The Sea and the Jungle

De: H.M. Tomlinson

Narrado por: Ron Keith

What would it be like to cast aside the industrial bustle of the early 20th century to hop a freighter bound for the verdant jungles and untamed wildlife of the fabled Amazon? H.M. Tomlinson did just that, trading the streets of Swansea, Wales, for the open sea of the Atlantic. Thanks to Tomlinson's sharp eye for detail, his spellbinding account of this 1909 journey is much more than a standard travel narrative.Public Domain (P)2002 Recorded Books

Eloquent, charming, yet aimless and kind of boring

This classic travel book is proof that if one is sufficiently clever with words, one can write endlessly about absolutely anything… or even about nothing.

Ron Keith’s performance is brilliant, spellbinding, and — this is going to sound like a criticism, but believe me, it isn’t — his earnest, rather hushed voice and (I think) northern English accent become so hypnotic that they almost put one, gently and pleasantly, to sleep.

As I say, that’s a feature, not a bug.

Or if you consider it a bug, it’s not Keith’s fault. Tomlinson was apparently one of those endlessly productive journalists who can fill up, as the occasion demands, half a page or 200 pages, talking amiably about whatever comes to hand: in this case, the vastness of the ocean, the routine of life on shipboard (and the dullness of that life), the meals, the weather, the sunset, descriptions of his fellow crew members, conversations with those crew members, his old job in London, the Amazon landscape, its exotic flora and fauna, various pets of all sorts, the challenges of dealing with ornery mules (“punishment has no more effect on them than kindness”), tropical diseases and the benefits of quinine (which Keith charmingly pronounces QUINN-neen), the assorted drifters and workers and natives and storekeepers and eccentrics Tomlinson runs into in his travels, his philosophical musings about life and the universe, a rather pointless tall tale about Davy Jones’ Locker, etc. etc. etc.

He is always eloquent. He’s good at embellishing his descriptions, throwing in all sorts of colorful details and snatches of dialogue he couldn’t possibly remember (the way Patrick Leigh Fermor does in his books). He does refer to keeping a journal, but says he remembers lots of things “more vividly” from pages left blank than from pages filled with “happenings minutely recorded.” Here and there he comes up with a memorable image, a poetic phrase, a provocative observation, or even a passage worth quoting.

He reminds me of a friend who once boasted that if necessary, placed at a table of deaf mutes, he could carry on a perfectly acceptable one-man conversation for at least two hours.

The problem is, there’s no real story here, no particular point to anything, nothing in the narrative that’s gripping or engaging, in fact nothing to keep you avidly listening (or turning the page). It is not entirely uninteresting; it simply doesn’t amount to anything. It all ends up sounding like pleasant time-filler. You forget exactly where the narrator is or what he’s supposed to be doing; he just drones on amiably, like a sensitive, intelligent, but fairly boring character you might wind up sitting next to in a bar. You know that if you give him an hour, he’ll do his best to fill it up. If you give him a second hour, he’ll do the same.

Honestly, that’s nothing to sneeze at; it requires real talent. I have fallen asleep a number of times thanks to this audiobook, and I look forward to listening to it often.