into the main museum, with plenty of displays regarding steam power and other stuff irresistible to young boys. 

Finally, we classical musicians can enjoy the books for the fact that Aubrey and Maturin play violin and cello, respectively. Numerous chamber works from the era find their way into the books. One wonders whether O’Brian played, or if he was a just a fan.