Tolkien, JRR: The Lord of the Rings
Tolkien, JRR: The Hobbit
King, Stephen: Salem's Lot
Monday, December 31, 2001
Saturday, December 15, 2001
Defoe, Daniel: Robinson Crusoe
Classic literature survives the ages. There's a reason for that; distinction. Whether it be artistically distinct, distinct in it's deeper meaning or distinct in its description. Robinson Crusoe is a Classic.
I picked Robinson Crusoe from a load of classics that I had bought cheap. I'm not sure what drew me to it; perhaps it was the latent adventure, perhaps it was the intrigue; how could a book, based mostly on a desert island, keep me occupied? Tom Hanks' Castaway didn't. Who was Man Friday? How did Crusoe get there? And where exactly is there? I started to read.
The adventure starts in Hull, from where Crusoe sets sail, much against his parents' will. This had me intrigued, being from that neck of the woods (if grimey northern cities can be compared to woods). I was immersed into Colonial times, a period of World history both triumphant and tragic. I sailed down the coast with Crusoe, exploring Africa, South America and the West Indies. All was going well, until that fateful event.
Having been exposed to numerous later tellings of similar stories, and having seen numerous films, it was all a little expectant. I knew he would struggle for food, shelter and health. I knew he would try to get off the Island. But even so, I was hooked. Time panned out between each simple event. Things we take for granted were were atomised into their most simple parts. But what deepened this was that the things that we couldn't survive with now, hadn't even been invented in Defoe's time. Crusoe couldn't have wished for a battery operated torch if he had wanted to. This not only highlighted the desperation of Crusoe's plight but also the fickle, materialistic society we live in. Throughout the book I imagined myself in that situation, theorised how I would survive, what I would do. It would be easy. But of course, it wouldn't. How ever much Ray Mears TV I had seen (incidently very little), I would be up the creek without a paddle, nor the means to make one.
And of course, the Savages. Looking at the time the book was written, it's not suprising that Man Friday would immediately be subservient to the White man, irrespective of his attire and obvious lack of power. This is something I have thought on since reading the book, and something that remains a mystery. Perhaps it is a metaphor for the treatment of slaves; the desperate situation of both, the balance of Providence's kindness on each, the reliance on each other, yet still, Crusoe is Master, Friday is servant. Perhaps poignant centuries later, but at the time was it mere normality. Still, a minor aside - once they are settled in their micro class-system, they operate well together and become dependant on one another (again, perhaps a reference to Defoe's dislike for slavery), and ultimately they suceed in their quest, to return to civilisation, and eventually Yorkshire!
An excellent book. The more I think about it, the more I see shreds of forward-thinking flaking of the pages. Perhaps it has been said before, perhaps I'll take a look, but this seems less a story of survival and more a story of breaking humanity and race-relations down to the lowest level, and highlighting the flaws in society not nature. But then I think, was he that smart? Yes, I reassure myself, I see all others as equals, why shouldn't he? But is that not just another case of, I'd survive on a desert island?
I picked Robinson Crusoe from a load of classics that I had bought cheap. I'm not sure what drew me to it; perhaps it was the latent adventure, perhaps it was the intrigue; how could a book, based mostly on a desert island, keep me occupied? Tom Hanks' Castaway didn't. Who was Man Friday? How did Crusoe get there? And where exactly is there? I started to read.
The adventure starts in Hull, from where Crusoe sets sail, much against his parents' will. This had me intrigued, being from that neck of the woods (if grimey northern cities can be compared to woods). I was immersed into Colonial times, a period of World history both triumphant and tragic. I sailed down the coast with Crusoe, exploring Africa, South America and the West Indies. All was going well, until that fateful event.
Having been exposed to numerous later tellings of similar stories, and having seen numerous films, it was all a little expectant. I knew he would struggle for food, shelter and health. I knew he would try to get off the Island. But even so, I was hooked. Time panned out between each simple event. Things we take for granted were were atomised into their most simple parts. But what deepened this was that the things that we couldn't survive with now, hadn't even been invented in Defoe's time. Crusoe couldn't have wished for a battery operated torch if he had wanted to. This not only highlighted the desperation of Crusoe's plight but also the fickle, materialistic society we live in. Throughout the book I imagined myself in that situation, theorised how I would survive, what I would do. It would be easy. But of course, it wouldn't. How ever much Ray Mears TV I had seen (incidently very little), I would be up the creek without a paddle, nor the means to make one.
And of course, the Savages. Looking at the time the book was written, it's not suprising that Man Friday would immediately be subservient to the White man, irrespective of his attire and obvious lack of power. This is something I have thought on since reading the book, and something that remains a mystery. Perhaps it is a metaphor for the treatment of slaves; the desperate situation of both, the balance of Providence's kindness on each, the reliance on each other, yet still, Crusoe is Master, Friday is servant. Perhaps poignant centuries later, but at the time was it mere normality. Still, a minor aside - once they are settled in their micro class-system, they operate well together and become dependant on one another (again, perhaps a reference to Defoe's dislike for slavery), and ultimately they suceed in their quest, to return to civilisation, and eventually Yorkshire!
An excellent book. The more I think about it, the more I see shreds of forward-thinking flaking of the pages. Perhaps it has been said before, perhaps I'll take a look, but this seems less a story of survival and more a story of breaking humanity and race-relations down to the lowest level, and highlighting the flaws in society not nature. But then I think, was he that smart? Yes, I reassure myself, I see all others as equals, why shouldn't he? But is that not just another case of, I'd survive on a desert island?
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