O’Brian, Patrick. Master and Commander. W. W. Norton & Company, 1990.

       Many of us of a certain age will remember, from the pen of C. S. Forester, the saga of Horatio Hornblower as he rose from British midshipman to admiral while fighting Napoleon’s navy in the young years of the nineteenth century. These tales have been eclipsed by an epic series of sea stories from the imagination of avid sailor and nautical scholar Patrick O’Brian.

       Although the recent film bearing the name of his first book, Master and Commander, does a good job of depicting the sea—and the movement of the ship on the sea—it is thin gruel compared to the richness of O’Brian’s novels in print form. British naval officer James Aubrey and his sidekick Stephen Maturin, ship’s doctor and spy, have, in more than a dozen books, battled the French and the Americans (won and lost), sailed round the Horn and the Cape, anchored in the Spice Islands, and laded supplies at the penal colony of Sydney. They have fallen in love with beautiful women, been shipwrecked, and served time as prisoners of war in Boston.

       It’s not so much the escapades, but rather the relationships that enliven this complex stew. Aubrey understands and respects the dynamics of his crew and the politics of His Majesty’s Navy—sometimes to his frustration, sometimes for the creative solution. Maturin, appearing to be more interested in birds than secrets, in many ways represents the reader—a landlubber decidedly uncomfortable in the shipboard culture.

       While all this is going on, I get a peek at life aboard sailing ships of the early 1800’s—the names of the sails and decks, the daily routine, the food, the discipline, the loyalties. I have become familiar with battle stations, flogging ’round the fleet, and rum rations. I spout arcane facts—for instance, sailors were often talented with a needle since they had to sew their own clothes and had plenty of time for it, and they didn’t consider it “sissy” to add ribbons to the seams.

       O’Brian can claim a devoted following of readers who have never, ever been to sea, and these volumes have spawned an attendant industry—an atlas of all the places where Aubrey and Maturin have come ashore or just sailed by and an encyclopedia of sea/marine/naval words, phrases, and terms that appear in the series. Many of these words are no longer used, while others are part of everyday speech. I sometimes use the word scuttlebutt, rumor or gossip, which originally designated the ship’s cask of drinking water where the crew passed on tidbits of information.

       I wouldn’t be surprised if there were pamphlets I could send for describing expensive Aubrey/Maturin tours—“cruise in luxury to Gibraltar, Java, or the Caribbean.” From the Baltic to the Straits of Magellan I, too, could sail before the mast—or more likely in a comfortable stateroom with endless room service. Perhaps “Malay pirates” swarming over the rails would be the after-dinner entertainment.

       Aubrey and Maturin ceaselessly ride out storms and engage enemy ships, cold, wet, and in peril. I, however, remain snug in my armchair, hot toddy in hand, Rover snoozing at my feet. A perfect evening.

(This review appeared in The Redwood Coast Review, Summer 2006.)